The Vagabond Priest

Stupid Questions

2012-01-21T11:45:00.000-08:00

Over the past week, I have become aware of the existence of something called a "meme". It's pronounced "meem" like "dream", even though all normal people (like me) will want to pronounce it "mee-mee". Do not pronounce it "mee-mee", because people will laugh at you. And this will be a problem, because as we see in this particular rendition of the meme, people are probably laughing at you anyway.

I won't go into my problems with the copy-cat meme concept at this point, because I think the bigger issue is the mean-ness of this particular video. I am told that the actors are all seminarians. As seminarians and young ministers, we were all exposed to these questions for the first time at some point. By now, most of us have gotten pretty much all of these questions, give or take a few.

If this had been a video shown only for, say, a seminary-audience-only variety show skit, it would be different. These are exactly the questions we all know and laugh about when we are in groups of colleagues, sitting around with a nice single malt at a table after the clergy conference meetings have wrapped up for the day. These are the questions that I tell my husband about over the dinner table, or sometimes, to some very cool parishioner friends, share the latest "Guess what I got asked today?". I would never want to be the wet blanket of the group of clergy at the next sushi/coffee shop Bible study, because these questions ARE funny.

My problem with this meme is the Queen Bee attitude, the snarkiness and the willingness to point fingers while not seeming to be self-aware enough to project empathy. To me, there seems to be a real sense that the actors are mocking what they perceive as "stupid" questions from the dumb people they are unfortunate enough to interact with every day. (Don't even get me started on the hipster glasses on one or the unkempt long hair on that man. I'll leave the appearance critiques to Peacebang's Beauty Tips for Ministers.)

My problem is that "oh, my Gawd, I can't believe I have to put up with your stupidity". And in the world of ministry, the second you start believing that you as the minister hold a special sort of intelligence, or that your ministry population is beneath you in any way, you have already lost. The second you start dismissing and making fun of your people for "stupid" questions, you have already shot yourself in the foot as their minister.

Our people- human people- aren't there to be MADE FUN OF.

This is valid whether your parishioner is a professor at the local university and a published author, or a PhD who rides bikes 8,000 miles a year, or a person recovering from a TBI, or the person with schizophrenia, or the local bike shop wrench. The second you start making fun of your people, you as a minister dishonor your profession.

Making fun of your people is different from laughing with them or recognizing that people do dumb and funny things all the time. (And laughing at the dumb things people do is different from despising them as human beings, and this is a distinction I make all the time in the emergency professionals world. All emergency professionals have laughed at people who had dumb accidents, myself included. That is different from resenting all stupid humanity.)

Just yesterday, at the local bike shop, I got the question of, "Oh, so it's your day off. They let you have those?" It didn't mean the bike shop wrench was just a dumb grease monkey. You know what it was? That person had seen me both in my collar and in my bike shorts on a ride, and felt comfortable enough to ask me some questions about my world.

I think I returned the favor with some of my dumb questions about the latest tri bike that has a space for a water bladder on the bike. I'm sure the wrenches go into the back of the shop after I leave, saying "Oh, my Gawd, she was in again today and I had to fix her stupid derailleur yet again!" but my favorite wrenches never miss the opportunity to tell stories and to engage me in the world of the bike.

See the difference? The wrenches never shame me. They recognize that I'm just not dialed into the bike world like they are, and that answering my "stupid" questions gives them the chance to share about part of their life that they love.

That's what I see lacking in this particular meme. It's not that we don't get those questions. It's not that the questions aren't funny. It's not that I have never rolled my eyes after being asked for the umpteenth time "What? You mean you get a day off? Really?" But part of being a professional in the world of ministry is realizing that these questions often aren't being asked out of ignorance or meanness, but just because people ask questions as a way to connect with other human beings.

I think I have one other reason why I have such a strong reaction to this particular meme. It's all these fully able bodied people walking around whining about getting stupid questions. Hello, I'm deaf. I have a cochlear implant. I have dealt with stupid questions and stupid reactions from people my entire life. "Oh, you can just turn me off when you don't want to listen to me." (I hate that one). "Where does the cochlear plug into your head?" (It's magnetic, it doesn't plug in.) "Can I feel the bump?" (Depends on how comfortable I feel with you...) "Can you color coordinate those things?" (I can, actually.) "How did you go deaf? Did your mom do something wrong? Did you listen to too much heavy metal? I think I'm going deaf like you. Maybe I should get hearing aids, and then I can be like you. Do you speak sign? Do you want to be the deaf campus chaplain in Gallaudet instead of here in Eugene?" And on, and on, and on.

I had to learn how to not be annoyed by those questions a long time ago. I had to learn how to treat them as an opportunity to engage other people. And I get really, really annoyed by these able-bodied hipsters who act as those they are the only ones who ever had to deal with humanity. This huge problem of theirs is nothing I didn't have to learn to deal with in another way years ago.

So to the cooler-than-thou twerps who pointed fingers and made fun of the world, please just get over yourselves. Getting asked "dumb" questions is nothing that doesn't happen to all of us at some point. I had to learn to suck it up and deal when I was a little kid. Learn a little empathy for humanity, or get out of my beloved line of work.

Saturday At Home

2012-01-14T16:07:00.000-08:00

I'm not really into fung shui. But ever since I participated in a liturgy course with the All Saints' Company out of St. Gregory of Nyssa in San Francisco, CA, I have believed in energy in buildings. Did you know that if the presider stands as little as one or two feet out of place, that person is not only very hard to hear, but actually looks smaller.

Energy flows in our home too. Growing up, my mom's kitchen table was always cluttered hopelessly with piles and piles of mail. It's not that we were all slobs. It's that we didn't know how to work with the energy of that house to create a "landing strip" to drop keys and shoes and mail to sort.

So on this sorta-rainy Saturday, after spending sometime tidying up the study, I realized I was ALWAYS tidying the study, ALWAYS shooing the cats off something, ALWAYS stubbing my toe or not printing a document. I never wanted to spend much time up here. After 10 months, it was time to re-arrange.

The new entry into the study. The classic music stand was in the other corner, the piano had been under the window, and the secretary was next to the window where the futon now is.

After M graduated, we kept our two desks to let ourselves experiment with how we were really going to use workspace in our house. After all, simple graduation does not mean he's stopped studying or working at home! Being a priest, I regularly work at home. So having a functional study is important. Looking around, I realized (among other things) that all the light was on the same side of the room. Deciding to figure out how to get light on the other side of the room is what sparked the rearranging. I wanted better light for my piano and more light in the corner furthest from the window.

We finally decided to let go of our "teacher desk". This was a great old solid wood piece that I bought off a yard sale in 2004 when I was in Arlington. It was a big old clunker that was a perfect desk for its time. I can't even imagine how many hours I spent there.

Being unable to find a picture of the Clunker, I give you SOME of the boxes of books we own. The cat was packed in a different box for his moving. The Clunker is barely in the photo at the left.

Then, last year, after my parents' move, I was gifted with the old secretary desk/object of my lust. My dad and I refinished that, and it quickly became my new favorite desk.

Yeah, actually, it IS hot.

The old clunker went to Freecycle and now lives with a local super-poor college student who had no furniture at all. He now has a desk, and someone gave him a bookcase, and I think he's going to get a tin cup soon.

All I really did in the now-clunker-desk free study was move things from one side to the other, leaving the books entirely alone because I can't bear the thought of moving all those books right now. My muscles ache at the mere thought. But I am amazed at how much more 'space' is suddenly in this room. The heat register is free and I can have heat in this room at last! (It used to be covered by the futon). The music cabinet is near the desk so (gasp) the printer can be hooked up! I admit it was getting a little tiresome to constantly be walking over to the printer, balancing the laptop on my leg, and standing while things printed out. First world problem? Heck yeah.

We'll see how it is to live in the new study space! And we'll also play the game of "drop really obvious hints to M and see how long it takes him to realize that furniture is in a different spot". He's an intellectual guy. It sometimes takes him a while to realize that things have been moved or that he has no socks because I threw all his piles into the laundry.

Actual New Year's Resolutions

2012-01-04T08:26:00.000-08:00

So this year, I actually have a few resolutions. Usually, I start New Year's during Advent, but I was a little discombobulated this year. When we had severals deaths rolling in during December, we decided to stop holiday everything. No tree. No presents. No cookie baking. No codfish balls. Nothing. And it was necessary, and ultimately, good.

1) Wean self off Facebook Addiction. Facebook is necessary for work, and it's the easiest way to keep up with far-flung family and friends. But it's easy to overdo it. Facebook isn't the center of the universe- I have to remember to connect in real life and real time too.

2) Study for and take the GRE. I think I'll even register for it. That'll force me. And go buy a GRE book to study from. GRE results are good for 5 years, so I might as well get it out of the way. This. Means. Math.

3) Keep researching graduate school options and considering what is possible. See, the thing is that I like my job, and I'm not open to leaving my job entirely for full-time school. Besides, I will never be able to afford that. (Because right now, I am committed to accruing no more debt in my life, other than a mortgage. We are paying off what we owe. I just don't trust society enough anymore to carry debt any longer than I have to. In college, we were told that educational debt was always good debt. Then the triple-dip recessions started rolling.) I wonder what others have done in lean economic times, to pursue one's intellectual hunger and balance it with one's practical financial needs?

4) Compete in more than one triathlon, with an emphasis on running speedwork. I've got the distance base down (for an Olympic, at least!). I think I can aim for keeping my 10K COMFORTABLE under 1 hour. I'm totally jumping on the Butte to Butte bandwagon with all my friends and the Boss and the U of O chaplain and half of St. Mary's and most of the tri club.

4A) Come up with goofy workout names. I already have the Holli, a regular 5K running route, named after a friend and colleague who uses a wheelchair asked us all to spend her "wheelchair anniversary date" enjoying our legs. And I have the Bad-Mood Garbage Run, a funk-mood buster involving sprints from garbage pail to garbage pail on trash day. I should name other routes, right?

5) Seek enough balance to achieve 1 workout every day that I hold office hours. The thing with tri training and my job: well, I work a lot and sometimes have trouble giving myself permission to go in late or take lunchtime for a workout. I struggle with wanting to have the appearance of being in the office and working all the time, even while I know that represents a horrible, unhealthy model for all work. (Especially work like clergy work!) I know I'm in a place where my parish and boss blesses balance. I know that I use my study at home very well, especially writing and thinking and working during hours that are not typical office hours. I suppose my boss and I should mutually explore this in supervision, since he probably has the same struggles!

6) Get together with new friends to make codfish balls. Of all the holiday traditions (Star Wars sugar cookies with royal icing decorated in peppermint! Chocolate Italian ball cookies! Trees with jingle bells), this is the one I missed. And I have a new Portuguese friend (who's a chef) who needs to have herself some codfish balls. I think we need to invent a January holiday this year, to eat codfish balls with a lot of salad.

Happy 2012, everyone! Enjoy the Year of the Mayan Apocalypse!

The Ultimate Christmas Present

2011-12-29T14:56:00.000-08:00

Remember the year of the Cabbage Patch Kid?

It was the year that everyone in the universe decided they had to have a doll with a rubbery head, simple yarn hair, and a cloth body. They came in boy and girl models, so all the boys and all the girls wanted one. They did not light up, walk, talk, or connect to our computers. (This is probably a good thing, since in the mid-80s, all computers really did was play Pong and maybe give you dot-matrix printouts on computer printers that we had to load with special paper with perforated sides with holes in them.) Cabbage Patch Kids were decidedly low tech. We wanted them SO BAD.

Parents and other grownups began appearing on the TV at night, in dire stories featuring mug shots taking after the latest fight. In one story, reportedly, a woman in a babushka aimed a flying roundhouse kick at an off-duty police officer buying ice cream for his Little Brother, and a scuffle ensued, with a huge fight in the middle of the store aisle. I'll never forget the images from the news that night as they dragged that nun away, screaming "You'll never get my orphans' cabbage patch kid!" while the firefighters hosed everyone in the vicinity, gleeful that the dolls were finally theirs.

My parents solemnly sat us down and explained that they would not be joining those adults on TV, and they would never fight other people for a toy, and we would not be getting a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Christmas Eve came. As a child with Portuguese heritage, Christmas eve meant three things: we always went to church, we always ate codfish balls, and we always spent time with my mom's side of the family. Those were great nights.

But then came a big surprise: my brother and I were told that we could have one present from Santa... early!

We were both given a large box, which we naturally immediately destroyed. Inside the destruction, we both found... a Cabbage Patch Doll.

Terror rose swiftly in both of us. We had seen, first hand, the shame of children who went to the playground with fake Cabbage Patches. There were signs of real-ness which were essential to avoiding playground shame, including the doll's belly button and the signed butt. We had both seen the bullies who exposed button-less-bellies of "fake" dolls, and to this day, I'm not sure those children have ever recovered from the shame.

My brother rammed his hand down the nightclothes of his doll, longing, fear, anticipation all etched on his face until his little hand found the belly button. "He's REAL! He's REAL!" he started screaming. I was busy seeking my own doll's bottom to look for the cursive writing, because everyone knew that real Cabbage Patches had signed butts. I've got some speech issues, so I'm not sure how coherent I was in that moment when I found the writing and knew finally that the dolls were real Cabbage Patches.

This is Melissa.

This is Melissa's bellybutton.

The real Christmas miracle that year was learning that we had parents who knew how to bend the rules and to get around the unimportant stuff to thrill their kids with what was really essential.

Church.

Codfish balls.

Family.

Dolls with belly buttons and cursive writing on the butt.

I didn't post a picture of the doll's tush, where you can still see the writing years later. That's partly because posting a doll butt just seems too weird for the internet, and partly because the writing includes real names and the year of 1985, and I try to keep real names private.

In 1985, I was 6. You see, at that age, neither my brother nor I could read cursive. All we knew was that the squiggly writing was important.

We got our real dolls, with the belly buttons and the signed butts that night.

It would be a few years before we'd be able to read cursive and would learn that the writing on the butt was our mom's own name. She'd found a kit somewhere and stitched them together secretly in the late nights. But we didn't know that then... all we knew was the our dolls had a belly button and cursive writing on the butt.

Real.

Best. Christmas. Ever.

Oh, it was pretty great that neither of our parents had gotten arrest for fighting while Christmas shopping. That would have embarrassing.

Year's End

2011-12-27T18:20:00.000-08:00

These are the Zombie Portuguese dolls. When I was a little girl, someone in my family gifted me with this set of dolls dressed up in Portuguese clothing- the little black biretta on the boys and the 17 skirts on the girls.

For some reason I was terrified of them. Perhaps it is because their eyes broke early on, forever rolling up in their heads and revealing the empty stare of blue plastic. I became convinced that the dolls were alive and attempted to throw them out. (I'd seen snatches of Chucky playing at the video store. I knew how to take my movies seriously.)

No matter what I did, the dolls always returned. I'd find them under the bed... sitting on the bookshelf... laid casually at the foot of the stairs.

This only increased my terror of the dolls. In fact, perhaps it had something to do with my deep fondness for both Little Pony and G.I. Joes. Little Pony never looks like possessed zombies in traditional Portuguese clothes, and I was confident that G.I. Joe could kick the zombie's butts if need be.

I thought I had thrown them out for the last time when I moved out and took my stuff out of the basement.

When my parents bought their new house and moved thirty miles away, I found the dolls in a box in the attic.

I threw them away again, cackling in glee, convinced they could never survive a moving-house purging.

Last year, my mother found them... in a box, in the Christmas stuff.

She cackled with glee herself. And put them in her Christmas tree where they probably still are to this day.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Podium???

2011-12-10T18:57:00.000-08:00

So today I ran a 5K. I ran the Jingle Bell Run with The Boss. He'd been doing "Couch-to-5K" and wanted something else to do, so I suggested we run a race. He found the Jingle Bell Run and off we went.

For the first time in my life, I almost missed the race. The town of Eugene does not have its park parking lots street addresses listed. So the address to which GPS, iPhone, and the town's own website directed me to was somewhere in the middle of nowhere or perhaps at the back of the park... nowhere near parking, packet pickup, or porta-potties.

And I'd had a LOT of coffee this morning.

Let's just say there was some frantic calling of The Boss, some driving while simultaneously GPS-correcting and phone-wangling, and finally, a desperate pull over to the side of the road when I saw two people wearing santa hats and candy cane codpieces to ask for directions. God bless the candy cane codpiece couple. They got me right on track.

The Boss declared I'd outrun him as he planned to run a 10:00 mile and just wanted to finish. I was feeling extremely tired after a long drive to Portland yesterday and being up late, so I was fine with slow.

Then The Boss took off and held this punishing pace of 9:12. Um, yeah, my average pace so far has been in the 9:40s. So this was 30 seconds faster than I normally run. I hate it when my body proves how much harder I can push it. It was a hard run, but a good hard run.

You see what pushing things does to me? I start saying things like "good" and "hard run" in the same sentence, AND I'M A CYCLIST! I'm not supposed to enjoy hard runs. They are supposed to make me suffer.

The course was mostly nice and flat with a charming little uphill swell right in the middle. We only saw Santa at the beginning of the course, though, and the carolers weren't caroling for us as we ran off. However, the race director had a charming touch of using a giant candy cane as the front-of-the-race pace pole. Near the turnaround, I saw the fast people chasing the kid with the cane.

As always, the first mile and a half were misery and pain and blackness of the dark night of the Achilles tendon. But around mile 1.5, something cleared up and the running became smooth and easy. I'm starting to associate that with finally getting fully warm. It takes me a LONG time to get happy, but once I hit that happy point, it's... easy to hold a strong pace. So the second half of the race was pretty charming and happy. Even my tight hip flexor was warm and mobile.

I'M A CYCLIST! I SWEAR! I SWEAR, MY BELOVED TREKS! YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FIRST IN MY LITTLE HEART!

Nearing the end, The Boss had a strong sprint left in him, and I managed to drag myself over the finish line in a surprising 28:40. The Boss's wife, being sharp of eye and attuned to what her husband and I REALLY run races for, pointed us to the many boxes of pizza. Bless you, Boss' Wife, for you do rock greatly. Whatever ire was left from the getting-lost situation earlier dissolved as I saw what looked like dozens of pizzas- ample pizza for everyone- and floated away on a sea of pepperoni steam. Maybe all winter races should provide steaming hot pizza.

I've just checked the official results, and discovered to my shock that I was actually 3rd in my age group. The unofficial results had me at #5 in my age group, so we didn't stick around. And now I've discovered that I won a ribbon, and blithely strolled away from my first running ribbon and podium finish here in Eugene!

Good job to The Boss for a strong run! Clearly, we need to do this again, because he's got a lot of speed left to build, and I must go get another ribbon. And now that I've discovered that I can hold a 9:14 pace, there's no more 9:40 slacking off for me. I'm ruined, I say, ruined.

In a Rut?

2011-12-07T13:48:00.000-08:00

I was having coffee this morning with a dear retired guy from our community (over at Provisions in the 5th St. Market which has a delightful salted caramel latte, wowsers, the amazing coffee in this town!) when we started talking about our past lives. In my first job, I lived in Arlington VA. I loved that city. I had a palace of an apartment on the 7th floor of a high rise. It had a hallway, a gas stove, a balcony, and it was 800 square feet of heaven. I lived above Bob and Edith's diner (which was across the street). And just down Columbia Pike, there was a sweet little Thai place.

Being single, I resolved I would not allow myself to molder alone in my apartment. I took myself out to dinner at least once a week, table for one, thank you. The Thai place quickly became a favorite.

I love Thai food, and my little benchmark is the panang curry. I don't care about anything but how they make their panang. If the panang is good, I return. I know this is illogical and probably bad form and that judging a Thai place on the strength of the panang curry is probably like judging a Mexican place on the strength of its frozen margaritas, but this how my taste buds work and I stand by my unfeeling snap judgements. Be glad that I'm a priest and not your kid's elementary choir director, ok?

I had always considered myself an adventurous eater, and in fact, had visions of being the sort of person who would walk into restaurants, be greeted by name by the hostess who would show me to my favorite stool and give me a drink and a Christmas card, and then be welcomed by the chef, who would (in my fantasies) come out of the kitchen for me, his most adventurous customer. "Ach," would say the chef, "You are always such a delightful, unpredictable person. I revel in the fantastic flights of creativity to which you inspire me!" And I would try every dish on the menu.

Until the day came when I walked into my favorite Arlington Thai place, and the waitress greeted me by name, showed me to my favorite table, and, giggling, said, "OK, I get you your panang now, OK?"

To my abject horror, I was in a rut.

I stuttered and got a menu, and ordered a pad Thai even though I don't like pad Thai and wasn't eating chicken at the time, because it was different gawdammit and I was going to be unique.

I swore I'd never be in a rut again. At least not foodwise.

Here in Eugene, I read a blog post by a parishioner in which she references the Oscar Meyer wiener song. Being overcome by the desire for a hot dog (I usually never eat hot dogs and don't really like them all that much, but sometimes, desire is inexplicable and visceral, and I am very sorry), I headed across the street to the closest place I know for hot dogs: Dickie Jo's.

Dickie Jo's holds a special place in my heart. On my interview weekend, the priest-in-charge took me and Martin there, and I walked in, and saw an entire row of jars and jars of Siracha sauce. In Connecticut, people make fun of me for my deep love of Siracha, and here it was IN PUBLIC. My heart sang, and my spirit rejoiced. And they have an excellent veggie burger. Since then, Dickie Jo's and I have had a very special sort of relationship.

Today, I walked in, and the counter staff's eyes light up and they greet me and start pulling out the water glass and say, "The veggie burger for you today?" And I shuffled my feet and stared at my grey cowboy boots in shame, and discovered...

I now have a food rut here in Eugene.

And I stammered out, "Actually, no, I'm here for a hot dog today. And no fries."

That'll show them how wildly adventurous and creative I am.

Advent Waiting

2011-12-03T15:54:00.000-08:00

Last year's Christmas Card, captioned "Because Advent Waiting is Different for Everyone". This is the Countdown to Christmas Nativity set, which encourages adding extra animals. M took it on himself to add the Red Tide.

Advent means different things to everyone. This year, we are in a new state on a new coast. We've moved about as far away from our earlier life as you could while still remaining in one country.

Advent this year is a welcome new year. No more grad school or board certification interviews. No more proving ourselves. Just some time to just be.

With apologies for the crummy picture, this is one of the coolest Nativity sets ever. (It flips over to become a Lent set.)

Advent comes just before Christmas. This one is tough, because I usually like giving and receiving gifts. My favorite way is "family unit gifts" where each family unit gives something to the other family units, to enjoy as a group. Cookies, a Wii game, something like that. But this year I just have no energy for shopping or sending. I don't even have energy to drag the Countdown Nativity set out, and I love the Countdown Nativity set. I want to sit in my de-cluttered, minimally decorated living room with non-seasonal knitting and drink non-Christmassy drinks like gin and tonics and watch zombie shows on TV.

I love Advent and I love the quiet time my parish is setting up. I love the work. I love the season. I just don't have any energy at all for the secular side of it this year- the Christmas tree and the spending and the eating and all that.

I wonder if I have gone Full Scale Scrooge, or if I'm having some sort of reaction to the overselling from merchants since September. I confess I want to go to Nordstroms partly because they refused to decorate until after Thanksgiving. And I refuse to shop at Best Buy this year because they wrote about how much they wanted to stay closed on Thanksgiving but felt pressure from other retailers to open. (My response: have some balls, Best Buy, and stay closed, and tell people about it.)

In the meantime, I am enjoying my quiet Advent day of reflection (part of which included the reflection above) and am looking forward to heading home in a few hours to do some non-seasonal cooking.

Most interestingly, I played a role I think we had not anticipated: Quiet Day Chaplain. A solid handful of people came to talk quietly about some of the spiritual work they were doing today and it was some fascinating conversations indeed. On one hand, I feel I am so not qualified to be hearing these stories and confessions and wonderings and to be offering any kind of a response. But on the other hand, it's kind of what I felt like I was born to do- it was one of those days when things just fit.

I loved the Quiet Day part of Advent, and feel actually ready now for the season. Though still not ready for the shopping!

Perhaps I'll bake my famous Star Wars Christmas Cookies for the teens sometime this month. Nothing says Christmas like a Darth Vader cookie with peppermint royal icing on the back, right?

Oh, yeah! Just try to tell me you don't feel the holiday spirit coursing through you already.

Facebook is Creepy

2011-11-28T12:22:00.000-08:00

So I've been struggling with Facebook for a little while now. On one hand, it is exceptionally useful for staying in touch with my far-flung family and friends. I love other people's baby pictures and birthday parties, and now that I'm way away on the west coast, I need my fix.

On the other hand, I started my profile for work and have always viewed it as work. I have at times fallen victim to the Overshare Mentality, but I hope that sites like STFUParents will cure me of my tendency to imagine that my life is all that interesting. (Just read the Storytime tags if you need to be cured.)

I discovered late yesterday that people could see more of "my" stuff than I'd realized. Thanks to that annoying feed at the side of the screen, this total stranger could see a personal message my teenage cousin posted on my wall. I've also discovered that even though I have very strict privacy controls on my account, it doesn't prevent things from showing up if others don't have those controls. I set all pictures of my nieces and nephews to be visible only to certain family members. But I found that if my brother doesn't do that, the pictures still go in the public feed. And then pictures of my baby niece can end up... in that annoying public feed at the side of the screen.

I find that creepy. Why on earth would any stranger be interested in the adorable picture of my very, very cute curly haired niece is beyond me. I know, I love babies as much as anyone else... but this is a STRANGE baby in a STRANGER'S HOME.

Let's have a little demo:
Appropriate Knowledge for Strangers: knowing that I am married and have no kids.
Response: Let's chat about the weather.
Inappropriate Knowledge for Strangers: knowing what kind of cake my nephew ate for his birthday party.
Response: Ohmygawd, Creepy Stalker! (Roundhouse kick to the head.)

Facebook just doesn't seem able to get that... and with every permutation of their site, they seem to share more and more and more public information. (No, I really don't care what articles my friends read in their online daily local newspaper.)

That explains why I un-familied all my family. I no longer have Facebook cousins, siblings, aunts or uncles, or a mom. Sorry, mom. I'm hoping that maybe this will keep things from showing up in that annoying public feed.

As a priest, I live a weirdly public life. I get that. I accept it. I knew what I was getting into when I signed on to this. I need to know what my Bishop looks like and to have an easy, casual way to drop a line. I do not need to know what his brother's kitchen looks like or what his nephew eats for breakfast.

This is the line in the sand that Facebook is crossing.

Facebook is supposed to be about small talk and chit chat. It crosses a line when it surmises that all relationships are equal. This just isn't true. Relationships are essentially different- what I tell my best friend is radically different than the sort of news I'll share with a work colleague or my sister.

Because at the end of the day, I signed up for this. I knew what I was getting into. My family supports me (mostly), but they didn't sign up for the public life. They didn't sign up to have their baby pictures viewed by strangers in North Dakota. They didn't sign up to have people who are interested in what sort of bread they baked or their theological views on the Rt. Rev. Budde's ordination vestments (my take: the woman needs a good tailor for her vestments, but her command of the cardigan is admirable). They didn't even really get a choice as to whether or not they would be my family (mostly).

So I have no more Facebook family, in the hopes this might protect them a little more. Facebook is rapidly becoming the virtual equivalent of the unwelcome drunken neighbor at the Christmas party- the one who brays on in a loud voice in the corner and who we all secretly hope will just either leave or fall asleep in the corner before she embarrasses herself anymore.

Bike! Turkey! Stuffing!

2011-11-24T22:59:00.000-08:00

As I was drifting in and out of sleep this morning, I was dreaming. I had gotten up as day was dawning to peep out the window- and saw plenty of nice clear sky.

Not the view outside my window, but a similarly clear day. (Spencer Butte, if you want to go there yourself.)

Clear sky makes me excited.

Dawn makes me tired. So I went back to bed and back to sleep for a bit. But I was drifting in and out of dreams.

First I dreamed it was bright and sunny, and in the dream I took my bike out. Sadly, I replaced the wheels with manhole covers and the handling was terrible. That'll teach me not to watch Mythbusters too late at night. Thanks, Adam, for the manhole cover flat tire fix.

Then I dreamed it was raining. I spent that dream putting on all my rain gear and explaining to a duck why it was a good idea to go riding. The waterfowl in my dreams was quite disapproving.

Also not outside my window, but demonstrating the amount of rain in the dream.

Then I dreamed it was bright but there were leaves coming down everywhere, burying me and my bike so I couldn't move. Then I woke up enough to realize I was smothering myself in the comforter. Rearranged, I went back to sleep...

Real Tree in Oregon.

Where it was raining again. This time, I decided to take my MTB out and ride trails except I couldn't find my way to the trails so I spent all the dream on the road, on a MTB. Honestly, that's almost nightmare territory.

Ultimately, when I finally did wake up, it was bright and sunny for real. It was also 37 degrees. This explains why I was wearing bright pink longjohns under my jersey and jacket, but I was cozy as a bug in a rug.

(No photos of pink long johns.)

I rode a 20 mile figure 8- down from my house to the Fern Ridge path, then on to the 10-mile loop the tri club did all summer, and then up around 18th. I love the 10 mile loop since it's scenic, flat and fast.

End of the Fern Ridge Path, looking in the direction of Sisters, which you could see with your eyes
(but not with a camera).

The distorted car cracks me up.

Sadly for me, my front chain ring is locked up again. The cable is super-tight. I know HOW to fix it, but I lacked the finger strength and dexterity in the field.

So I rode that puppy home, on the big ring, in one speed. That's right- stuck on my big ring, going into the HILLS.

Thank you for existing, Thanksgiving.

By the time I got back, some terrible movie about taxidrivers who beat people up was on. I enforced Holiday TV Law and got the channel changed to the Macy's parade and the Dog Show and football. I was saving The Ten from himself, really. Then I made a huge pot of pumpkin pastina risotto and The Ten (M) and I went over my boss' family's house and we shared a fabulous Thanksgiving meal.

My go-to hostess gift this season: English Cabbage Pickles.

I can never eat anyone else's green beans again. Those were de-lish-ious. Wow.

We also discovered Charlotte Russe and Secret Ingredient Pumpkin pie. We played Creationary and I knitted. We discussed the website to go to in order to sign up for the Jingle Bell Run. There are several distance options, but I'm going to 5K this one, since I'm not running it for a PR. We are going to get The Boss his first PR.

Looking forward to going outside again tomorrow!

Ditching Black Friday, Football Loyalty, and Thankful for...

2011-11-24T00:00:00.000-08:00

http://kathybagioni.com/?p=119My mom posted something on her blog about Black Friday. She gives you a helpful guide for how to get the most out of the day.

I pointed out that the greatest skill on Black Friday is the ability to harden one's hard to the consistency of sandstone. You know, easy to scratch (so you can feel the bloodlust of the stuff you are at the store in pursuit of) but hard enough to hurt (because you'll need to be dispassionate enough to sucker-punch your own grandmother if she gets to a deal before you).

Poor grandmother. It goes without saying that no one in my family would ever approve of sucker-punching one's grandmother at any time. I imagine it would have a seriously detrimental effect on one's future ability to be fed soda and pie.

Years ago, my favorite part of Thanksgiving, was cheering football. True, basketball season meant we got to do more interesting stunts and routines, but I have always preferred the football season. The cheer uniforms were cuter, we got to use our giant size poms, and I just like the game better. Quite aside from it being great fun, it usually meant I could justify more pie.

These days, my football loyalties have settled on the U of O Ducks and the Redskins of my beloved DC. My other dedication in football is leading the charge on Anti-Patriot-ism. I loathe the Patriots with a deep dark loathing deep in my heart and I don't care how well you think Tom "Same Haircut as Justin Bieber" Brady plays. My new dream in life is to corrupt my Junior Warden's daughter. He loves the Patriots and is leading her down that dark path. There may still be hope for her soul.

In the category of things I am thankful for, I'm definitely obeying the orders of a friend of mine to enjoy the use of my legs. She would definitely want me to get out there tomorrow morning and bike or run somewhere and enjoy it. So I give thanks for a functional body (even with that persistently achy and tight hip- where's my foam roller!) and might go run the Holli tomorrow. (That's my 5K route that I named after her.) I want to go on a little bike ride, but I'm a little leery of the many wet leaves down and scared of imminent crashes. The Ten (formerly M) went running with me today for a 28 minute 5K.

And you know what? I'm thankful that my life consists of having tomorrow off duty. I'm thankful for friends who come from the entire political and religious spectrum and actually like all of them for reasons that have nothing to do with their politics or religion. I'm thankful to be among the community here in Eugene, and to work with awesome people in what might be the happiest parish I have ever been in.

There's a lot to be thankful for this year.

1:00:00 wall... bye bye.

2011-11-20T14:15:00.000-08:00

For the record...

58:14 for today's 10K. I appeared a little sad (ok, extremely sad) at the finish, as I misunderstood the clock and thought the clock was my official time. (I came through at 1:11:something.) The clock, however, showed the time for the HALF MARATHON.

So for a long time, I was all downtrodden and sad thinking I had run a 1:11-plus 10K. (And I had thought I was pacing so WELL today!)

Man, am I glad I decided to check the posted race results up near the EWEB building, as I wanted to know my exact time to post in my great sadness. I went to the results and just couldn't find my name anywhere in the 1:11's.

Then my speed-reading eyes caught a glimpse of my last name... on the next page up. I had found M's name next to a time of 1:00:04! I had come through a few minutes ahead... so hardly daring to hope, I raised my eyes a little higher...

And started squealing like a little girl! There it was- 58:14!!!

Whoo hoo!

Salve for the soul on this weekend when the Ducks lost (so sad!) and Stanford won (meaning the Ducks lost twice because the league championship was gone, gone, gone) and the Redskins were run over the Evil Cowboys.

Now to sign up for the next race... my boss is soon to run his very first 5K.

Home Improvement and that 1:00:00 10K Wall

2011-11-19T15:44:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, I am planning to run the EWEB Race to Stay Warm 10K. I know I am super-serious about this race because I passed up the opportunity to buy the T-shirt for $25 extra dollars. I am once more chasing my 10K 1:00:00 wall. At Nation's, I was 1:00:05, so I can taste a sub-1:00 10K. If I can avoid the cramps and keep well fueled, I'll be good. I hope.

Meanwhile, I have been sort of busy on vacation. In addition to sleeping very late, staying in my jammies until irresponsible hours, reading two books so far, and reactivating my dormant Netflix account, I finally decided to be responsible enough to clean the bathroom and mop the floor. Such is the sexy life of the Vagabond, who has not yet located a well-recommended cleaning service here in Eugene.

I have a few actual big projects, though.

Several months ago, the Pilgrimage class held a Parking Lot Sale as their big fundraiser. It has brought in over $4400, and I scored a leather couch and this.

Its general vibe is Man-Cave Spec-TACK-ular. The price was right ($4) and the wood was solid, but I knew from the moment I saw it that it would get refinished like nobody's business.

I like the look and character of wood, and I didn't want to bother replacing the smoky grey tempered glass, so I decided to strip the finish and thought of going to bare wood and re-staining, perhaps in a driftwood grey. You know, all beachy and boho in my discombobulated house.

The large square block is the top of my pulpit-bookcase. While I'm still waiting for the shelves to turn up and considering if it should be a pulpit-winerack-bookcase, the stripping cream worked like a charm on that piece, and it came out perfectly. I stained it a lovely reddish brown, and a little polyurethane later, it is simply glowing with coolness.

Three further applications of goop to the coffee table later and I had concluded that the previous stain job was just never going to get me to bare wood. The stain had penetrated unevenly. Not only was the stain uneven, but to get to bare wood, I'd either need serious patience, or decent power tools. I have little patience, and my power tools consist of a drill.

When I did previous projects, I had a nearby father who owned several lifetimes worth of power tools. And I always suspected he snuck into his workshop between visits and did touchups on spots I missed. With no dad here to do that, it was all me and my coffee table.

This was after much sanding and goop applications. It was never going to be stainable again.

So I set up for Plan B in my dedicated home improvement space:

Why, yes, that IS my dining room. I have since de-cluttered the hutch a little.

And everyone needs good lighting for the sewing machine...

Like the kitchen.

This is hard-core home improvement, people. All you slackers with dedicated workrooms and garages... fear me. Martha Stewart already does. And that weeping sound you hear is my poor sainted mother wondering how she gave birth to a child who thinks it is proper to sew in the kitchen.

I wonder if my mom realizes I laid out her quilt on my kitchen counter? That is a HARD-WORKING COUNTER, there, babies.

Then I went to Lowe's and picked out several delightful colors of paint. I had gotten a nice fabric to replace the magazine sling with. Bye-bye ugly leather-and-canvas man-cave thing. I have a print now. As always with paint, it took several trials to figure out which one would actually WORK in my space. The lighting at Lowe's is totally different than here. So what looked like a soft driftwoodsy grey there was gun-metal here. And that cranberry red was actually hot pink translucent. (Ew.)

I settled on what had been a beigey brown there that actually is a grey with brown undertones- exactly what I was shooting for but didn't look like it.

It may also be that the paint guy is clueless and screwed up. But it worked.

The primer was $8. But I was able to get a sample size of paint- those little half-pint sizes you can get for $2.94. So total for the project was under $10.

And here is our "new" coffee table.

Ever put up a photo and realize that you didn't clear the background of said photo AT ALL? Like this.

The couch and the table. Ahhh.

Cue the whining from all those who will tell me how I bastardized the beautiful wood and destroyed the character of the man-cave classic. I'm just pleased that now I have a coffee table I can live with that fits the house. Next up- replacing the Ikea Poang footstool with storage cubes and demonstrating the power of design to my poor addled husband who doesn't understand the grievous visual impact of clashing wood.

Vagabond Vacation

2011-11-17T10:48:00.000-08:00

I guess we must be into those famous grey days here in Oregon. It rained yesterday, hard enough that I actually looked at the rain boots. I think it might not be a bad idea to get a pair. I DO have Wellies, but those are Serious Hardcore wellies- green and everything- and hardly suitable for running errands. But if you need anyone to muck out your horsestall, call me. I am so your girl.

While on vacation I have been doing home improvement projects. Among others things, we still haven't hung many pictures and I still have most of my jewelry sitting in a canvas shopping bag, as my jewelry holder was destroyed in the move. (Oh, packers, how efficiently destructive you are.) My projects for these two weeks:

-replace jewelry holder, hopefully by making one from repurposed items around house. This is not because I am design savvy but because I am frugal.

-refinish the coffee table.

Found at the Parking Lot Sale for 4$, we are trying to take this from Man Cave to Living Room.

-make cover for the piano, finally ceding the win to the cats and admitting they will always jump on my piano no matter where it is.

They love jump on my piano with their dusty little feet. It doesn't matter where it is located.

-knit rag rug.

So far, so good. This is made from the duvet cover that the kitties tore a hole in. Hmmm... since getting married, between M and the cats, my things have a much shorter life expectancy. Boys are destructive.

Bike riding is a little complicated at the moment. After the last crash resulted in crutches and a bruise that lasted over a month, I find myself in the usual stage of post-crash road-shy. I have had all three bikes out since the crash, but in the last week, the leaves have finally started coming down in earnest. I'm a little nervous about hitting a patch of leaves and wiping out. Of course, on wet roads and wet leaves, the road rash probably wouldn't be that bad. But what about the Giant Black Dogs of the Leaf Piles? You know, the ones lying in wait in leaf piles to leap up and devour hapless little girls who jump into the leaf piles.

I might always suspect that was just a myth made up by a mean neighbor who didn't want me jumping in his leaf piles on the way home from school.

And on wet trails... between mountain lions and those steep drop offs, I think I'll wait to ride with buddies for a bit.

On Sunday, I'm running the EWEB Race to Stay Warm. There's a 5K, 10K, and Half-marathon option. I picked the 10K with the aim of finally breaking my 10K 1:00 hour wall. My last 10K was 1:00:05. Just five seconds off, and that was after a 40K bike and in hot sun with humidity. This is looking to be cool, and I'll be fresh. Unfueled morning 5Ks are running me at 27-29 minutes these days, so I think this bodes well.

Life in the Southwest Hills: Running, no Bricks

2011-11-14T15:40:00.000-08:00

I live in the southwest hills . This means I live a little higher than regular Eugene, up a few hills. This bodes wells for many things.

Among other benefits, the zombies in the zombie apocalypse will have to climb hills to get to my place, which I think means that I stay safer longer. Plus, I have a great view. Of the hills, I mean, not of the zombies which don't exist. But if they did, I'd have a great view of them, too.

I also have "running buddies" like these...

These are the wild turkeys which live in the woods surrounding my complex.

I took off on a run this morning not running for time or distance, but just to get the pre-vacation jitters out. You know, the ones you get when you feel very ready yet totally unprepared for vacation. So I went out and up the hills. My regular 5K route goes downhill and loops into the flats, meaning the cooldown portion (post 5K) is the only bit that goes back uphill. So going up the hills in the beginning means I run even higher into the hills and end up covering some very, very steep territory.

Today was 50 degrees out so a decent day.

I need to get some swim time in- so far, I think we only have pool access at 6AM Wednesday and 7AM Saturday and I am realizing that I just really hate those kinds of hours. Argh. But I need the swim time, so I might not have a choice, eh?

Bike time is decent. I took the Bambino out on the roads the other day. With a saddle adjustment (coming forward about an inch and a half), I feel much more balanced and centered... I'm back to lifting the Bambino over obstacles like train tracks and curb bumps. I have lost all faith in my ability to either cross tracks or bunny hop curbs on the Bambino, ever. I think Bambino needs to stay two wheels to the ground at all times, period. It was a fast ride, though- my computer showed me pacing 18mph plus most of the way.

The eating tracking has also been interesting. I'm discovering that I have no problem with carbs, but keeping my fat low is a challenge. It's very easy to think "Cheese! Nuts! Protein!" and not just protein, but TASTY protein! Of course, the healthy thing to do is to throw some chicken breast on my salad, but here's the thing... I just don't like chicken breast all that much. It's not that I won't eat it... it's just not what I think of eating, given the choice.

What I do think of eating are sandwiches. Perhaps a nice cheese sandwich. And what's a pizza but an open faced cheese sandwich smeared with pureed vegetables?

Sadly, that kind of thinking, while accurate according to the statistics that I make up, is not cutting it with the hard, cold, thoroughly unfeeling app on my phone that tells me that pizza has too much fat and carbs for me to call it a good protein source.

This kind of cold hard truth is making it very difficult to figure out what to eat these days. But I had so better benefit from it come Sunday, when I run EWEB's Race to Stay Warm.

Going to Convention as an Honest Woman

2011-11-10T08:48:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned that I'm running the EWEB 10K on the 20th, along with several other triclub members? Yeah. I'm chasing that sub-1:00 10K wall yet again. I'm 5 seconds away... just 5 seconds! Which means I need to eat well, since the lighter I am, the faster I am. Meanwhile...

I am going to Diocesan Convention this afternoon. It's where the Diocese (the geographic collection of a bunch of Episcopal Churches) gets together to hobnob with our cool Bishop (who wears Vans), hear some presentations, have some fellowship, and vote on various resolutions that will hopefully help govern our common life. I'm not canonically resident at this point- meaning the Bishop of Connecticut is still the Bishop in charge of me- but Oregon has given me "courtesy of the floor" which means I'll be able to at least sit with the uber-cool delegation from St. Mary's.

They decided that they'd wear Ducks sweaters one day. So now I have to go visit a parishioner who works at the Duck Store and get her to help me pick out an awesome Ducks sweater. My job is so awesome like that.

I also cleaned my kitchen counters today so it looks so clean and tidy and I feel like a Responsible Adult. SCORE!

In other news: I've been tracking what I eat this week. Loseit has really updated its app which makes it a hundred times easier to use. (The last time I tried it, I had to enter things like tempeh as "custom foods".) I've also discovered Sparkrecipes where I can enter some of my own recipes from home, and it'll give me the break down. So far, it's been helping me to decide if it's time to throw in more tofu to that dish or not.

Usually, it is.

Luckily, I love tofu. As in, I'll eat it raw right out of the package.

Please don't judge me.

I was happy at the nutrition consult to discover I was down a solid 7 pounds from my all-time-high weight in CT. (It is such a sad number I won't even share, but let's just say my loosest pants were too tight and my favorite pants were hopeless.) So over the winter, I'm hoping to slowly let my weight settle at a healthy sustainable number... one where I can maintain a healthy number without too much pain.

For the record, that is about 40% carbs, and 20% fat, and 30% protein. So far, my best day was yesterday when I hit 50% carbs, 25% fat, and 25% protein. It's a work in progress.

And now I will go to Convention, where I shall endeavor to eat according to plan while eating convention food.

What Triathlete Priests Do As Winter Approaches

2011-11-07T21:48:00.000-08:00

The other week, I went to Sisters, OR for a retreat with the ECW.

This is what Lake Suttle looks like. And yes, I did think: Open water... running trail... wide open roads...
who else is thinking TRAINING SERIES?

We focused on the theme of miracles, led by a lovely retreat leader. She's a novelist. I am constantly amazed at the incredible people here. It goes to show that my psyche is settling down... and perhaps how warped my evil brain had become. Working in the trauma hospitals for the last 4 or so years, I had started to think that everyone who came in was insane and/or hiding a meth addiction, at least. I had lost my perception of normal. Trauma hospitals really do warp your sense of reality.

I'd forgotten there were normal people out in the world. Being back in the "regular world", is like finally taking a deep breath after swimming under water for a while.

I do love chaplaincy... but I'm not called to general medicine. Hmm... it's an interesting project, figuring out how to live out one's call as a chaplain when certain avenues of chaplaincy are closed and one still loves the parish. I mean, you really can't beat the flexible schedule and the fun to be incredibly creative with the writing and the teaching. And how many jobs come with a soundtrack of little kids playing music down the hall? The jingle bells may be cacophonous, but they are not boring.

On the way home from the Sisters retreat, I took the chance to drive over the McKenzie pass. Each winter, the pass closes due to snow. Each spring, they open the pass to cyclists about a month before it opens to cars. I wanted to see how steep it was and think about which angle I might want to approach it from. I'm thinking a Sisters approach and descent off the other side. I don't know if this is kosher, and I'm sure real hard core climbers would go up and down both sides, stopping only on the top for a drink of mountain-fresh rain water.

Lava fields! Sisters is a bunch of volcanoes! I live near volcanoes now!

Heck to that. I would climb up, sit down at the top, and eat me a sandwich. Then I'd descend the other side, rack my bike, and go home and devastate every carbohydrate in the town of Eugene.

Anyway... now that tri season is officially in the "getting ready for next season" stage, we have officially joined the Multisport Advantage training center. I went to TRX class the other day and Coach Cristina taught me a move called "The Pike". You put your feet in straps, put your hands on the ground, and pull your hips up so your body is in the shape of a V, while you envision yourself in Cirque Du Soleil. I wish I could blame my pathetic performance on my still-sore hand and elbow, but the reality is that my abs are mush these days. That might have been the single most painful ab exercise I have done since high school.

For the winter, my goal is to try to whittle the rest of this CT pudge. I'm down a solid seven pounds since we moved, and that was eating like a horse. (I tried eating Paleo style, but with the endurance work, I really needed those carbs. There's just no other way to fuel for long bike rides and runs.) So I had a nutrition evaluation. The Coach gave me the sad news that chocolate-chip-yogurt-bowls aren't necessarily the BEST idea every night, and so I'm going to be virtuous for a while.

For a lecture, one parishioner made this for dessert.

For the Needle Arts Guild Potluck, I made these. (Crustless quiche cups).

Oh, virtue, I suffer so.

St. Mary's Project: Update

2011-11-03T09:45:00.000-07:00

Just a quick update:

The gracious note we received. You are welcome to stop by if you'd like to see it as well.

We've received word from Concerns of Police Survivors via a lovely thank you note from another survivor that the St. Mary's check was received and that it would help many people. I had the chance to touch base with another member of the COPS organization who could tell me a little more about how the monies have gone directly to helping the Kilcullen family. Ofc. Kilcullen's widow has already been sent to the spouses' retreat, and COPS is getting ready to send her and her family to National Police Memorial Week in May. The money St. Mary's donated is helping make that easier.

One of the elements of this project that I loved is how many people from all over the parish donated: there were people who donated who are not necessarily fans of police and who question constantly the role of law enforcement because this is Eugene and questioning authority is just a fact of life... but they still donated to this project because they felt strongly about supporting a family in our community, and because they believe that God would want them to reach out to others who suffer.

I think we are tremendously lucky in our Eugene officers. And I am tremendously lucky to have been called to be a part of this community where we can disagree on philosophy, but still come together to do to others what we would want others to do for us.

The Scariest Ride Of My Life: Oregon, MTB style

2011-10-22T14:05:00.000-07:00

So, last year after my first big-girl tri (Nation's Tri, 2010), the Team in Training coaches advised us to take the fall and just do fun stuff. The coach told me to not run (as I had been suffering all summer) and maybe try something like mountain biking.

I first took my hybrid up to West Hartford's Reservoir, and decided to try the extra off road bit that went beyond the paved path. That was when I discovered the miles of unpaved trails at the Reservoir. On that first day, I kicked the butt of two macho guys on fancy MTBs who thought they were the hottest of the hot until they got their tails whupped in the first climb by the chick on the hybrid.

The hybrid was all wrong for real trail riding, though- the wheels were too slick and the handle geometry just wrong. So I borrowed my brother's MTB. Eventually, I traded him a computer and kept the mountain bike for mine, all mine.

And then we moved to Oregon. I spent the summer riding roads with the tri club and Hutch's and Martin and some new friends like UberCyclist and SuperCruiser and all by myself... and finally, along came fall.

Today dawned bright and blue and clear. I'd been doing some light running so I was feeling pretty hearty. Well, yesterday I had my first TRX class ever and our tri coach kicked my butt. Wow. I think maybe I might have strained that right leg muscle a little more than I thought because those plank moves... ahoy. But still, today = bright and clear and it would have been a sin to stay inside. Besides, I also have a sermon to finish for tomorrow. While the research is all done, I just couldn't think of a focus. Often, I find the bike ride offers clarity to sermons. So I frequently go riding or sometimes running to bust out of a homiletic rut.

Today I went to Dilliard. I have written before of my love for the Dilliard trail- mostly flat with a little rolling that makes you feel like rockstar.

M dropped me off, and I climbed onto my trusty Trek and discovered that Dilliard had transformed itself into a mountain. A giant, scary mountain. That first gentle incline was a sheer rock wall and the gravel spread was actually composed of ginormous boulders. At least, that was what I thought. Thus began the Scariest Ride of My Life.

Once I had hiked up that first incline and found a relatively flat space, I got back on and started rolling. Did you know that my friendly Dilliard Street trail is really a narrow rut jutting out over a steep hill covered in rocks and lush greenery full of mountain lions and downed trees? Let's just say that the hill, which I previously found charming, unnerved me a little today. Terrified, even.

I had to pull over twice to allow small children and their parents to pedal their own MTBs past me. The six-year-old little boy shouted something that sounded like, "WHEEEEEE, YAY, DADDY! HI, LADY!" But I'm sure he meant, "WATCH OUT FOR THE HAIRPIN SWITCHBACK TURN AND THE GIANT BOULDERS! WE"RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

These Oregon children are so charming.

In the end, I rode to Dilliard and back, and then took the other side of the loop and back. Hey, guess what? It's a loop trail, after all! Yeah!

Oregon MTB riding is totally unlike East Coast (ahem, Connecticut) riding. What I used to think was a MTB ride is actually what Oregon considers the kiddie park. I'm getting schooled in a whole new level of riding out here. It definitely shakes me out of my comfort zone. It's unlike road riding or any sort of trail riding I've done before- where I was used to hitting a zone and just zooming high speed because there were no bumps or serious drops to worry about, I find my hands locked on those bars, steering a little twitchily while I navigate around that tree stump and try to keep my eyes focused on the path and not on the 15 foot drop to my left.

I'm sure as I get acclimated, I'll relax and get used to it. And Dilliard will be back to my favorite trail in no time.

Oh, and by the way... yeah, I think that sermon focus came through after all.

A New Sense

2011-10-17T13:22:00.000-07:00

It happened again. The latest "brand new cochlear implant, watch this person hear for the first time ever" video. Sure, you can watch it here. (Disclaimer: The woman in the video is a real person who also keeps a blog (which I won't link to unless she is ok with that, but you can find it through the video links), and she seems brainy and passionate and positive- all things which make for interesting human beings, and which do go to show that different people have different experiences. End disclaimer.)

The video was posted by a lovely, passionate friend of mine who posts really interesting stuff. She's posted a lot on the very interesting, if baffling, Occupy Movement.

I hate these cochlear implant turn-on videos. They make me angry. (Even if the person in the video seems to have a great time.) I have a cochlear implant, and indeed it has transformed the way I live my life. I can talk on a phone, hear people from another room, and watch TV or listen to the radio without needing captions. (I still use captions, though, mostly because I am exceptionally lazy.)

But I never had that moment of bliss at first activation. Sound was not beautiful. Indeed, for months afterwards, I really couldn't understand sound at all. I was implanted at 20 after a long, slow progressive loss. I suspect that by the time I was implanted, I had lost most of my memory of sound. Besides, there were new noises in the world. Computers make a high pitched hissing sort of sound. I was just a little kid when I started losing my hearing, and we didn't have computers then. I never knew that computers made that sound. When I was "turned on", at first, I couldn't hear people speaking over the noise of the computers. It took me months to figure out what "loud" and "soft" was.

I remember watching a singer on TV and asking my mother if she was singing high or low. For a musician like me, this was enraging. It took months of playing scales to begin to re-learn pitch.

I hate the videos of activation because it seems to show that the patient suddenly understands everything. Comprehension is far from instant. Thankfully, my dad had warned me that I might be turned on and experience a wave of "What the hell have I done to myself?" I was indeed turned on and had precisely that thought.

Sound sucked.

It was a huge let down from what I was expecting. Really, over the last 12 years, my most common thought about the miracle of sound has been, “Are you serious? How did you people ever evolve?” A close second is the overwhelming urge I have to smash those annoying little serenity fountains… which hearing person ever decided that the constant fake bubble of running water was soothing?

Forget "I love you". I still remember the first word I understood. Figuring out what speech was took literally months. Cars driving by or the dishwasher running sounded exactly like a voice. But one day, shortly before I left for England, I was at dinner with my family, and my sister asked for the ketchup. That was the first word I understood, "ketchup". (Sometimes I wonder if my 9-years-younger sister knows that her voice was the first one I ever really understood...)

In England, I continued to struggle to understand what speech was... until one day, I was traveling with friends in Scotland. We were hosteling around on a bus tour, and we were in a town, surrounded in a pub by tall burly men with really nice biceps. (Yes, I do love that about Scotland.) And suddenly, it was like something clicked, and abruptly, I began to understand speech. One moment, I couldn't, and it was literally like someone flipped a switch. To this day, the Scottish accent sounds like home to my ear.

But simply having a cochlear implant did not put me on level footing with anyone else. Sometimes I get frustrated with people who try to explain racial discrimination to me, with the assumption that because my skin is white, I don’t understand what it’s like to be a minority. I would argue that as a deaf person, I know exactly what that is like to be one in a million.

I’ve been watching Occupy Wall Street news as the protests have spread and gone global. I’m not jumping on board the protest conga line for a few reasons. First and foremost, I’m a priest who serves as a police chaplain. I have always seen my role as choosing my public causes very carefully. “My” officers and deputies deserve to feel like I’m a safe person. There are some causes I am willing to put my name and face to- like marriage equality which has a definite goal and which I see as the great civil rights cause of my era.

But Occupy? I am not troubled by the fact of protests, but I am troubled by the lack of direction. I am confused that the protestors don’t seem to be asking for anything, but just expressing their discontent. Expressions of discontent are fine, but at some point, we need to move beyond, to begin to ask for payback. The Civil Rights movement had specific goals: Separate but not equal is not good enough. We want to be served equally at a lunch counter. We want to ride sitting down on the bus. The Marriage Equality movement, I believe, will be successful because it also has specific goals: Domestic partnership is separate and unequal. We want marriage, to marry the person we love and to share the benefits society offers a couple who agree to live together under a formal contract.

Occupy lacks that focus. But I did see an interesting picture of a sign in my Facebook feed… it’s a common theme. The person wrote of how she was in debt from school and would have to take on $136,000 in law school debt if she were to follow her dreams, and how she no longer believes in the American Dream. You know, that idea that we can all achieve our dreams and live in comfort if we just work hard enough?

I guess that if Occupy wins its undefined cause tomorrow and life somehow in some unknown way gets better, they can achieve their American dream of opportunity for the qualified.

The American Dream has always been a lie to me. As a deaf person, I knew from the days I was a teenager that certain career paths were irrevocably closed to me. As I went into grad school and experienced the discrimination of the work place, I learned first hand that it is legal- completely legal- to deny me employment if you believe- without burden of proof- that I would be dangerous to my fellow employees. People, please... I'm a chaplain. I'm about as dangerous as a kitten, the really cute fluffy kind.

I’m not even dangerous on the tri course. (Well, except in Nation’s when I almost took out that poor Army girl, but I was getting hooked in the handlebars by a clumsy person behind me, so I’m off the hook, right?)

I knew a long time ago that this country would never offer me equality. I knew a long time ago that it would never matter how hard I worked… I’d always be a less-than.

I hate knowing that it’s legal for me to be a less-than, and that it seems like I will never be on equal footing as people in my position who have less education and certification… because they are not less-thans, and I am.

I wonder how anyone ever makes peace with that sort of injustice.

Healing and Waiting Stinks

2011-10-09T22:15:00.000-07:00

Saturday my tri club had a little watch party for the Kona Ironman. (It was also a fundraiser for one of our teammates who is heading to New Zealand for the World Championships next year. I hang out with hardcore people like that now.) I scheduled myself to ride in the middle of the bike leg (because bikes are the most fun, closely followed by transition. So far, the most useful stuff I have learned has been watching other people transition!), and ended up meeting a lot of new friendly people.

Tri club (and Eugene) in general has been fun just for the sheer number of friendly people round town. I think we've made more friends here in one summer than we did in CT in three years. (Sorry, CT.)

Mackenzie Madison, one of our local Eugene pros, was there on her bike. Another friend, John H, who is the guy going to the World Sprint Championships next year, described her actions as "punishing her bike". I think that is really quite an accurate description, and I say only that I bow to her. I'd love to get a chance to watch her race some day! Yes, Ms. Madison, I may go all fangirl geek on you. Sorry!

It was the first time doing any sort of real strenuous activity since the crash, which is going down in the books as the most annoying little crash ever. Seriously, a curb causes all this trouble? I had the interesting experience of watching my bruise change colors during the 1 1/2 hours I actually rode, with a number of stretch breaks. My hip was not too happy with the movement, and I don't think the compression of the bike shorts helps. On the bright side, I'm hopeful that getting blood moving around will be useful and helpful for the ultimate goal of "getting back to normal". I mean, how many weeks can I spend heating and massaging a giant bruise for?

Meanwhile, I took the chance to run through a few little diagnostics on my bike. Braking, shifting, cranks, pedals... all were pretty much okay (a few minor adjustments). Ultimately, it made a little once-over trip to the nice guys at Hutch's who cleared it for the road. They also confirmed my suspicions of a bent large chain ring, but the bend is very minor.

So it's all back to me having some serious conversations with a recalcitrant hematoma. For whatever reason my body is not responding to my demands of overnight healing. But I think that I'll have to work up to that via a week or so of yoga and pilates to stretch out all that sore tight crampy area.

One aunt is pretty concerned about late-breaking blood clots, which I have to admit I have witnessed, so it's not a smart thing to push it too much. On one hand, I have a bruise. On the other hand, it's a hematoma that at one point was the size of a watermelon. It's really annoying to be feeling better in most of one's body, but to have really stubborn painful sore spots in just one or two areas. I'd feel a lot more legit about this whole thing if I were feeling tip-to-toe crummy like I was a few weeks ago. Instead, it's just waiting and allowing the bruise to heal and the swollen bit to recede.

Yeah, I'm excellent at waiting.

Lucky for me, UberCyclist is dangling the carrot of playing with bikes and installing new bike computers. At least, that offers me something to work towards.

The Winter Plans

2011-10-05T22:13:00.000-07:00

So, I've been behaving like a vegetable the past few weeks. Kinda like this one...

Actual eggplant that came in our farm box. He looks both disheveled and startled. Note also the large schnoz.

It's been a little painful just to walk and sit... but I'm hopeful I can start slow jogs soon. The bruising is resolving. I've taken a few pictures, and even sent one to my mother. Several friends have asked for the pictures, so I cropped them as tightly as possible, and discovered...

Yes, there's a definite limit to the sort of picture I will share with anyone who didn't give birth to me. There's just no way to show off the awesome bruise with my dignity intact. Sorry, fans. Here...

It's actually looking kind of like this. Just imagine red and purple where you see the blue, and blue and purple edging where you see the red. Yeah, my bruise really does look kind of like the Crab Nebula. Isn't Hubble cool?

The bruise goes from the top of my hip to about three inches over my knee, and wraps from mid-front-thigh to mid-back-thigh. After a few days, a white line appeared in the shape of the curb, which is slowly filling in with mottled colors as I heat it with a heating pad and massage it every night.

The lump has gone from watermelon size to grapefruit size... but a large, California backyard grapefruit, like our friend Gil who has citrus trees in his backyard has.

This is one of Gil's trees- it's a grapefruit tree right next to a lemon tree.

This is about the size of three of my fists. And about the size of the lump on my leg.

So I am setting my goals for the winter. Among the measurable goals, I want to drop the last pounds of CT pudge by spring. So I'll be a lean, mean, machine. Which means I'll still be a squishy, cuddly, ball of charm. I'm a priest, people. I don't think I'm good at mean. It's why I do triathlon, and not rugby. I like being able to hug my competitors and take joy in their accomplishments.

Oh, that is such a fib. I get mad when I get beat, especially by M!

This Saturday, I'll be changing out the skewer on my bike to the indoor trainer skewer. We are joining our tri club's training center for the winter, for computrainer and fitness classes. We will also get some swim time in over the winter, so about 3 or so workouts a week, formally. I should also do some serious Pilates or yoga at home, because after this crash, I realized that I haven't been stretching enough. Back in Arlington when I was riding everywhere on my 30+ lb hybrid bike and having NO crashing whatsoever, I was a lot more flexible. Hmmm... this will probably be an exercise in pride-bustin', as I discover just how tight I've become. (But my quads and calves are awesome.)

I also want to do some trail running and maybe some MTB riding on the "easy" trails, which are "crazy steep" by East Coast standards.

If I do any trainer riding at home, it will probably be while I watch TV. I like to ride while watching cheesy sci fi and Bollywood. Don't judge. Some people vacuum their house in their skivvies! To each their own.

I wonder what you are doing this winter?

Walking Like A Little Old Lady

2011-09-30T09:50:00.000-07:00

For the Record:

After four very long, uncomfortable, annoying days of being non-weight-bearing on the injured leg, I got in to see the specialist. He looked at my X-rays, had me walk around, and said I could "wean slowly off the crutches at your discretion".

I nodded sagely and solemnly, and obediently put pressure on the injured leg, as I thanked him profusely and walked with the crutches out to my car.

Where I promptly threw them into the car, never to be touched again. I'd rather hobble for a bit. It feels VERY good to be back on two feet!

The injury was ultimately a HUGE hematoma. M calls it "zombie leg". The bruise is the size of a good-sized watermelon. At the highest point, it was about three inches high. From a vanity point, it is neat to feel so super skinny as my swollen leg makes the rest of me feel lean by comparison. The bruises right now are purple, blue, black, red, green, and yellow.

I'm off the bike for a few weeks, and off running until the swelling goes down.

Did you know that a hematoma apparently creates a sort of jelly-like stuff in the injured site as the blood congeals? So I get to massage it and use warm compresses to break it up and move it about. But it feels very strange to be hauling around a sack of jelly. Ew.

I will spare you pictures.

New Bike Name: The Bambino

2011-09-26T09:52:00.000-07:00

I have been chasing my road bike century for three years and attempts now. I rode my first century and long rides on my hybrid, back when I didn't know how crazy it was to ride 100 miles on a 30+ pound bike with suspension seatpost and fork.

Then M gave me a road bike for my 30th birthday. The first century attempt ended in a crash.

The second century attempt- a year later- ended with capitulation at mile 85 with mechanical failure.

The third attempt- at the very well organized "Cycle the Lakes" sponsored by the Cottage Grove Rotary Club- has also ended, at mile 66 with hitting a rogue curb. So far, it's just major, major bruising. As in, a hematoma the size of a large cantaloupe on my leg, three inches high at the height.

I have decided to name my poor bike. It shall now henceforth forever be known as the Bambino, as in, Curse of The.

In other news, the only reason I was able to actually ride this ride was because I begged my poor, long-suffering, and patient boss to have that Saturday off, and our sweet Rector Emeritus was happy to fill in at Circle Service (the alternative St. Mary's service) so I could ride.

Clearly, God is telling me to never ask for a day off unless it is already clear. If you have to ask the retired guy, it's a sign. DANGER! DANGER!

The Retired Guy was very happy to step up on Sunday morning to celebrate as well, so the Poor Long-Suffering Boss wasn't all alone. Also luckily, the Boss was preaching anyway, so it wasn't like I bailed on a sermon. Though as I pointed out, if I DID have to bail on a sermon, I'd have forwarded it, and the Boss could have read it for me.

Finally, the Boss brought communion over for me, which was very nice, as I really do love my little parish community and felt bad that I couldn't be there with them. But let me tell you... communion whilst on narcotics- WOW.

The initial reading was about how the elements are the body and blood of Christ for us, and through eating the bread and drinking the wine, we live forever. Basic Christianity 101, right?

In my loopy narcotic state, it struck me as the most patently ridiculous thing ever. I starting laughing uncontrollably, realizing that I spent my entire life working for an invisible dude in the sky that no one has conclusively proved even exists. I get paid to tell people that a little wafer of bread-like substance is a real symbol of their salvation by a Jewish dude who caused trouble. The entire premise on which I base my life and work is essentially insane. I mean, time travel has had more scientific investigation than this one!

And yet, I still believe it.

I'm also really glad that one of our hard-core scientists is going to do a Sunday Symposium on hard-core science and faith. It will be really cool.

Plans for Friday and Saturday

2011-09-22T22:32:00.000-07:00

Well, with total donations at over $1000, I think there is a swim in my future tomorrow, though I might also throw in a little light run if I"m feeling antsy. It's my day off and given the choice between laundry and running away from housework...

What would you choose? Yeah, that's right. Bye bye, laundry.

On Saturday, M and I are going to go Cycle the Lakes. We signed up for the century route. Considering that I haven't been training for distance at all (but for speed and a fast 40K), I'm not sure about the endurance distance. This wouldn't be my first century- just my first ROAD BIKE century. And it'll be M's first century!

I have just had no luck so far with centuries and my poor road bike- the first attempt landed me in the hospital in the Great Bike Crash of 2009. The second attempt was two weeks before my first Olympic tri, and I bowed out at 85 miles with 15 miles of rolling hills left to go and a locked up rear derailleur that left me stuck in my highest gear. (This episode was the deciding factor in the Great Bike Shop Break-up Of 2010.)

This year, I have my boys at Hutch's on my side, and I am madly in love with all of them and what they do for my bike. I have to upload a picture- they did new bar tape and it's SO pretty! Polka dots! Red and white! Shiny! Don't you love guys who understand their girls just want pretty shiny tough-girl bikes? Plus they straightened my rear derailleur after the TSA was done with it, reset my handlebars, and trued my wheels. It feels like riding through softened butter.

So the only thing between me and my first road bike century is going to be patience to gut it out and not get disheartened by all the pacelining bike clubs that will be going way faster than me and M.

In the meantime, I still reign as the toughest person in our house, since I rode my first few centuries on that hybrid, before I ever knew any better. That bike probably tops 30 lbs, what with the suspension fork and seat. I rode it all over Virginia before I ever really knew anything about bikes, with some of the most patient cop friends anyone could have. It was the bike that started this whole love affair/obsession with the two-wheeled contraption.

Total Funds Raised as of today...

2011-09-19T16:23:00.000-07:00

Our bookkeeper let me know that the funds raised total is updated: as of today, we have raised a little over $971 for our causes, Episcopal Relief and Development and Concerns of Police Survivors.

Our original goal was $600. So, yes, WOW, what an amazingly generous group of people do we know, in Eugene and across the planet. WOW!

Anyone want to push us over $1000 for the heck of it? I went 20.0 mph for all y'all! How about... donate $29 and I'll run hills for you? Better yet, donate $1000, I'll go swim two laps of Cottage Grove lake, and tell you how long it took and it'll be just like the cancelled swim leg! Except that Cottage Grove is beautiful and clean, and the Potomac is really gross and silty at the best of times. But otherwise, just like it!

The End of the Race for 2011: Disaster Narrowly Averted

2011-09-17T08:00:00.000-07:00

Coming into T-2, I was pretty excited. I've worked hard on my transition from bike to run and have it down pretty fast. I even have a little chant for myself: "Helmet-left-left-right-right-glove-glove-fooddrinkhat-go". It gets my helmet off, my shoes changed (that's the left-left-right-right), reminds me to take off my gloves, and gets me a snack. Kindergarten was the best year of my life ever- due to snacks. Snacks, I love thee. Total transition was a little over 2 minutes which includes running in and out of a huge transition area the size of three or four football fields!

At the end of the race with my ice-bath towel given to me by St. Towel of the Ice Bucket, Patron Saint of Tri volunteers. Look for his inclusion in the next Holy Women, Holy Men.

Now the run... always the toughest part. I was shooting for an under 1:00 10K, which I haven't gotten all summer. I tried and tried and tried. I thought that if I could hold down a 9:40 or better mile I could do fine. My miles last year were 10:42. At mile 1, charging down the Mall, I hit the first mile marker at 9:15. So I was actually ahead of my pace, and feeling strong. My dirty secret? I hum Hall and Oates "Maneater" to myself for the first mile to help me set a pace. It's a perfect pace song for me right now. I understand if you just can't respect me ever again.

I need insane amounts of motivation. And because my soul is always so sad and lonely and alone and neglected, I need a ridiculous amount of coddling from total strangers who've never seen me before in their lives to make me feel loved. So heading out of T-2, I started yelling to the crowd "Hey, cheer for Oregon! Cheer like you know me!" and people started cheering and yelling and that lasted me a while.

Then I saw a cop, and I yelled "GO EUGENE PD!" which I would shake up with "HEY! GO LANE COUNTY SHERIFF'S!" and that usually got me a whine of the sirens and some cheers from the cops on the route. Most of the cops seemed to be having fun. I mean, shutting roads for racing is super-easy overtime and usually terribly fun, with lots of nice people running by you. And we hadn't even swum this year, so we weren't covered in Potomac sludge!

Not the cops were fun, though. At least two separate guys were just sitting in their cars. I mean, come on, people, it's a race. Sitting in your car is B-O-R-I-N-G. Stand up and cheer on the racers! It's way more fun than sitting in your car. Chaplain Cuddles says, "Don't be a boring cop." Trust me. I care about your spiritual and emotional well-being.

Sadly for all of us in the universe, disaster struck just after mile 3 in the form of cramps. My entire abdomen decided that would be a great place to imitate wet rope. The cramps were quickly followed by the queasies, which is a problem because at that point, you don't want to eat and drink anything ever again.

Best cure for cramps? Taking in sodium and electrolytes! Which means me overcoming my stomach which is curled up in a fetal position begging me to never make it digest anything again. I was also well past the 3 mile aid station but had at least 7 minutes until I hit the 4 mile aid station. I pulled out my Margarita shot blox and started chowing down, doing my best to run through the cramps and hoping like hell that the sodium would loosen something up. It was a pretty miserable mile. (This is all I will say in this public venue about my mindset during mile 3-4.)

At this point, I will point out the humidity. It was pretty humid by now, and mile 3 was pretty sunny, so it's possible this was all a minor case of mild overheating.

As soon as I saw that Mile 4 aid station, I tore open my Clif Shot (mocha with 18X the amount of caffeine needed to power a small city) and sucked it down. I walked that station pretty slow. I threw two cups of water over my arms, a third over my head, sucked down a cup, and got two cups of Gatorade.

One person remarked on my right calf, which by this point was joining the cramp party. The whole calf was cramping so much that casual bystanders could see it knot up. Y.O.W.C.H.

This is probably what cost me that sub-1-hour 10K. But I managed to find a pace again as I came out. About 2 minutes out of Mile 4, the Shot Blox, Shot, and Gatorade worked their magic. The cramps thankfully eased up and movement became possible again.

Lesson learned yet again? Force the food and fluid on the run. You don't feel like it, but you need it unless you want to suffer greatly. I keep learning this one over and over and over.

"You hear that sound? That is the sound of Ultimate Suffering."

Ultimately, I came in at 1:00:05 for the 10K. It means I held down a fast-ish sub-9:30 pace on the good miles, and slowed way down during the Mile of Misery.

As I came out of mile 5, I saw a Bethesda firefighter ahead of me. She was in my age group. We'd chatted in the swim corral. I hadn't seen her at all through the bike ride, but she had a stronger, steadier run pace than me so she'd caught me on the run. She was slowing down a bit, though. I called out "Hey, Bethesda!" and she said hi, and we ran together and were within 5 seconds of each other down the finish chute. I might never see her again, but I definitely had a friend for this race! There's all sorts of cool people like that you meet in tri.

Coming through the chute. The white things on my arms, by the way, are arm coolers. They really do keep your arms much cooler, and helped a LOT during this hot run!

I came in strong through the chute. By this point I was definitely overheating- despite the arm coolers, my fingers were swollen up like sausages and the cramps were coming back. I'm just not acclimated to this humidity anymore! (Wanna know how swollen my fingers were? Part of my right hand actually split along a scar line from the Bike Crash of '09. Sure, it's only the size and pain of a tiny little papercut, but still. I am hardcore suffer person.)

The volunteer gave me my medal, the medics gave me the stink-eye (the one they give you when they are starting to wonder if they need to grab you and haul you off to medical), and someone who is now going to be enshrined in the Episcopal Holy Women Holy Men book as "Saint Towel of the Ice Bucket" handed me a towel and forced my hand and the towel into a large bucket of ice water and draped it over my head.

Two things of Gatorade later and I had cooled off enough to exist.

I got my time from the timing station and was thrilled to find I'd beaten a few goals. Last year, I'd been in the 78% of my age group, and I was hoping to maybe move up to the 50-60% of my age group. I also hoped to beat my bike time, and my run time. I beat both of those, indeed, but I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I was in the 32% of my age group AND gender. Those Eugene hills have paid off in spades!

It was definitely awesome to be "home" in DC ten years after Sept. 11. Seeing my city back to normal after all this time, and having tons of fun made it the perfect full circle.

But you know what else? As we came out of the airport in Portland, we smelled the Oregon air and said, "Oooo, piney!" It was clean and fresh, and I realized I'd missed the trees and the hills. I was actually eager and excited to come home to my house in the Eugene hills. The last time I was ever excited to go home... I was living in Arlington.

I guess we've found a place to call home again. And yes, Uber-Cyclist and SuperCruiser and TriJunkie and Fearless Leaders... I WILL go on a bike ride with you!

The Bike Ride: Race Report, Part 2

2011-09-16T08:00:00.000-07:00

Suddenly, after the months of training and obsession, the alarm went off at 4:30 and it was race day! Actually, the alarm clock, two iPhone alarms, and the wake-up call all went off. I'm thorough like that. The Marriott did a great job having the coffee shop open at 445AM. Nothing makes my M happier than hot coffee at ungodly hours. Once at transition, I set up my space using my very cool Gyst bag. After a rainy week, transition was already a mud bath. Other athletes dashed jealous looks at my bag, so cubular and dry. Some of them were using the time-honored method of grocery bags for transition bags. Others had floppy backpacks that did not stand up clean and cubular like mine. All my gear was arranged and dry and clean!

Terrible shot in pre-dawn lighting just barely showing my racked bike and my Gyst bag. I racked next to the girl with the race wheels figuring she'd be long gone by the time I got to my bike. In the end, we weren't that far apart after all.

I headed out of transition into my swim corral where we'd all line up for our time trial start. Well, I headed out and then came back to get my glasses, extra water bottle, breakfast, gloves, and arm coolers. They close transition at 6:45, and as I'm heading out, I always forget stuff! Swim starts are definitely easier since I don't need to decide in the swim if I need my arm warmers or coolers- today, I had both in my hands and hedged my bets for an hour. I was sure glad M had brought me a backup pair of running shoes from Oregon- my backup trail runners got soaked and muddy that morning. I was so happy to have my "street" running shoes dry for the run!

I noticed a ton of bike jerseys and lot of other girls in skorts- I guess without the swim, a lot of us decided to go for the cuter clothes that we usually can't wear under a wetsuit!

Props to DC Tri Club member for her National Anthem. Unlike so many of the celebs who add vocal riffs and make the song into a performance, she sang it simply and cleanly. She has a lot of class as a performer! The crowd started singing along for the last bit as the sun rose slowly over us.

I didn't get to see the start of the race since we were all packed into our corrals. I was surrounded by men in earlier waves. Even though I'm tall, I still couldn't see over all of them. If I stood on tiptoe, I could see some of the bikes heading out on the course, but it was almost an hour before the corrals emptied enough for me to see the time trial start. Each age group corral was sent down the "RUN IN FROM SWIM" chute, and sorted into groups of 12. At intervals of 10 seconds, we were sent off to our bikes.

Waiting for my time trial start.

As we grabbed bikes and ran to the course start, we faced the biggest mud puddle of all- it was deep, sucking, and plenty gooey. Most of us threw our bikes over our shoulder and one of the girls cracked, "Hey, we're doing tri-clocross!" Let's just say- back at the hotel later, it took almost 20 minutes and using tweezers as a pick to get all the mud out of the various crevices of my shoes!

My bike was blazing. It's not just the flames on the saddle. It was seriously blazing... fast! My split was 1:14:xx which means an average MPH of 20.0. Here in Eugene, I can usually hold 17-19 if I'm really, really booking it. But DC is pancake flat, plus it was cool and had a smidge of humidity. I guess my bike liked it! I was a little worried that I'd blow up on the run course for going so fast on the bike, but what can I say? I tried to hold it in, but my pony just wanted to run. I jumped into the passing lane and stayed there most of the race.

At first, I was surrounded by my own age group. (Women 30-34). About 10K in, I started seeing the age group ahead of me (the younger women). I started in the B corral for my age group- I realized I had worked my way through most of my usual pack! But soon, I started seeing a lot more men! I was a little shocked to realize I'd worked my way up that much in the pack.

Overall, I felt unstoppable on the bike. I ate my honey stinger waffle as planned and downed a couple of Margarita Shot Blox, which I am convinced saved my race. The bike was shady and cool, but you'll hear more about the humidity shortly!

Again and again, I thanked my Eugene stars for all those hills. Hutch's and Multisport Advantage spent the summer dragging me up and down hills all over town, and at the time, I suffered and suffered. D.C., on the other hand, is pancake flat. There's a teeny little roller here and there... but it's so much smaller than what I've been riding that I felt like I was riding with afterburners when I surged up those hills. Ever climb an off-ramp at 17mph? Yeah, me neither until Sunday! I had the unique experience of having the race volunteers calling me to slow down.

All too soon- barely 1:14:xx later… I was rolling towards the dismount sign. M was hoping to nab a hardcore competition shot, but I saw him and started waving madly. Here’s the happy shot, instead.

Happy bike! I had actually worked my way up so far that I was among the girls who were taking their feet out of their shoes while still on the bike. I've never been that far up with the fast girls before!

TOMORROW: The Run- Chasing a Sub 1-Hr 10K Again: Sodium, Oh Sodium, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?

Race Report

2011-09-15T14:40:00.000-07:00

First off, many thanks to the partners who gave us the chance to stay in the race hotel! Packet pickup, race shuttles, staff being cool with bikes wheeling through the fancy lobby... we had no worries! It was really worth it in relaxation. I had a nice space to run through my six checklists of gear.

Race morning- time trial start as the sun rises.

Thank you also to our incredibly generous donors: we have raised over $921 for our causes (with more still to come!). This is going to be split between Episcopal Relief and Development for their general fund, and Concerns of Police Survivors. ER-D will use our donations to help people in our country- like people from St. Luke’s in Oregon who recovered from a tsunami to people in Vermont who are still assessing their post-flooding needs- and people internationally through programs like Nets for Life which gives mosquito nets to families so they can sleep without fear of malaria-bearing insects.

Our donation to Concerns of Police Survivors is dedicated to the family of Ofc. Chris Kilcullen who was killed in the line of duty on April 22. He was shot during a traffic stop. Since that time, a number of St. Mary’s families have shared their connection to the police force- a neighbor, a son, an officer who helped out in a difficult situation- and the community consensus was that this situation was above any individual politics- this was about helping out our neighbors and letting our public servants know that they do have people here who care about them as human beings. I think we are blessed with a fantastic police department here in Eugene. So far, in every dealing I’ve had with them, I’ve found them to be professional and competent and possessed of a good sense of humor… even though I’m officially sworn as a chaplain to Lane County Sherriff’s! We’re very glad to be able to give a little to the cause to let our officers know their neighbors care. This donation will help cover the cost of sending the Kilcullen family to Washington, DC next May to attend the National Police Week C.O.P.S. Survivor’s Conference. We hope it helps them in their ongoing healing.

Showing off the Ofc. Kilcullen Bracelet, surrounded by Team in Training People. The Bethesda Firefighter is just out of the frame of this shot.

Ultimately, the best part of the race wasn't the sheer speed of the course (even though I love riding my bike really fast). It was meeting all the other people and talking to all those doing the race for a cause. Team in Training is the biggest cause, but a good number of people were fundraising for the Wounded Warrior Project dedicated to helping wounded military vets. The thin blue line bracelet I was wearing in honor of Ofc. Chris Kilcullen of the Eugene PD was noticed and remarked on by a lot of law enforcement folks- there were a lot of good wishes for our Eugene guys! I got to talk up Episcopal Relief and Development a bit, and it was neat to hear people say they had been looking for a cause like that that helped people internationally AND domestically. On the bike course, I saw a competitor without legs pedaling away on specialty legs on his bike. Guys like that are such a great testament to human optimism! I love how people strike up random conversations- who you are, where are you from, why are you racing. As I headed to the chute, a man wearing a Eugene Ducks t-shirt saw my hat, and started cheering for Eugene, and he got the crowd going for this by-then-very-hot-and-overheating Eugene girl. He and his wife sought me and M out after the race and we had a nice chat. Races just seem to bring together a ton of really nice people who like to help others out.

So here you go: SUNDAY MORNING. Race Report.

First thing tomorrow.

Nation's: Zombie Apocalypse Style

2011-09-10T06:08:00.000-07:00

In the zombie movie formula, it seems one starts off with the seemingly innocuous event that would touch off the great Zombie Apocalypse.

In the opening shot, the camera would pan across the waters. You'd see debris and something pretty much just like this: brown and dirt grey mixed together. A clever montage would include screen shots and voiceovers of news channels talking about the recent earthquake, hurricanes, and typhoons. The camera would cut away to an airport shot where your heroine would sit reading the Washington Post.

The movie would continue with a charming comic moment, cleverly underacted with great wit, as the main character discovers that the TSA had inspected her bike and done a lousy job of repacking it.

The DC zombie movie progresses with the intrepid and brave heroine persevering through assembling the bike with nothing but an awkward multitool. (The camera, oddly, would spend a strange amount of time panning over the tools on said multitool.) A hard-bitten bike mechanic character would be introduced who would swiftly reassemble the bike and warn her against the Potomac. Bad things happen in that river, he'd say. Besides, running is for criminals and those fleeing... (movie spooky foreshadowing sound effect) the unknown evils. In the movie, he'd leave behind a tool or two which the heroine would pick up and find useful uses for later. (In the real world, the hard-bitten bike mechanics counts his tools so his klepto sister-in-law doesn't walk off with an allen wrench or two.)

Despite that dire warning, the main character would still head out on a mechanical ride. And all would seem well.

See?

Other than the bright brown sludge standing in for the river, all seems perfectly normal.

The tri swim start would be readied.

In the movie, the tri swim dock would actually start to be assembled by dock workers who would haplessly get a bit of brown sludge on a single sliver of exposed skin. And since we all know our zombie movies, you know how it goes from there.

You realize very quickly that the bike-riding heroine is actually the damsel in distress, and the hero/love interest is somewhere in the skies above. He'd land in Dulles, take a taxi to the metro, and arrive to a deserted city where abandoned papers would skitter across grimy streets.

Somehow he'd work his way to the race hotel where he'd find the bike-riding heroine, defending a last group of survivors with a bike pump and an aerowheel, with maybe a Macbook Air fashioned into an ax. I hear the newest edition of those things are DEADLY. Or useful for chopping cabbage. Those might be the same thing, actually.

Sadly for all of us, every time I have taken the "Would you survive the zombie apocalypse test", I inevitably come up with the answer of, "You will lead a group of survivors to relative safety but die sacrificing yourself in sight of sanctuary". M, on the other hand, is always "You survive to build a new society on the ashes of the debris-filled zombie wasteland".

So I have no idea how the story ends.

Put your money on M in the event of Zombie-Apocalypse, and in the meantime, let's all be grateful that the swim was called off and that no human beings that we know of were actually exposed to the Potomac sludge above.

Did the Nation's Race organizers save us all from certain death?

We may never know for sure. But let's give them credit where credit is due.

So What Now?

2011-09-09T09:02:00.000-07:00

So there's no swim. I completely support the race organizers' decision. This is not one that was even borderline go-or-no-go. They couldn't get into the water to build the swim dock (which takes a few days) because the Potomac hasn't even hit the crest of its flood stage. It's running fast and furious with a few tons of debris that we can see. This doesn't even mention the raw sewage. (Well, not until now.)

Yes, I'm fine with not swimming. A smidge disappointed that I won't beat my time from last year, but I understand and accept.

Instead, I'm going to chase my 10K Personal Record (PR). Officially, it's 1:04:23 from the Butte to Butte. Unofficially, on a non-marked course, running with Robot Lance on my iPod telling me "Good... Job... Your... Longest... Run... Yet", it's 1:00:17, in sunny conditions with a hill at the end. This is going to be cold and wet and totally flat.

I run well in wet and cold and flat.

A lot of racers have pulled out of the race. This is somewhat sad, but I think for a tri like this, there's two ways of looking at it. It can be a race where you want to beat a time and/or qualify for the Nationals in Vermont and/or do your first Olympic tri. The duathlon is still a qualifier, but I suppose if you are here for the other two reasons, missing the swim is a deal breaker.

A few people are considering pulling out due to the "unspecified terror threat" reported in the NY Times and the Washington Post. To which I say: Hooey! There are always going to be credible, unspecified threats. That is the fabric of our national life, now. We just don't normally HEAR about those threats in our daily lives. And I'm sure as hell not going to let a threat stop me from going out and living life every day, in every city I'm in, from the storm-tossed Atlantic to the wild Pacific. I will race in my beloved, beloved DC, say farewell to my favorite city, and return home to sweet Eugene. No fear.

The other reason is why I'm here: to support a fabulous cause, together with my partners across the country. I'm racing because St. Mary's is focused on reconciliation and rebuilding, and that happens no matter what. We will always have something dreadful happening to some part of the great body of humanity, and we will always have work to do in rebuilding lives in every way.

It's so much more than a race. I'm so grateful to be here, and so proud of St. Mary's for all they have done this summer, and for their forward, positive focus.

No Potomac Swim

2011-09-08T13:50:00.000-07:00

It's official- Nation's has called the swim leg and made the race a duathlon. While I'm disappointed to not do the race as a tri, I think they made the right call. I spent about 5 minutes being sad, and then I started jazzing myself up for a PR in the bike and especially run. I had given up on my sub-1 hour 10K this year, knowing I'd be tired after the swim and the bike. Now, I'll have extra energy.

I'm chasing that 10K time. 10K... I am going to own you.

The river hasn't crested yet, and is expected to crest sometime tomorrow.

There's visible debris in the water... meaning there's even more invisible debris.

I don't know what the bacteria level is, but this is a city and there's a ton of run off.

Parts of 495 are flooded.

Yes, not swimming in the river is a disappointment. However, they are bravely still doing the rest of the race and the finish line festival, and in a city like DC, that means they are adjusting their logistics on this weekend when dozens of events are happening everywhere.

(Attention DC people: take Metro.)

I am a little sad, but I support the race organizers' decision. No race is worth risking lives for.

Good call, Nation's.

Above Ground Swim Leg

2011-09-07T11:48:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Dulles on schedule, despite the best efforts of Boston. JetBlue had those of us with Dulles connections get up and sprint off the plane ahead of everyone else. The flight was fine, I guess. I left my eyemask in my overhead bin carryon, and then switched seats with these newly-weds who were not sitting next to each other so they could sit next to each other, so it was gone for the night. Other than being woken up by the guy in back of me who decided that 1AM was a great time to re-apply his aftershave (seriously, you stinker? Do I need to back there are devastate you now? Blech!), it was a typical flight. Long, dull, and boring.

Bike box action shot. SCINTILLATING!

I was thrilled that my bike arrived in its box. After a teammate had a very stressful-with-a-happy-ending moment with his bike, I was plenty nervous. But the TSA opened my box and obviously poked and prodded... badly. I have some ground up padding, a naked quick release that poked a hole through the side, and a helmet that spent all its time on the bottom of the box (where the inspectors seem to have dropped it. Yeah, I always stick my helmet on the bottom). Thankfully, Hutch's padded my bike to within an inch of its life, so we'll see if there's any actual damage once we get it all out.

In the category of "Beetles are the best car ever", I had reserved a full-size sedan, but it wouldn't fit my bike box! (Beetle, 4-evuh.) So they gave me a mini-van, which is just like a 40 foot yacht.

This is a good thing, as it started pouring rain like it only seems to rain on the East Coast, mid-hurricane. So anyone with pairs of animals needing a rescue, text me. I'm obviously driving the boat.

It fit the bike box, and had room for the luggage. However, with the last row of seats folded down, it is just long enough to just fit a bike box. Points for cuteness: Beetle. Points for vehicle with lots of straps on the seat and a professional car rental person needed to fold down seats? OK, mini van.

By the time I got to the Seminary, it was raining so hard, I think I swam the entire swim leg, above ground, fully dressed. I would not have looked out of place in my wetsuit.

OK, I would have looked out of place in my wetsuit on campus. But I would have been a lot warmer and my jeans wouldn't have gotten so wet!

Except that I found out that one of my professors from Seminary is also doing the race! I'm so totally stalking her right now to see if she wants to hang out and talk about tris and stuff like that. I'm a friend geek like that.

On My Way...The Amazing TSA-wowing Running Toe Socks.

2011-09-06T21:03:00.000-07:00

Well... after all the training, with far fewer times in water than I would have liked, a boatload more running than I ever thought humanly possible, and a bunch of great bike rides, I'm off.

The bike has its new tires (Continental 4000S) and the wheels DO feel lighter. My brother-in-law mechanic is going to meet up with me to put it together on the DC end.

After all the worry, the give-the-bike-to-the-plane-people handoff went well. It seems JetBlue has briefed all their people on the Nation's Tri, so it was completely worry free. (Yay!) They even weighed the box for chuckles and grins- 26.5 lb. With the helmet and a bunch of padding in there. I dragged it over to Oversize, and off it went. See you on the other side, Bike!

As I went through Security, the portal beeped! Yeah! I was a lucky winner!

Oh, no, just for extra screening. I wish my luck would work- just once- on the Powerball or something. I'm the luckiest girl in the world *except* when it comes to the lottery. And don't you think I'd be a terribly responsible lottery winner? I'd be so very benevolent.

Anyway, my shoes got swiped with some special wand and a piece of cloth and then it was scanned for all manner of illegal substances. The TSA guys got wowed by my running toe socks. I guess these don't show up every day. These being hardened TSA agents, it takes a lot to wow them.

Now I'm just waiting for my red-eye!

The Amazing Running Toe Socks.

VW Beetles Are the Best Car Ever

2011-09-04T18:54:00.000-07:00

In case you needed to know...

That is a bike box in the back of a VW Beetle. Fully loaded, bike inside.

This is my shoulder, because I'm snapping a picture over it while I'm sitting- **COMFORTABLY** in the driver's seat, which I didn't even have to move to fit the bike box into the Beetle.

And the hatchback even closed without a worry.

My Beetle is the best car ever. Beetle and me, 4-evuh.

Thus is resolved the last worry I had about getting my bike from here to Portland.

Stocked Up

2011-09-02T14:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, Race Fans. The bike has been dropped off for boxing at Hutch's. I'm busy second-guessing and self-doubting my decision to go with the bike box... I still hear and read accounts and research that a soft bike bag is the way to go, that a specialty hard case is the way to go, that a clear plastic garbage bag is the way to go, that nothing at all is the way to go...

EDIT: I called JetBlue and they say it's a bike box, or the bike doesn't fly. Phew. That was so much easier than fretting for weeks on end, right?

The bike will get to Portland and it will get on a plane, somehow. The end.

I also stopped by REI to pick up energy food. I don't usually eat this stuff except during a race, and knowing that races are heavily branded, I can never be certain that they'll have what I like. So I bring my own so I don't have to fight uber-athletes over the Clif Shot Bloks in margarita flavor. There are people out there who are much tougher than me, but they would be astounded how scrappy I can be when desiring my Shot Bloks.

This is what I got.

My Clif Bar standards, and my new favorite: Honey Stinger waffles. Oh, Honey Stinger, how badly do I want to eat a waffle right now to be sure you are just as tasty as you were last month when I first tried one...

Yes, it's a lot of food. I stash some of it in my checked luggage and some in my carry on, so if one thing gets lost, I'll still have food on the course.

And yes, I'll have to check a bag this time. I think there's no way the airport will let me carry on a spare tube, a multitool, and a few packets of Clif Shots. I'm sure the priest thing is just a mild-mannered front and inside there is a ne'er-do-well aching to get out and enact airport shenanigans. I could possibly use the Shots in nefarious ways. I mean, I could give the mocha extra caffeine espresso wonderland one to a toddler and let him loose on a plane.

Airport Survival, Stressball Style

Clif Bars are great for airport survival. I mean, how many times have you been dashing between terminals between one connection and another, and you need food since we can't carry on most food anymore? I cannot pack and take an adorable little tiffin. You thwart my cute lunch, TSA! Never again will you confiscate my PB&J! Your choices are typically the Chinese-Mexican Fusion Express, the Deep-Fried Lard-o-Rama, and the sit-down-yes-we're-a-microbrewery-in-an-airport-why-don't-you-believe-us place.

Sometimes, I look longingly across a crowded room at the sushi display placed alluringly right before the steam table that is keeping the heat on the Hot Fresh Pizza Made Fresh For You, and I wonder... is this the day I redeem airport sushi from the pits of airport cuisine? Have I at last found the diamond-in-the-airport-rough?

It's never worked out between me and sushi in the airport, and that explains why I often end up wondering whether egg rolls and french fries might really be the next great fusion dish.

So it's probably a good thing I have some Clif Bars in my bag when I travel, isn't it?

Putting a Positive Spin on Things, 10 Years Later.

2011-08-31T14:42:00.000-07:00

I have found it interesting to watch the interactions of colleagues as various clergy and police friends discuss what they are doing on the 10th anniversary of 9/11. For some, they are happy to have the day back to normal, and are glad that their town or church is not doing any special commemoration, beyond perhaps some prayers in the regular service.

Others, like a few fire fighter friends, are furious that rescue workers who served in the aftermath were not being honored beyond what is occurring.

The Nation's Tri is having a moment of silence before the race. Initially billed as in honor of first responders and military casualties, after some Facebook discussion, it was expanded to honor all those who lost their lives in the attacks.

For me, I'm finding a great deal of comfort and closure in the project that St. Mary's is doing. I'm going back to the first place that ever felt like home- my beloved Northern Virginia. Ten years later, I'll be running in "my" city, with the Pentagon all fixed up, the Air Force memorial completed, and a new MLK,Jr memorial to check out. Ten years ago, sonic booms roared through the skies of what would become like my hometown to me. I need to be there to see the peaceful skies for myself.

Yep. My memorial plate from VA.

And yeah, I'm a cop chaplain (as well as a parish priest). I spend my life around people who ritualize things as a primary way of making sense of things. Doesn't it make sense that an elaborate project helps me make sense of things, too?

The Diocese of Oregon shared an interesting story from the Episcopal News Service, by Tom Ehrich. He declares terrorism failed. He speaks of how New Yorkers, even knowing their city was still vulnerable to attack, opted to move on with their lives. I feel the same way about "my" DC. I chose Northern Virginia as my home for a number of years and still love it today, and I biked and rode Metro and drove the ridiculous streets and flew in and out of Regan airport. The terrorists failed, because my life never became ruled by fear.

My mom- the artist in the family- did a really haunting quilt in the aftermath of the attacks, titled Tranquility Lost. Parts of the design included raw burned edges of fabric. This year, she's offered a free pattern for a design that she hopes incorporates the positive rebuilding that has taken place. The terrorists failed, because they never stopped her art.

In fact, after the attacks, she made a quilt for one of the fire fighter widows, who was touched by the story of the chaplains who worked with the survivors and at Ground Zero. The widow sent my mom a pair of her husband's duty pants to make something for the chaplains. My chaplain stole is one of those. It's easily my favorite stole ever. If you are a cop or nurse or fire fighter, and ever saw me wear my stole, this is the one you saw. If the church were burning down and I had time to save just one stole, I wouldn't even need to run into the building. This one stays in my go-bag all the time.

Dark navy with a simple cross.

Ten years ago, one of the Deacons went out on 9/11 to buy a scrapbook. She had also lived in Alexandria and was heartbroken to see her past home so broken. The community began writing in the book that day. Now, the Book of Remembrance is again up in our Narthex for people to add their thoughts and memories to. Evensong will be offered with a focus on reconciliation. The terrorists failed; they haven't hurt our community, nor have they stopped Eugene and St. Mary's from being part of the healing and rebuilding throughout the world and in our own town.

Ten years later, life goes on. We rebuild. We try to figure out how to help the bereaved make a new normal out of a loss that no one ever wants to face. We struggle with how we want to commemorate an event like this while focusing also on the good things that have happened since, on the rebuilding and the new normals.

National News!

2011-08-29T21:28:00.000-07:00

What a surprise when I checked my email earlier today to discover that the Nation's Tri had posted a press release about some of the racers!

And yours truly was at the bottom of the list, included in the national press release. Gulp! They'd asked us all to provide a release, but I was expecting them to choose other people for the national releases!

QUICK! LOOK HAPPY! LOOK HAPPY AND EXCITED, FOR OREGON!!

This means that people who are technically strangers will be reading about what I do. This is really, really cool, as well as abjectly terrifying. (No pressure. No pressure. No pressure. Pardon me, is that a paper bag you have for me to hyperventilate into?)

I added an extra 2 miles onto tonight's "mellow" trail run to blow off some of the terror-induced energy.

Here's the press release. I'm on the same page as Rob Jones, who is running on two prosthetic legs. (So he has more artificial body parts than me. Props to Rob, who is obviously made of stern stuff. Heck yeah, I'll be looking for him on the course.) Not to mention the other awesome-sounding athletes I'll be racing with.

Wow. wow. Just. Wow, wow, wow. What an incredible experience to even be in the same universe as some of the incredible athletes going to DC, let alone being listed in the same press release!

I might go to that brick workout tomorrow just for the moral support I'll need from my awesome teammates!

It must be two weeks pre-race... Anxiety Dreams!

2011-08-28T20:36:00.000-07:00

I can't speak for everyone else, but I get anxiety dreams. With two weeks to go to race day, they are here in full force. Interestingly, a number of tri teammates makes cameos in these dreams. Usually, they are going way faster than me, but they are so far, quite supportive. I suppose this is a good thing, meaning that my subconscious looks to my teammates for moral support. I might need to chat with my subconscious about the roles that M is playing in these dreams, though...

Last night, I dreamed that I swam the swim backwards and got caught by the officials who took me out of the water and made me swim the swim normally. Mrs. Fearless Leader was among the rescue kayakers, except they'd tied a wakeboard to her feet. She'd swim to the ailing swimmers and tow them to shore. No tow for me, however. When I tried to get hold of the wakeboard, I was instructed that I had better swim!

Sadly, in the dream, I'd forgotten how to swim and could only doggie paddle.

Finally I came out of the water... in 1:30. This is ridiculously long for an Olympic distance, and in dream land, put me in danger of the cut-off time. I could see everyone else running, and I knew I'd be the very last person to the bike. I ran to transition, where all the other athletes had already removed their bikes. Someone had moved my stuff, though, so I had to grab the bag of my things and my towel and mat and hobble it over to my bike.

Except that there was no M. M is my special needs person, designated to give me my cochlear processor. In the dream, no M. No processor. Finally, I found him, taking pictures of flowers and artistic grass blades.

(This is why I might need to chat with my subconscious... why is it so worried that M, who is generally reliable and extremely supportive, will fail me in my hour of need? He hasn't ever let me down for important things: wedding = on time. Pick up from airports = on time. Last year, getting to Nation's and forgetting to bring the backpack with my dry clothes for after the race on the rainiest day of September = the man hailed a freakin' taxi in the District of Columbia where it is technically illegal to hail taxis and hauled ass back to the hotel to get the backpack and STILL DIDN'T MISS THE RACE START = super on time. Really, subconscious. Chill.)

The dream ended with me screaming something along the lines of "Get into transition, now! I have to bike! I have to get on the bike now! I have to! I have to bike now!"

On the bright side, this sort of thing just motivates me to make yet another checklist. So far, I have four: pack for race, overall (everything I'll need to pack for DC); pack for swim; pack for bike; pack for run; (those three are race day checklists) and finally, pack for race day (transition bag) and pack for race day (M's bag).

For the ADHD control freak in your life (like me!), this is part of what makes triathlon AWESOME.

Control-freak obsessive checklists?

Yes, check. Thank you.

Hot Day. Miserable Run.

2011-08-25T19:53:00.000-07:00

I guess it must happen at least once a summer. Last summer, it was every day, but there was one day in particular that was just misery on two feet.

I'm talking about runs in humid, hot conditions.

We've been near and in the 90s the past few days. My coworker duly warned me that there would be at least one week like this, and here we are. It hasn't been horrible to the point that I've needed A/C, but we did break down and get a window fan so I could sleep at night.

And today I went for a run, and I chose to try for my sub 1:00 10K, on the bike path, because it's sunny and flat and I figured that would mimic the conditions of DC most closely.

That was 1:08:17 of abject misery, and at the end of it, I was probably borderline heat-exhausted. I finished the 10K and called M for rescue. One cool shower and a nap later, I'm feeling a little tight in the face, swollen in the fingers, blistered in the toes, and very hopeful that this will help me in case DC is humid.

And now I'm going to go get my double pointed needles and finish an apple cap, like I knit for the new babies in my life. If you are a baby in CT, you probably are saying, "What? Chick never made ME an apple cap!" and that is true, because I am the Worst Person in the World and was distracted with another project this summer. But the cap is almost done and soon you too will be a baby with an apple to wear on your head.

Fast Brick

2011-08-24T22:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I ran a fast brick! A brick is a workout where you bike and run in quick succession, the idea being that you become accustomed to how wobbly your legs feel as you switch sports and you practice your transitions, and also that triathletes are junkies for suffering.

The latter is actually not true. Really. I'm in it for the carbs.

But it is true that on Tuesday, I ran the brick in 1:00:02, which is 1:50 faster than before. Since it was a hot and humid day, I felt like I did very well in conditions that may well mirror those I'll face in DC. I know how to fuel and I accept that I need tons of Gatorade to live.

The bike being racked. I've changed my transition setup to hang the bike by the brakes. Guess what? It doesn't hurt your bike after all! And you are faster! Amazing, right?

The Geek Breakdown: 1:00:02 had me pacing at 17.8 on the bike according to my computer, and according to our Leader's timing, pacing at 9:30 min miles and faster. Last year in DC, I was running 10:40 miles. I've worked over a minute off my mile time. This may bode well. My goal is to beat 3:22. Ideally, I'm hoping for a 3:15. Is it slow? Yes, but for a girl who couldn't run a mile a year ago and who was still rehabbing off a major bike crash, I think this is pretty decent.

But you know the coolest thing? My team at Multisport Advantage is just great people. They stand at the finish line and cheer everyone in. They say "Good job!" as they pass each other on the run loops. Mrs. Fearless Leader gives everyone cheers as they come in for transitions. And even as I passed one guy on the bike loop, he gave a thumbs-up. (Oh, yes, he also came back a few minutes later and passed me in return.)

When we are all working so hard towards our various goals, it's just really cool to be working with people who give out such great moral support. I think I've improved so much both because so many of my teammates are so amazingly good, and also because they are just really truly nice people.

Thanks, teammates! I wouldn't have been running these miles this much faster if it wasn't for your pushing AND for your friendship!

PS- yes, no workout today. After my Stupid Cats successfully woke up me up at 3:30 AM by over-cuddling (really cats, it was humid, and no, I do not need your catnip mouse in my hand. Remember the real dead mouse incident**? Didn't that teach you anything?) I couldn't sleep because I was so hungry. At one point, M (who was also awake) remarked on the volume of my tummy rumbling. Awkward. Sometimes the planned workout doesn't happen, so I'm planning a strong trail run for tomorrow.

**The real dead mouse incident: feel free to write me for the full story. Or request I tell it in the comments. It involves, as you might imagine, a dead mouse and an enthusiastic cat named Snowbeast.

This is Snowbeast.

Riding the Super-Fancy Bike at Hutch's

2011-08-23T08:48:00.000-07:00

Project Update: You can donate via the link to the right titled "HOW TO DONATE"

Wow, things have suddenly come together! Hutch's is providing the box and will pack the bike for free! LifeCycle has offered me a great discount on awesome tires (and thinks I can shave as much as pound off my bike wheel weight!). Friends in Portland have advised on best airport parking. My mechanic brother-in-law is waiting, wrench in hand, to reassemble and tune the bike. Another friend is fluffing the pillows for a place to stay before we move to the hotel.

We have raised $420 towards our cause so far! (Mostly from anonymous donors, which I think is very sweet!)

The last thing left is confirming our rental car. I was all set with it, and had the craziest anxiety dream on rental cars last night, involving a sleazy agent who played fast and loose with my AAA discount and went on lunch break while I was trying to get the car. In the dream, M was hotwiring cars so we could get to the race while I was standing in line at the rental facility, putting on my wetsuit and crying that I had to go pick up my race packet. I don't usually like waking up, but wow, that was a relief.

Yesterday, Hutch's let me ride a super fancy bike to make up for losing me on the ride last week. ONe of the mechanics actually said that, on the ride, "Hey, so you got lost last week. We gave you an awesome bike this week, right?" and I said, "Yep, that's like giving a girl flowers." They also announced VERY LOUDLY each and every turn and especially the part where the fast guys broke off from the slower group. So I didn't get lost and had a lovely ride, getting the chance to talk to some great people. One girl in particular was riding her first road bike (still on flat pedals) and was thinking about doing her first triathlon this fall. "Oh, yes," said I, "You should talk to Multisport Advantage. The business owner is a woman, too, so she 'gets' it and takes care of us girls!" Which is true. Thanks, Cristina!

I was put on a Specialized S-Works 2012 which isn't even out yet, with electronic shifters. The entire thing was carbon fiber and weighed about as much as a pair of Dansko clogs. Cons: Well, I'm not crazy about the color scheme and it doesn't belong to me. In a perfect world, this bike would be mine, all mine. Ees so sad.

I don't actually have a picture because I was A) geeking out too much to take a picture, and B) there are no pictures of this bike on the internet yet because it's not yet released. So. Cool. I feel so with-it.

I'm not totally sold on the electronic shifters. They are so smooth and effortless that, sometimes, when I shift from big to little rings my chain would get for a split second and I'd freak that I was about to drop my chain. The resulting wobble and slow down would drop me off the pack. There's a healthy learning curve with those. But I loved being able to shift from the drops as well as the hoods.

The bike I rode was a mens, so I need to check out women specific designs. I've been riding mens all this time, but I think I'm finally getting to the level where I'm starting to notice performance differences. And I might want to think about aerobars, which I can't do right now because I'm pretty stretched out as it is. On the bright side, a few guys said I had a really, really strong back. Thankfully, M is not a jealous type and had no problem with a few guys commenting on my back. :-) But I do have a strong back. And when I lose some more CT pudge, I'll be able to show off the sort of back muscles you see on TV. Except my back has all sorts of oddball tanlines from my various jerseys.

Yeah, we finally started tanning a little here in Oregon. It HAS warmed up a little!

The ride on that bike... now let me take a moment to sigh in desperate longing. It is like pedaling softened butter. It is so lightweight you barely think about it. Pulling on the upstroke feels less like pedaling and more like floating uphill. Going downhill... well, wow. Was. I . Fast. I had to think about braking to slow down on a curve so I wouldn't overtake the leaders.

That pony just wants to run.

Several times, I had to bust out of the pack where I was and head up towards a faster group because the bike just wants to go, go, go, faster and faster.

Run, pony! Go, pony!

After a little rest break at the end of the Fern Ridge trail (where we do our bricks from), we started back and I hung in second group chatting with some people. I saw the lead group (a bunch of Hutch's guys in red and white and M in his blue) swooping away ahead of us, and suddenly had this bright idea of catching them.

So I said, "Hey, I'm going to catch the boys." The group cheered! (Thank you, ladies. Love that we have a little gender-competition going on!)

And I chased them. And caught them, handily. And it was only one of several chases to the faster group that I had put on throughout the night. On that bike, I was a Super Rockstar of Blazing Speed Demon.

Yeah, it really was that kind of awesome.

I will now wish to dream of light Specialized bikes, if the anxiety dreams will give me a break. I love my Trek because it's so pretty, but wow, that Specialized are just beyond the pale. The most I can afford to do right now is change my tires to something lighter. (Maybe next season, I can get real race wheels!) But the memory of that long, light ride will stick with me. Ahhhhhhhhh...

Thanks, Hutch's, for the awesome ride! You guys are great!

Bike Pooling

2011-08-22T09:38:00.000-07:00

Eugene is internationally famous for its Number 1 Commute in the Country. (Well, if it wasn't before, it is now. Some magazine somewhere said it was so.) You can complain about much, but in Eugene, we just don't have much to complain about in terms of getting to work.

Sometimes for work I have go to to other places. Yesterday, we had our annual parish picnic.

Don't know 'bout you, but at our parish picnic, we go for mule wagon rides and get a look at Mt. Pisgah. Thanks to Copper Windmill Ranch for the rides!

So I was very excited yesterday when I talked a parishioner into bike-pooling with me to the parish picnic. He's a well know bike commuter and knows every road in the area. The parish picnic was being held at the Copper Windmill Ranch, which is acres of delightful hosted by two gracious long-time parishioners.

My parishioner- let's call him SuperCruiser- rolled into St. Mary's at 3:30 on his fat-tired cruiser with a trunk. Meanwhile, The Boss had been psyching me out with stories of HOW BIG the hill was en route to the Ranch. The hill was HUGE, and MOUNTAINOUS, and there was NO SHOULDER and ALL THE CARS WANT TO KILL YOU.

I got a little freaked out, and went home and traded my hybrid cruiser with the granny gears for my light and speedy roadie.

SuperCruiser rolls in and asks me, "Do you think I'll be able to keep up with you?" I replied that I was looking forward to a nice mellow ride. SuperCruiser smiled one of those cheerful happy smiles that people seem to have at St. Mary's when you are doing something they like, and proceeds to take off at the soul-crushing pace of 16.1 mph.

Did I mention that he was on a bubble-tired cruiser? I was holding his wheel comfortably and steady on my roadie, but he was RIDING COMFORTABLY AT 16.1 ON A CRUISER!

He then strikes up a casual conversation. "Oh, people think I'm really fit, but I'm really not, I just ride my bike to work and around town a little."

You need to be aware that when people say things like that in Eugene, they don't really mean it. Well, they do mean it, but their perception is skewed because we live in a town with a bunch of Olympians. So the 75 year old man says "Oh, I"m SO SLOW these days" and reels off a 10K in 45 minutes, while his Olympian neighbor crushes it in 30. And the UberCyclist (the professor) says, "Oh, I have a few tools and I like to tinker" and his garage could make a mechanic weep in envy. And I feel super, super slow in tri club, and I do brick workouts with people who made the Team USA team for ITU worlds this weekend. (Yeah, he's mellow about how super-fast and strong he is, too.)

So when SuperCruiser says, "I just ride to work" he means that he rides up this giant freakin' hill every day and that hills are his favorite geography.

That explains how we ended up on Dilliard Rd. At the end of the day, it was a great ride. It wasn't so hard that I couldn't do it. But it was hard enough to give me a workout. It's a 2.5 mile climb. Once, I could see a car in my rear view mirror, and when the driver pulled up, she started yelling at me. I had already hollered "Car Back!" to SuperCruiser and had no air left. All I could do was scream, "PASS ME!" to the car. She continued screaming at me. Later, SuperCruiser and I decided she was cheering us on.

He cruised up the hill handily. I ground my way up, fighting heroically for every inch and using my new mantra of "Up up up up up". The Fat Cyclist said we could all have his mantra, and I have to say, it DOES help you remember to use your upstroke. Besides, it takes less thinking than my other mantra of "I get ice cream". Thanks, Fat Cyclist, who has never met me and who has no idea that I exist, but I think his wife (The Hammer) is awesomesauce.

In other news, one of my favorite new friends (who's a chef. Wonder why she's my favorite new friend?) passed us as well, and they DID wave and cheer. As in, they waved their arms and screamed things like "GOOOOOOO!!! YAAAAAYY!!!!!" That's the way to do it, folks.

At the almost-top, we met SuperCruiser's son who'd ridden his MTB over on the trails that cover Spencer Butte. And Jr. proceeded to crush me as well as the climb continued for one last little roll.

Trivia: Dilliard St. turned out to be where my favorite little running trail came out. So I knew the trail! I was very, very excited to discover this knowledge and got to say things like, "Yeah, the first mile up from Martin st. is just 900 feet of climbing, but then you feel like a rock star on Dilliard". Don't I sound so very in-the-know? I credit Multisport Advantage for showing me stuff like that.

And then, finally, at last, at last, at last, we crested the top and it was all downhill from there.

43.6 mph downhill from there, if you would like to know.

Later, I checked my heart rate monitor. Average was 151, max was 181 (that would be the hills. Yowch). And with all the cycling yesterday, I burned 1155 calories.

Yes, actually, I WILL go back for more salads and that extra veggie burger. And the fresh blueberries. And that mint brownie square. And I really wish that there was more tortellini salad, because that was quite good. And I sucked down my two bottles of Gatorade, a water, and a Hansens soda. I'm a hydrating rockstar.

Our host took us cyclists on a longer mule wagon ride, and showed us an extra bike route. It does cover some significant gravel, so I might have to bring my hybrid (or maybe the roadie can handle it if I do a little walking?) but eventually turns into pavement again. It swoops down towards what I learned is Mt. Pisgah and through the town of Goshen, runs over to LCC and back into Eugene.

And now I'm wondering if SuperCruiser and Jr. might someday want to ride Dilliard again and follow it up with the run through Goshen...

Doesn't it look kind of hilly? But think... it means I GET TO EAT CARBS!
Maybe there's something to hill riding after all...

Off to work now. I have to ride my roadie again today because Hutch's is letting me ride a super fancy bike later today. Remember, it's my flowers from them losing me and me getting stuck with the Fast-And-Furious group last week. :-)

Still Chasing my sub-1:00 10K

2011-08-21T15:07:00.000-07:00

I went out yesterday with the goal of getting my 10K under 1:00. I've been working hard- REALLY HARD- all summer on my running. My last run was 1:00:17, so I'm so close I can taste it!

I also need to get some training in the heat, because it's been so cool here in Oregon all summer. We haven't broken 90 until this week (and I'm not sure we did really break it after all), and our humidity is low. This makes for delightful human living with lots of enticement to go outside and play. However, it does not make for good humidity training.

Back when I was doing support for the Police Unity Tour, one of the toughest teams to watch was Team Minnesota. They had some incredible athletes and they trained so hard, you could tell. And each year, a number of them just keeled over on the Virginia hills. It wasn't their training, it was the humidity that did them in. They just weren't acclimated.

Needless to say, I'm a little scared of the humidity. I've lived in DC. I know what it can be like. I hope I can acclimate in time!

I inadvertently discovered a great way to do acclimation training. I have a bunch of tech clothes now- you know, lightweight high tech fabric designed to keep you breezy and cool. Everyone says "don't wear cotton". It traps heat and becomes like a shirt-shaped blanket of misery. I was low on laundry and wore a cotton shirt on a ride last week. Between the kite-like wind affect from the loose fitting shirt and the sheer hot factor, I had found my solution.

So I went out yesterday in a grey (Unity Tour!) shirt and went for my 10K. I ran a bunch of stuff in 58:36, but I don't actually know if I did 10K, because my stupid iPhone GPS Nike app reset itself at 8K and I ran at least 1.5 miles after that from the turnaround point. This explains why a crazy sweaty person was running down the Amazon path in Eugene yesterday, shouting, "D@mn it, Robot Lance! Not now! NOT NOW! NONO NO NOOOOO!!!!"

However, I did a few stupid things in the run.

I figured "I'll only be out for an hour!" and left my Gatorade in the car. As I do have a waterbottle belt, this was just dumb. You get a little cotton mouthed and dehydrated after an hour's hard run in hot sun. Duh. Knowing my body chemistry like I do, I know I'm a salt-losing sort of person. I need my Gatorade or else I keel over in misery. I paid for it in cramps later on.

I also grabbed cotton socks. M is in the middle of folding laundry right now, a project which takes him days to do just right (but everything ends up beautifully matched and ironed. When I fold laundry, it takes me 20 minutes, but your underwear will be tossed into your underwear cubby and not folded, and your socks may or may not be matched). So all my tech socks were in the laundry, and only my cotton socks were available.

This was a bad, bad, bad, bad mistake. Yes, wear cotton SHIRTS to acclimate, but cotton socks? You are just asking for a boatload of pain and misery, and a pedicure of sorrow with a flipflop of regret.

Before I left for work this morning, I had to tape my toes so I could ride in, and then stand for four hours while I did services and walked around. The total number of blisters is somewhere around 7, with a few additional hot spots.

The feet of pain (in some places, the moleskin is protecting two blisters at once. I multitask). Not only do I have blisters, but you also get to see my interestingly flipper like feet. You'd think I'd swim super fast with these, don't you? Yes, my heels really are that narrow and my toes that wide. It makes for interesting shoe buying. But WHY doesn't it make me a super fast swimmer? Why, I ask you, WHY?)

Yeah, I dug the tech socks out today. (Sparkle socks, if you must know.)

Triathlete at the Fair

2011-08-19T23:38:00.000-07:00

Because I'm an Episcopal priest, Fridays are my day off. I usually get a lot done when lines are shorter at the stores (explaining the multitude of breakfast dates we tend to have and how I did a Fed Ex run and the grocery shopping AND dropped off a load at the Goodwill before the frozen strawberries even started to melt). Today, I got to take a massive nap. Guilt free.

No, it's not the ONLY thing I do on my day off. But baristas are just artists in this town. This one is from Sushi Seoul, which is a coffeshop in the morning. Really.

Then we went to Cottage Grove for some swimming. Cottage Grove is a lovely lake with fish and all sorts of wild life, like the mysterious thing with four legs and little tail that I saw one time. (Frog? Mouse? Baby possum?) My tri club meets on Fridays for an open water swim where everyone suits up in their wetsuits (a few hardcore people swim in nothing but tri suits!), and swims to the dock, then to the last buoy. One full lap is just under a mile, so it's just short of a full Olympic distance swim.

Part of Cottage Grove.

I decided to swim backwards from the group today, swimming first to the last buoy THEN to the dock. I am easily one of the slowest if not the slowest swimmer in the group. To be fair, Mrs. Fearless Leader is a former competitive swimmer. One of our guys is in Vermont competing in for a spot on the National team this week, and he WON a tri earlier this summer. So I'm in a group with some real seriously awesome hardcore athletes. But it's still hard to be slow when you swim in a group with people like Mrs. Fearless Leader who is so fast and strong that she leaves a wake. I wonder if we could sell wakeboard excursions powered by her...

And being slow makes me feel bad, and then I start feeling frustrated and get out of breath and lose my stroke because I'm busy being frustrated.

I decided to swim backwards to focus on swimming against myself. It seemed to work. Swimming against the crowd meant that I got to see some people I usually never see (because they are too far ahead) and I got to work on my stroke and technique without being frustrated that I was so much slower than everyone else.

I also debuted my new goggles. After suffering with increasingly leaky goggles for the last few months, I finally broke down and asked Mrs. Fearless Leader about them. She shared that she replaces her goggles about once a year.

Ahem. My leaky ones were over 4 years old, and flaking metallic coating. It was high time for new ones. I have Tyr Pro Nanos now. They are metallic white goggles. So I look smashing in my red cap and white goggles. Well, as smashing as one can look in a swim cap and goggles, that is. Best part, no leaks! Leaky goggles were getting quite annoying. I didn't have to stop once today to pour water out of my goggles. Yeah!

In other news, several of us have reserved super-fancy bikes to ride on the Hutch's Monday bike ride, so bike excitement is running high right now.

After the swim, M and I decided to hit the Lane County Fair for a Friday night date. It's a fun little fair, and the fairgrounds aren't far from our house. We decided to try the fair at night to see stuff all lit up. We ran into a few cool parishioners, ate fried food on a stick, and shared an elephant ear and Hawaiian shaved ice. I asked how that was different than, say, a Sno Cone, and the guy couldn't tell me. I'd be interested in knowing the difference, if you do.

Shaved Ice. Lemon-lime flavor. So bright green, it could be used as a glow stick for fireworks.
Multipurpose junk "food"!

We also went to see the animals, like the baby chicks hatching. One chick was just lying down, and M asked, "What's wrong with that one?" I said, "Oh, he just hatched, and he's really tired." And then I stage-whispered, "And that's all we'll say in front the kiddies!" The parents snickered at that one as their rapt toddlers stared in awe at the hatching eggs. Pecking order must start early, if I am to judge by the one newly hatched chick pecking at the others.

There's really a chicken under all that.

And a lop-eared bunny! Who doesn't love a lop-eared bunny? They're my favorite!

Finally, we watched the All-Alaskan pig race. No word on when IronPig North America starts.

The winning pig on his victory stand. They fed him after he wins. Winning pigs are eating pigs. Which means you'd better watch out for the poor hungry losing pigs...

My stomach. My nemesis.

2011-08-18T18:55:00.000-07:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a triathlete in possession of a stomach must be in want of massive quantities of food.

I've been working on my nutrition and eating this summer. I've dropped some good poundage and incorporated even MORE veggies into my diet. I still have some problems, though.

The biggest problem are days like these when I don't start out on schedule. I had a meeting with the clergy in town at the sushi coffeeshop. Yes, such a place does exist.

So I skipped breakfast.

By the time I got there a little after 10, I was starving. So I ordered my mocha and a bagel which was the size of my head.

But then I wasn't hungry for lunch. So I skipped lunch.

But then 5 PM rolled around and I was suddenly starving and raging on low blood sugar. (Think The Hulk and imagine The Hulk wearing a clergy collar and saying, "YOU WON'T LIKE ME WHEN I"M HUNGRY!")

We retrieved our farm box and, in the time it took M to put away my commuter bike and get the mail, I inhaled: two dehydrator cookies, a tortilla with two egg whites, 1/4 avocado, and an achingly beautiful tomato, a scoop of yogurt and about 2/3 cup of fresh blueberries.

So, see, it was mostly healthy, but an immense amount to take in. And now I'm very sleepy and full and think I might skip today's run in favor of joining friends for a blackberry picking outing.

I should really spread out my eating a bit more and start better in the AM, right?

I should also never give up a blackberry outing, right?

BTW, here's that recipe I promised Facebook friends. Last year, after Nation's, I was totally done with all the highly processed energy food I'd eaten all summer. You have to do that in the beginning to figure out what your body can tolerate, but by Sept 12, I didn't want to see another packaged bar or gummy chew again.

I did a raw food diet for a month to get resettled, and discovered an amazing smoothie with strawberry, banana, almond milk, and cacao.

This rocked, because I found (1/2 off!) a package of 75% cacao chocolate chips. I bought them and proceeded to do the following:

1/4 cup cacao nibs (or chocolate chips. I suggest you see below, and make the same mistake I did.)
7-9 frozen strawberries.
1/2-1 frozen banana (I use 1/2)
1/2 cup almond milk and 1/2 cup water OR 1/2 cup yogurt and 1 to 1 1/2 cups water (depending on how liquidy you like smoothies).

Blend, blend, blend.

I ate this constantly for 2 weeks. Then I went back to the store and looked for the 75% cacao chocolate chips. Not finding them, I asked a store employee, who ruined my life when he showed me to the RAW CACAO NIBS. I then discovered my error. I mourned for an evening, and then decided that a chocolate chip smoothie was not only awesome, it had also never killed anyone.

And I decided to make it for myself every now and then.

This makes a big smoothie, so you can even split it amongst friends. If you drink it for breakfast, I promise I won't tell your mother if you don't tell mine.

Road I.D., Finally Updated, and Vagabond Safety

2011-08-17T11:07:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the gentle prodding and/or incessant nagging of various voices, including a parishioner who has the same color Road I.D. as I do, I finally updated my Road ID.

I think I've spoken of them before, but they are just a wonderful company with a great sense of humor. I got mine last year after working several cases where people came into the Emergency Department at Hartford wearing Road IDs. With one guy, the medics handed me the bracelet. It's not necessarily the job of the medic to positively identify you... or even the doctor. The task of WHO YOU ARE usually falls to the social worker, the chaplain, and/or the cop. (Let's now chalk this one up to "in the category of why emergency chaplains are useful". I make your life easier, and I'm charming to talk to.) I logged on and printed out his name, picture, and a list of his medical conditions and allergies to hand to the doctors. Can I even say how much this expedited treatment? I called his wife (at one of the four numbers he had listed in his online profile). He was tucked into the ICU when I met them at the elevator.

On the other hand, when I had my big bike crash the year before, I had just tucked my driver's license and other cards into my seat bag. It was so wet that day that when I got to the hospital, my cards were illegible. I was so hypothermic and in shock that I was just "Betsy" for over 30 minutes until I could figure out what my full name was and how to dial my phone. Not to freak out my brother or anything, but by the time I called him, I'd already been getting warmed and treated for over half an hour. (Ah heck. He freaked out anyhow. The Paramedic just hates it when his family gets hurt.)

So yeah, I'm a huge Road ID fan.

In my first year with it, it went through mud, snow, sun, and more open water in various conditions than I can remember. I've also moved and packed boxes with it. It is still as clear and clean as the day I bought it, with not a scratch to be seen. This little bracelet is simple awesome.

Rest assured, I have now updated my tag (new tag on the way) and both of our online profiles. And because I updated mine, here's a coupon for the first 20 of my friends and readers to use.

Coupon Number: ThanksElizabethAnne8724001

I'm a pretty safe biker over all. I ALWAYS wear my helmet (I'm convinced it's why I did not suffer worse injuries in my crash). I ALWAYS ride defensively. Here in Eugene, at dusk, I always light up with flashing lights. I even wear horrendous neon colors in wet weather so I can be as visible as a Christmas tree.

But I do want to say THANKS to those who prodded me to update my emergency info. Even the safest of us can get complacent about updating things like this. It was high time.

The Nicest Bike Store In Eugene Tried To Kill Me

2011-08-16T00:26:00.000-07:00

So, as things develop, and as I get more settled in Eugene, I am getting to know the local bike shops. So far, I really like Paul's Bicycle Way of Life for my hybrid commuter. The first mechanic I met was a woman, and the guys are awesome, and they have the best advice for commuters and how to keep your bike from getting stolen in Eugene. They even referred me to a competitor when they didn't have a piece of gear I needed. You gotta respect a shop that does that. And so they will keep my business for my hybrid.

But I'm really in love with Hutch's for my racing bike. They have the gear, they let you pet the fancy bikes, and next week they are having a demo of super fancy bikes. And we can ride them if we ask nicely.

(Yes, please, may I please ride the fancy bike?)

Not to mention that the mechanics are nice, and also a mix of women and men. Last year, I broke up with my bike shop in CT because the mechanics were all men who wanted to preach to me about my bike. Getting to know people to want to teach me more about my bike and really get me on the best machine possible... awesome.

And the mechanics invited me on the weekly rides.

And today we went on the ride, M and me. The idea was to do the 23 mile nice-and-easy ride.

Several people (including one of our first bike friends, The UberCyclist who is a professor and who attends my parish) said it was a totally atypical ride.

But the end result: we got misplaced and instead of going on the 23 mile ride with the nice-and-easy group, we instead went on the fast-and-furious 31+ mile death sprint of doom.

And did I mention we left our bags at church, so we had to go get them and ride home afterwards?

My legs are still burning. I ate a ton of protein and a huge bowl of spinach for dinner. I drank three glasses of water. On the ride home, we took the bike path and rode through so many bugs, it was like a first course. I picked a baby dragonfly out of my jersey and sneezed, swallowed, and blinked out several other varieties of bug. Oh, riding at night. It ees so special.

Anyway:

Dear Hutch's, I like you. A lot. And you are pretty awesome. I think I'll come again next week because you are going to let me ride a fancy bike if I ask nicely, and that's like giving a girl flowers. But please don't try to kill me next week. Can we maybe try the buddy system, and you can give me a slow buddy?

Thanks much- The Vagabond.

I think I'll be sleeping hard tonight.

Rest Days

2011-08-14T20:19:00.000-07:00

Here's the link to donate, and more information about our project! I hope to have an update on non-online donations sometime this week.

One of the hardest parts of this whole training thing is the rest days. I am lazy by nature, and you'd think I'd have no problem sitting at home eating the extra burrito and resting and watching TV all day.

That is shockingly hard.

I'd like to sit, but then my heart is clutched with fear: what if I miss the chance to go faster because I didn't train every day I could have? What if one more day in the water is what it would have taken to make me fast, at last? Besides, my Beetle desperately needs a wash and wax. AND SHOULDN'T I BE DOING A DEEP VACUUM OR FOLDING SOME LAUNDRY??

Sitting around watching movies on TV sounds, by comparison, kinda boring. It's like being sick without the legitimate excuse of a fever. How does one lie around without being sick? (Even though, yes, I'm a priest, and yes, I did work both yesterday and today. So it's not really "lying around", I guess...)

On the bright side, during Friday's swim, I discovered a few things. A) the silicon ear plugs are a miracle and I will never again swim without ear plugs. Totally eliminated the dizzy problem! B) I seem to swim faster when I only use my legs for balance and not for kicking. I might do that for the rest of this season.

This week, once my rest days are over, I'm looking forward to working out using the heart rate monitor I scored at the REI Scratch-and-Dent sale. (Oh, we scored, big time. I'll be telling that tale for a long time. In fact, my teammates and camping friends will probably want to practice their "let's change the subject right now" lines in case anyone ever gets me started.)

The moon, full and shining strong on the lake. Our tri team was all out of the water by this point, having a cookout and realizing we were all tired: we'd forgotten things like buns and cookies and grill pans for the grills. Whoops.

As for the rest... I don't feel like I am being "good" with all this resting. Part of me still wants to head out and run. Part of me still whispers "Slacker!" in my head. Part of me is a little horrified that I so rapidly identified Debbie Gibson's "Only In My Dreams" as the source song for the latest Old Navy commercial. (I even know all the lyrics. And I still think Debbie Gibson had a great voice. Oh, I'm such a hopeless 80's geek. I'll never be cool!)

But I"m also realize that I can't train for the race if I burn myself out to the point of misery and injury. I hope with these two days of rest that this week of training can be that much stronger.

Anxiety Dreams

2011-08-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

I get anxiety dreams before races, I have discovered.

The oddest recurring dream ever was a few years ago before I rode (or tried to ride) my first road bike century. M would be leaving for Nevada to research Burning Man, and I would be heading to Vermont. All summer long, I had this dream about falling off my bike and breaking my hands. I'd hit a curb. I'd fly over a tree branch. I'd overshoot a curb. I'd endo on a street crack. But over and over again... the dream ended in broken bones.

This was the summer I slid on the tracks and DID break my right hand. Yeah, it was kind of creepy, especially in the beginning when I was on the pain narcotics and high as a kite.

But in happier times, I still have anxiety dreams. Sometimes, I get in the water and realize I don't know how to swim. Usually, it's preparation related. Once, I dreamed I left my wetsuit behind so I had to do the swim with the little kiddie arm bubbles.

I tend to dream very vividly. In fact, I'm able to do lucid dreaming which can be cool sometimes. Other times, it's a relief to be able to look and see that I'm dreaming. (And yes, Inception was creepy weird.) So these anxiety dreams are a little unnerving.

Because of these dreams, I have a set of four-page checklists for tri packing and preparation.

Last night's dream started with me waking up in my own bed, on a brightly lit morning of Sept. 11, 2011. I could see on the clock that it was about 7:10. This was a problem because on Sept. 11, I'm supposed to be getting up at 4:30AM or so, in the dark, in Washington, D.C. I realized this quite quickly, pulled on my tri outfit, and ran to the airport.

This was NOT a good dream, as I was running through an airport wearing lycra and Chaco flipflops. Quite aside from the "why am I running around in public in skin-tight clothing" was the "man, I am going to be REALLY cold on the plane" and the icky-squicky "I am going to have to go barefoot through security". I ALWAYS wear shoes with socks when traveling. I think there's nothing grosser than putting my bare feet down in an airport, anywhere. I have no problem with the TSA naked-pictures or Cuddles McFrisker, but bare feet? Not gonna happen.

At the dream airport, I had a terrible time convincing the ticket people sell me a ticket. M was gone somewhere in the shuffle, which is ALSO a problem as he's my special-needs cochlear holding person. But I had my tri bag and I was ready to go, and I figured with the time change that if I got a plane right now, I could still make the race. Yes, I know that Pacific time is behind Atlantic time, but my subconscious apparently doesn't.

Things got a little confused in the dream as I was standing in the plane aisle with my multitool trying to take my bike apart to get it into the overhead bins and the flight attendant was trying to adjust the venetian blinds over the plane windows, and another attendant was offering all flyers a warm kitty cat.

That last one, actually, could be useful...

Somewhere around there is when M started shaking me to wake me up. There's something about that man and mornings and coffee and especially weekends when we go to a coffeeshop for a morning date.

We shall never know if I ever got the bike into the overhead bin.

Educating Lizards, and why Tri Bikes are Not Cyclocross Bikes

2011-08-10T22:30:00.000-07:00

This was certainly an interesting day. Both from the priest side and from the tri training side.

Among other things, I was sitting in Spanish class learning about conjugating the verb "comer" when the lady who sits next to me said, "Ooo, my lizard is missing."

Lizard?

Yes, lizard. She had caught a lizard in her garden, and her grandson is "wild" for lizards, so she decided to keep it for him. She had it in a large basket, in a little "critter" mesh container, and she was misting it now and then. Because that's why you bring a lizard to school, to keep him misted.

Yes, I asked. Personally, I don't bring lizards to school, but obviously I come from a different world than many Eugenians.

Ultimately, the lizard was caught scampering across the classroom floor, and he was returned to his basket. Hopefully he is a little wiser and can now conjugate the present tense of "comer".

Then I went on the bike ride. After the shenanigans of yesterday, my ribs were feeling back to normal this morning. I was still feeling tired. So I came home from work and ate an all-protein sandwich.

Stop reading if you don't like vegetarian over-sharing.

I had two thin slabs of tofu with a sprinkle of cheese and some pesto. It's like a KFC double down, but without chicken or deep frying.

I really, REALLY love tofu, OK? And it made me feel better. So I loaded up on water and headed to the shop.

Before the ride, as I was putting my seat bag together, I put my cell phone in. That was a little odd, because I usually don't ride with my iPhone. I have a cheap Go Phone for the sole purpose of calling emergency numbers or M for a rescue. But I had a funny feeling... like if I was a little tired, that maybe I'd want to cut it short and should have a way to call home and bail out if I burned out mid-ride.

Fearless Leader took us out on a bike path. To our collective dismay, we discovered that the path was being repaved. (Okay, that is ultimately good news.) All of us were on funky bike shoes which are not good for walking. Fearless Leader hesitated for a moment... and then took off CROSS-COUNTRY, on his CUSTOM TRI BIKE! Not to be outdone, we followed him, all of us riding on the grass on skinny racing tires.

It was kinda wild. Maybe there's something to that cyclocross thing, after all.

We finally made it back to pavement and the road and kept riding. Around mile 7, disaster struck.

Fearless Leader pulled up abruptly. At first, I thought he was letting us all regroup. I was lagging since I was on the slowest bike. But then I noticed his chain was off.

And then I noticed his rear derailleur was missing from its usual spot. The rear derailleur is the thing that holds your chain and clicks it into different spots on the gears. No derailleur means no bike ride. It's like knocking half your wheel off. It's sort of critical.

Half of his had sheared right off.

None of us had ever seen anything like it.

To the credit of Fearless Leader, while he did look a little frustrated (he made some significant frowny faces), he said a LOT fewer swear words than I would have in the same situation. He let just one slip. I'm sure he was thinking of a lot more. But if it had been me... well, you guys don't think I know that kind of language. He's a nice guy, Fearless Leader.

It turned out to be rather providential that I had that phone. Fearless Leader called his wife, picked up his bike, and started hiking to a rendezvous point. And M got to call me and drop a big hint about dinner! The rest of us kept riding. I was still the slowest (I love my bike, but I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting ready for the next stage of bike... a real serious, custom fit, high tec roadie this time). But the tiredness and soreness had left my legs, and I got to go fast on the hills, and it just ended up being a really nice, cool, lovely sun set ride.

And then I got home where M had gone ALL OUT and made this killer amazing fabulous wonderful stunning vegetarian sushi, with this achingly beautiful sauce and fresh wasabi. It was so good that after I ate what he had made, I actually made a sushi taco with the leftover pieces. (I think it's called a "hand roll", looks kinda like an ice cream cone.) Ees so lovely to have spouse who is killer cook. Num num num!

Pain Hurts

2011-08-09T21:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes workouts are fun and you feel strong. Today, I had my normal after work snack and went to the workout feeling pretty good. I thought I was in for a strong, fast brick. (We run two miles, bike about 10ish miles, and run 1 mile.)

The first, 2 mile run started like normal. Well, the field was pretty strong on the men today, with only two of us girls running- The Ironwoman (the store's owner and coach in chief) and me. So Fearless Leader, M, and a cohort of other men took off. I caught Ironwoman and M and held a little chat about greyhounds and whippets. M and I are discussing the dog who will hopefully join our little family this fall, and right now, sighthounds are high in the running, because they are cool, mellow, and there's great rescues for sighthounds. Besides, after all these years, it is time for a dog again. I am always going to be a dog person. (I guess my kitties are sorta sweet, sometimes, though.)

See? They are cute when they do stuff like this. Not so cute when they wrestle on my feet at 4AM.
And the hairball issue is definitely not cute.

I was pacing decently for the first half mile, but as we headed to the second bridge, M and Ironwoman pulled away. I was a bit sore from yesterday's fast 10K, but figured that I would loosen up as I ran. I pushed a little harder, and took a big breath to do one last push to catch up to their little pack.

And suddenly, something "popped" behind my sternum and I was hit with waves of immense pain. I will call it misery. In reality, what I called it consisted of a few words that you guys don't think I know.

It felt like someone had punched me right in the chest. I was gasping for air, and for a moment wondered when I had broken all my ribs. watched helplessly as they pulled away.

I thought about quitting that mile and just turning around there, heading back to transition, and resting up a bit.

But I decided to haul it through the first two miles. Then I considered quitting the bike part. Then I considered not doing the last mile after the bike.

But I got on the bike- I love my bike and I thought it would make me feel better. It hurt to bend over. There was more swearing involved. Once on the bike, I got some Gatorade and the awful ache eased up a bit. I took the first mile a little slowly, and then built (and held) a 17 mph average pace for the rest of the ride.

Then the last mile. I think the cute little commentors for the Tour De France call stuff like this "The Cave of Pain". I was certainly down in a dark black place with just a painful sternum, tight ribs, and firey blister spots on my feet reminding me that life was misery and pain. My chest hurt. My legs hurt. My toes hurt. My brain felt whiny. And did I mention that my chest felt like I had broken all my freakin' ribs? OWCH.

I dragged myself back to the finish line, dead last (but today wasn't a good measure, as it was all the really hardcore men. Like Fearless Leader, who feels slow running a 6:50 mile. And M, who is faster than he wants you to believe.)

I guess sometimes the endurance part of endurance sports is hitting that wall of pain and hauling yourself over it. It was not a pretty finish, nor my best finish tonight. BUT it was a finish, and I am lucky to be able to do that.

Ironwoman rewarded the whole group with these killer super-healthy brownies, and the tailgate of her car was available for semi-collapse and rehydration. (That second part was mostly me. Everyone else seemed pretty cheery.)

It worries me, in case the race is on a humid day. If DC is humid and hot, I'll be hitting a big wall, going really slow, and hauling through a great deal of misery. I suppose it's good practice to work through the "I'mma quit this right now" in practice.

I'm off to take a load of ibuprofen, and hope these sore ribs loosen up by tomorrow. My co-worker in the next office might get a little weirded out if there is moaning and groaning coming from my office all day!

New Run Time!

2011-08-09T13:47:00.000-07:00

More donations! Some of them are coming in by check, so I'll post updated totals as I get them. Wanna be our partner too? Click here! Thanks for everyone who supports us, including those supporting the trip (like the friends who offered us a place to stay and my bike mechanic brother in law)!

A long time ago, I declared triathlon insane. I loved cycling, and I floated very well in water, but hated running with the sort of passion usually reserved for burned broccoli. I had ridden a century, and some of those long rides had included people who did triathlons and wore heart rate monitors. I made myself another sandwich and decided I would spend my life happy and comfortable on my bike.

Fast-forward several years. As I turned 30, my husband gave me my first road bike, and I was at mile 50 of a century when I crashed, hard. The next summer, I was still rehabbing all the injuries. I turned to tri partly for the cross training, and because Team in Training supported lymphoma and leukemia research and I could do something good for my friend Ben who was fighting lymphoma. (If you click on the label "Team In Training" below this post, you can read all about Ben.)

The biking never bothered me a whit- my coach actually assigned me bike workouts as a reward for doing my running workouts. As a priest, I just couldn’t bring myself to lie about whether I had completed my miles or not. (Job hazard: ethical quandaries when one would rather be biking.) When I started, I couldn’t run a mile without stopping. I went to Nation’s with one goal: run the run without stopping.

This summer, I've been busting my tuckus on the run, working hard to become more consistent. Oh, and to change my gait from the Old Man Shuffle Towards Painful Death to something to something actually resembling a run. You know, where you lift you feet and move forward.

Yesterday, I had M drive me out to the end of the Fern Ridge Trail (across the street from the Green Hill Animal Shelter) and I ran home- while I hit some hills near the end, it's mostly flat, like DC will be.

I finished 10K in 1:00:17. I was aiming for under 1 hour, but I'll take this. It's 6 minutes faster than DC last year, and I think I feel like I can work on consistently keeping my pace even a bit faster than I was yesterday. Much of the time, I was pacing 5'30" per K comfortably, and I slowed down mostly because I got distracted.

I saw buzzards, several herons of different colors, an old guy on the path ahead of me who I ran after and passed (last year, I used to chase 80 year olds to their trash cans), and butterflys and I wondered why I hadn't brought my camera to show you guys where I run...

Yeah, that's how I slow down to 6'46" per K. I get distracted. Running through marshland on a scenic bike path does that to you. (Did I mention how scenic Oregon is, especially five minutes from our house? Love the Southwest hills!)

Then I went home and Chef M fed me marvelously. He's really picked up the kitchen this summer and he is churning out healthy and TASTY dishes regularly, with much less time than when we first got married. Yesterday, he had three dishes on the table in an hour. (When we were first married, a similar dinner would have taken him about 3 hours plus every pot and pan we have.)

Now if only my swimming self will see all the speediness in biking and running and stop fooling around and start moving in the water!

From the Nation's Tri Themselves

2011-08-08T08:33:00.000-07:00

Here's a little tidbit about the different challenges!

I'm not sure what'll be on the training plan today... it's grey and foggy out, which might put a kink in my swimming plans. I'll have to give it the morning and see what Oregon offers later today! It wouldn't be the first time Oregon has faked me out on the weather.

TV Really Does Rot Your Brain

2011-08-07T23:56:00.000-07:00

The Project is LIVE through all St. Mary's! Become our partner by donating here!

M and I did not have cable for our our entire marriage until we moved to Oregon. When we began establishing our utilities, we discovered that it would actually be cheaper to get the basic cable/internet deal than to have just rabbit ears alone and DSL like in our old place. We really didn't want the cable, but we wanted to be cheap more.

For the record, I much prefer my rabbit ears. Since getting cable, I have turned off the most amazing amount of c**p. Did you know that people fight about unknown junk in other people's storage units? And there are muscly men who do obstacle courses to be named the "greatest soldier", except that none of them are currently soldiers? Ahem, I think the "greatest soldier" is the one wearing the uniform right now, actually putting him or herself in harm's way... and isn't on reality TV at all. Thanks, y'all. I do appreciate what you are able to do for us.

Besides, I had way more Oregon Public Television on my rabbit ears than I have ever found on cable. Where is my Simply Ming, my BBQ-U, my Rick Steves, my Julia Child reruns? You disappoint me, cable, greatly. I will wear out my "TV off" button, soon.

Just don't get me started on Netflix streaming. I would curse the day I discovered Lost except that I am hooked, hard.

Speaking of soldiers, I am a little nervous about this tri. There's now about 100 First Responders signed up, and there's a huge number of military personnel who race as well. I've read that the start is a time trial start, and I am a SUPER SLOW swimmer. I am having immense trouble with my swim speed this year. Slow... as... sludge. And I'm a little worried that I'm about to get thrown in the water in the same wave as either the other First Responders and/or FR and Military Challenge people in my age group.

All of whom are way faster and tougher than me. I will feel seriously demoralized when I get outpaced! I'd much prefer to do the water with my own regular amateur age groupers and get on the bike and go into my bike happy space.

This, in tri terms, is the training stage known as "What the Hockey Sticks Have I Gotten Myself Into??"

I am off to have some anxiety dreams now. Ta-ta!

The Training of the Week

2011-08-04T15:22:00.000-07:00

First, I think the Google Street View car is stalking me. It has driven by my work, caught me at a number of intersections, and followed me briefly at least twice while I was bike commuting. I was even taking a totally unplanned trip today when guess what pulled up next to me? GOOGLE STREET VIEW CAR!

Google, if you want me that much, just send some spooky men in black with a van or something. The car is freakin' me out.

In other news, our club does a few regular events together. Several members of the club are getting ready for Ironman Canada.

Yeah, I'm so not there yet.

I still think I'm super-fast and spiffy when I can churn out a sub-10 minute mile. I know, blazing, right? In this town of Olympian runners, I think the Road Runner himself would feel slow and pokey. I'm so slow and pokey I don't even quite know from pokey.

Anyway, Monday M and I went to the lake to do a swim. I was going to practice the jump-in-and-swim start, but the Park Ranger caught on to us and told us we could swim... but we could not jump. Ain't no arguing with the Park Ranger. I'm working on stroke consistently and trying to get tips, which mostly means that M says things like, "Well, you sort of pull and push so you feel consistent tension" and tries to convince me he's not that good a swimmer. For the record, he swam on a swim team. That means he's way faster than me. My triceps are still tired.

Tuesday we went out for the regular brick. M volunteered to timekeep. I think my first two miles were 9 minute 20 or 30 second miles. My bike went really well- for most of the ride, I was cruising at 19 to 23 mph, with hardly any effort. And then I got hit by the wind.

Oh, wind, why do you hate me so? I weep on the windswept plains, as you bring the smell of the nearby stables to assail my delicate nostrils and my legs light up on fire as I crank, desperate for cover and relief from your relentless onslaught.

But then I jumped off and had a superfast transition (:31) and went off on the last run with a sub-9 minute mile. (According to the Timing King, M.) That made me feel supremely speedy. And no, don't ask me where it came from. I just felt pretty good and entirely consumed by the terror that I would be dead last.

For the record, the girl who was "last" is so much more secure than I and was doing the brick after a TRX workout, thus confirming that she is Toughness And Iron while I am Squishy Putty in comparison.

Yesterday, we went on a bike ride. And while bike rides are usually extremely fun... our Fearless Leader said he had a short time yesterday, so we needed a tough bike in a short timeframe. So he took us up every single huge steep hill in Eugene, so I was so tired I couldn't even pedal enough to build up speed on the downhill. This meant that yeah, I was Dead Last all yesterday.

And M took a wrong turn and so he was lost in the middle of nowhere for a while and Fearless Leader had to chase him down to save him because I couldn't catch him even though I tried because M thought he was the last in the group and so he was going WAY too fast. So my beloved had run away and left me... at the wrong intersection. All this, by the way, as I was trying to drink some Gatorade and swallowed down the wrong bike so I was burping like a bullfrog while my system reset itself. It was a smidge awkward. "M! STOOOOOP! (burp) COME BACK!!!!! (burp)!"

I started out the ride saying swear words under my breath until I was too breathless to swear as we ground up the highest hills in the known universe. (My Virginia friends can think Richmond to Fredericksburg... kinda like that.) Then I had a damn lot of fun descending all those hills. Then I ground up the hills again because Fearless Leader faked me out and I thought we were all done with hills so I hadn't saved any internal fuel. I didn't even have any energy left to even think swear words. And then M missed his turn and I spent about 15 minutes convinced he'd ridden away into the wilds of Oregon where he'd be eaten by a nutria...

Let's just say that emotionally, I got a little worked up and over on this ride.

Today, I hear we are going hills running on Spencer Butte, which is so far one of my favorite places to play in Oregon. If I can get my seatbelt unjammed, I'll be filled with joy. Don't ask me what the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks I did to jam my seatbelt so hard, but that thing is STUCK.

Episcopal Relief and Development

2011-08-02T15:59:00.000-07:00

So I mentioned C.O.P.S. the other day, as one of "my" groups for whom we are raising funds. (And yes, the link is live! If you support us, that'll be awesome beyond words.) Today, I'm sitting across the street from my office at a coffee shop on their porch in some of the most delightful weather in the universe. (Sunny, warm but not hot, shaded.... yes, you may envy us now. Thank you, Oregon!) Naturally, because I'm an over-educated mostly liberal semi-bleeding-heart type (job hazard), I feel somewhat badly because of the many friends in other parts of the country who are suffering, terribly in the heat. My aunt and uncle had an anxious start to the summer as they watched the wildfires burn across Arizona, waking up for a few weeks in their house in Santa Fe, NM to see smoke from the fires clouding their skies.

This is USUALLY the view outside their house.

Here on the West Coast, I'm learning about earthquakes and tsunamis. True story- there was an earthquake when I was in Seminary, and I was so clueless I just sat in my chair wondering how the heck big that damn truck was and why it wouldn't just roll down the street and stop bothering me while I was studying. It took a California girl to set me straight! The much larger, terrible earthquake in Japan happened before we'd moved here to Eugene, but I heard early on about St. Timothy's, Brookings OR who needed help when they were swamped from the small tsunami which resulted from that earthquake. Like most of the normal world, they didn't seek out a disaster... it found them.

http://www.er-d.org/

Suffice it to say that in a disaster, we don't always know how to help ourselves. That's where ER-D comes in. We are supporting ER-D because A) we are an Episcopal Church and we just love anything Episcopal, and B) they have the network of know-how. They can take our resources and channel them to some place where they will be used to help others in pain rebuild to a new life. We can help someone else sleep more soundly.

This is very important for me, as an emergency chaplain. I sometimes get (ahem, perhaps rightfully?) called an adrenaline junkie. I like things fast... bikes, cars, dogs... life in general. I'm a bit ADHD as are most of my emergency colleagues... we eat fast stuff for breakfast. I'm going to want to take the best trained people, equip them to the teeth, and send them, flags flying, into the fray to make order out of chaos. Then, being a control freak, I want nice tight controlled borders so that I am completely in control of what is going on in my little sphere of existence.

I'll let you know how the whole control-freak thing is working out sometime. I will not refer that question to my beloved M who probably has his own ideas.

The hard part in emergency response is the "what to do next". That's the great thing that working with ER-D has taught me. They taught me about many other people- maybe they aren't first responders, and maybe they don't WANT to be first responders, but there's this huge desire in many humans to help others out. ER-D figures out a way to say "Yeah, we'll find a way to help" to everyone. They give me ways to dial down my adrenaline-junkie reaction, to turn off the run-for-it side, to calm down a little so that together, we can figure out how to help them rebuild lives into a new sort of normal. With a group that helps with rebuilding, it feels okay to turn off the adrenaline. And you know something?

New normal can be pretty awesome, and I love being a part of how we get there.

Oregon: Great Scenery

2011-07-29T17:50:00.000-07:00

Well, not a lot of time today, as I spent my day off reorganizing the study so M could have a desk of his own. (I keep trying to convince him to let me get rid of the old teacher desk so I can bring the futon up here and buy a real couch again for downstairs. Now that he has a desk surface of his very own thanks to my organizing genius, where do you think he is? Yes... on the futon. That saga continues.)

Meanwhile, we are very busy being outside in the gorgeous lovely amazing Oregon outdoors. NO, WAIT, I take that back. Some of you don't live in Oregon. Officially, I need to let you know that here in Oregon, it rains ALL THE TIME. Really. It's grey and blah, 24/7. It is never breezy and cool in the morning, or delightfully airy at night, or warm with low humidity during the day, and we never, never have amazing breath-taking sunsets, stunning mountain views less than 5 minutes from our house, or gorgeous amazing blue skies. That must be some other state, because here in Oregon, it's Always Rainy.

We are leaving in about 20 minutes to drive to the lake to go swimming in the clear, cold Oregon waters.

Bike, racked with cool bag ready for transition. My latest bike to run was :29! That, my dears, is blazing.

In the meantime, here's a little tidbit from earlier this week when we went out for a brick. (I beat him... barely... in the first run, but then he made a rather heroic pull and beat me off the bike and in the second run. He's going to be a force to reckon with one day.)

Actually, this IS about 15 minutes from my house, near the turnaround point of a regular ride. You can't see Sisters in the photo, but you can see them in real live. Mountains, everywhere!

By the way, I DID get cleats today- the guy at Hutches laughed hysterically at my old cleats and told me he'd never seen a pair as badly worn as mine. I literally snapped the front off my right cleat and the left one was just nubs. That's me. All extremes, all the time.

So What Else?

2011-07-26T15:26:00.000-07:00

As news of the tri begins to spread through St. Mary's, I think it's important to talk about the personal connection. Eugene is a small city where everyone knows everyone, it seems. Back East, it seems that no one quite got what the strength of this project is yet. If I'm not doing this with a team of hundreds like last year, why do I bother doing this?

You see, triathlons are fun, and they amuse me. The training is good for me- it gives me a good reason to get fit and it's really nice that my "tight pants" are getting looser and looser. I am terribly vain, you must have noticed. I am also a glutton for punishment and even more so for ice cream. The pain and the punishment mean I get more ice cream. Ow-ow-win-win. And I get to go places in Oregon that take some people years to get to. So far, I've swum in two gorgeous lakes and run and hiked up both Buttes in Eugene. And did I mention the Oregon lakes, which are so sparkly crystal clear and clean? I see fishies! It's like sushi, before it's in the rice. (In Long Island Sound, I usually slapped crabs before I actually saw them, freaking me out and annoying the crab. And jellyfish are scary.)

But triathlons, to me, wouldn't be as much fun if I weren't somehow helping other people. I could just spend the money and go race and have fun, and I'll certainly do a few of those races.

But Nation's? Come on. It's the 10th anniversary of 9/11. I had just started Seminary. Hearing the sonic booms of the fighter jets arriving over DC and smelling the burning Pentagon and gathering with the Seminary community and standing in line at the hospitals or making sandwiches for the rescue workers... that changed how my class formed. We really became a class that knew how to experience tragedy and rebuild lives. Going back to DC 10 years after the attacks brings that full circle. I know all the Lathams (VTS 2004) won't be there, but Alexandria is my spiritual home. Going "home" on the 10th anniversary is special. My home is rebuilt.

And we get to help real people in this one. Last year, it was personal. As my friend Ben fought for his life against lymphoma, his wife Sarah and I had a real reason to team up for Team in Training. The tri gave us all something positive to focus on even as Ben endured chemo and Sarah faced the fear of losing the love of her life. My family donated because we lost a patriarch, Saverio Bagioni, to lymphoma. That was personal. I will totally do another Team in Training event... but I want to do one with Sarah as my teammate again, and this year, she and Ben are enjoying Year 1 of remission.

So the real people this time? Well, when I served as a police chaplain to Alexandria and later Arlington Police Departments, I worked with people who carried guns for a living. I had a bulletproof vest, too. It's hot and heavy. I've seen my guys put themselves in harm's way to keep other people safer. I volunteered each year I lived there with the National Police Week Concerns of Police Survivors conference. I still remember a NYC officer who came the first year after 9/11, and he was just all anger and vitriol. Five years later, he was still coming back, but he had ridden the Police Unity Tour that year, and we had this amazing conversation where he shared that helping other people helped him remember why he'd become a cop at all.

He had become a cop because he could help people by keeping them safe. He felt that he could enforce the law and that it could be good and beneficial to humanity. He felt he could make a more fair and just world for his family. Five years later, he hadn't forgotten the pain of his friend dying on 9/11... but he had learned to let the good he was trying to do outweigh the bad he had suffered. Five years later, he was again filled with joy and glad to be a cop, and ready to go and do good in the world.

That's the sort of thing that COPS could do for people.

Here in Eugene, that's a very, very important group for our Police Department and for one family in particular. I won't say too much about their story just yet, but if you live in Oregon, you know who I am talking about. We can help COPS help them. I've seen people go through this sort of loss before, and I have huge hope for their future.

COPS helps the real people I've been privileged to work with as a police chaplain. Doing something like a triathlon? That's a fun thing for me. And yes, it helps me feel a little more secure knowing that I can keep up with the people I serve if I need to. Besides, trust me- as a priest, I fight the eternal war against Potluck Gut. (And St. Mary's... wow, AWESOME potlucks! Home smoked salmon! Raw cuisine cheesecake! Tres de Leches! All the occasions for cake!) But doing THIS tri would just not mean as much if I wasn't teaming up with people to actually help this world be a better, more peaceful place. Doing THIS tri, THIS year, helps me in some small way to help the healing of a broken world after tragedy. It's a driving force of what I heard in my call to the priesthood- to help the healing of a broken world.

So yeah, this year, it is also very personal and it strikes close to home.

Spencer Butte: a Run and a Not Run.

2011-07-25T11:23:00.000-07:00

So a few weeks ago, my tri club took me on the best run of my entire life. I didn't actually believe the words "best" and "fun" and "run" even belonged in the same sentence. But on Spencer's Butte, yes. There's a lovely little trail head called "Martin Street", where you park your car and proceed to do something like 500 feet of climbing in 1 mile.

But then you hit the Dilliard Street trailhead and it's a mile of lovely rollers, so you feel incredibly powerful and mighty. You begin to think you are mighty and can actually run.

So perhaps on Saturday (after finishing up all the unexpected stuff that cropped up on Saturday), late in the afternoon, you suggest another trail run, and M might suggest you try the other trailhead. And you will soon discover that not all of Spencer's Butte is lovely rollers. You will drag yourself up some butt-kicker hills and arrive gasping at the next trail marker, knee deep in vegetation, hearing the crackle of the forest, and with your impossibly perky husband saying things like, "Wow, these trees are really awesome" and "Good workout, tough run". Your response will be, "Ah-HEEEE, ah-HEEEE, ah-HEEEEE". That only makes sense if you double over gasping for air while your leg muscles burn like firey lava and parts of your glutes actually feel numb from the effort.

Ah, DC, you flat race route, you.

We ran just to the Fox Hollow Trailhead, where you have the choice of heading to Williamette or all the way to the Summit. We were short on water, so decided to save the summit for the next day.

Sunday dawned, bright and clear. Services ended, with a smattering of chaos. I got to use my "let's be an extremely calm person" chaplain skills, and my ninja mind powers, which sadly, failed me at lunch time. By 3:30PM, coffee hour had been long cleared up and I had had nothing to eat all day save a scoop of blueberry cobbler that I swallowed with a modicum of actual chewing between services.

I was totally empty. Let's just say there may have been an emergency milkshake involved, and there is no tuna fish left in our house. By the time I got home, no vegetable was safe.

But then, raging on adrenaline and crazy-pants-ish-ness, I changed into my running clothes, declared the first 85 degree day to be a perfect day for a nice run, and dragged M out of the house.

He countered by changing into his regular shorts and packing two bottles of water. By the time we got to the Fox Hollow trailhead, he'd talked me down into a regular hike.

We went the two miles up to the summit of Spencer's Butte, and can I say WOW. (Not my picture, just a general web one.) We had no camera, and the landscape was too bright, but WOW. There were mountains all around us. There are rolling green hills. There were clouds and sun. This really is a gorgeous area of the country that we've moved to. It looks like actual nature out there.

And then I stepped into a big patch of poison oak. Let's all talk to God on my behalf, maybe.

In Pursuit of Carbs: the 5 Mile Run Home

2011-07-18T15:16:00.000-07:00

I live approximately 5 miles from work. Actually, according to the bike computer, it's 4.96 miles. This was confirmed yesterday by my Nike shoe-iPod doohickey. I'm usually on the bike trails three to five days a week, where I can see interesting things like an entire family of raccoons going for a swim, or the local pot smokers. Will someone please tell the pot-smokers that patchouli oil does NOT COVER POT SMELL?)

Anyway, yesterday morning, I woke up and began my usual morning routine. Don't worry, I'm not one of those people who wakes up, turns on happy music, and does rock yoga or something cheerful like that. Nothing works. Morning is a horrible time populated by evil demons, and thus is best experienced from under your covers while your eyes are screwed tightly shut. I get a lot of mental exercise by calculating just how many times I can hit snooze before I must get up.

Because of the preceding anti-morning prejudice, the discovery of no milk in our fridge was not acceptable, as my brain is incapable of morning coherence. No coffee means either make tea, or drink coffee black? Both of those involve verbs and subjects and thinking, and usually I'm lucky to be capable of boiling water.

This means that M was woken up from a dead sleep at 6:50. He is even crankier than I, but I figured that if I whispered "Full City" it would get him going.

We were on the road by 7:05. For a man who makes a damn good cup of coffee, he does love his coffee shops.

I brought my running clothes with a plan of running home. 5 miles, often flat, with a few killer uphills at the end. What could go wrong? (Answer: rain is only "going wrong" if you are not prepared for it. I had no rain gear, but it was just a misty rain and this IS Oregon, so the rain=acceptable.)

How do I get motivated after 4 services? Well......... did I mention there was a baptism at church? Where there is baptism, there is cake. Oh, and a wedding the night before. More cake. And a birthday. CUP-cakes. And someone made brownies. HOMEMADE BROWNIES! I have found that people tend to put cake in the priest's hands automatically. So I can intend to get a carrot or a cup of tea and be super healthy, but the cake appears so magically, and it would be so very, very sinful to waste food, right? Besides, chocolate comes from a bean, and beans are vegetables. And services give me low blood sugar.

Oh, magical, magical carbs. You fill me with your sugary goodness and make my soul experience light and joy.

Can I share that I'm having a hard time with the high-protein, no-bread-or-processed-sugar thing? Oh, I suffer, so very very much. On the bright side, since I'm not eating processed carbs anymore, just a little bit of them is enough to make me feel full. And my pants are a lot looser. And I think I'm faster, too...

Besides, I get to eat cake, and then run, and feel virtuous. I keep my halos at work so they stay shiny.

The run went quite well- I reeled off 5.1 miles (remember, I live 4.96 miles from church, door to door, so I added a lap around my complex to get that last .04 in) in 51 minutes. The first two miles were at an 8:30 pace, then two at a 9:30-10:30 pace where I had to wait for a few crossing signs or where I didn't like my iPod song and slowed down until I fixed it.

Then the last mile is essentially vertical. The homeowners' associations around here are responsible for maintaining the cable lines, but all the residents own their own crampons. In some areas, there are chains or catapults to get cars over the very steepest portions in town. The buttes that surround us look just like Talcott Mtn did back east. So I slowed way down to an 11-something pace for the last mile because I was going up a hill like Half-Dome or Everest.

Today I have declared a rest day. I dreamed all night that I was a soigneur in the Tour de France, and responsible for the hotel rooms and food bags of the Schleck brothers, Thomas Voeckler, and Jens Voigt. I don't think they are on the same teams, but that does not matter to my subconscious. I also don't know much about any of them, except they ride bikes, and I ride bikes, and I guess they are my best buddies because we all ride bikes and if they came out here to Eugene, they could ride bikes with me and all my bike riding friends.

In my dreams, they ate a lot of roast beef and PB&J. Even my dreams are low-carb these days. Suffice it to say, I worked HARD for my REM sleep, so I've double-earned my rest day today. I'll be working on press releases and stuff.

ANNOUNCING! The St. Mary's 9/11 Remembrance Project!

2011-07-14T09:37:00.000-07:00

And HERE is the exciting announcement that I was being so very sneaky about. Elements of this have been in the works for a while, but it all gelled and could finally become public now!

St. Mary's Episcopal Church's Vestry has formally approved our 9/11 Remembrance Project! It has three facets (because we Episcopalians love our three-legged stools, don't we?). Action, Word, Prayer.

The Beloved Red Trek Returns Again To The National Capital (different number this year, though!)

Action:
Well, you've had an inkling already. I was accepted to do the Nation's Tri in the First Responder Category, but I've always wanted big races to be about more than just me. For the past few months, I've been creating a network of people who are backing this venture, and I can finally publicly announce them:
- St. Mary's Episcopal Church is supporting me as their Priest Triathlete. As far as I know, I'm the only chaplain first responder racing. (Way to represent the Spiritual Care team, no?) They provide the time, the support, the understanding when I creak and groan on Sunday mornings because my calves are tight. They leave it up to my coaches to tell me to stretch more. And they make awesome potluck dishes to support my increased need for protein.

No matter where I go, I don't forget my roots. My Virginia peeps rock!

I will be their person in the wide, wide world, doing an action.

Together, we are joining forces to raise funds and awareness for Episcopal Relief and Development, and Concerns of Police Survivors. Our online portal is Active.com, with funds being routed directly to St. Mary's, who have created a Reserve Fund for this project. All funds will be split 50/50 between these two organizations.

We feel these organizations benefit people in the whole world, both domestically and internationally, and we feel a special desire to help C.O.P.S. this year as they are looking after the family of Officer Chris Kilcullen of the Eugene Police Department, and will send them to the National Police Week events in May 2012.

Gifts-in-kind to offset travel for me are very gratefully accepted, as well! I need to fly with a bike!

in Words:
On 9/11, St. Mary's opened their doors and put together a service on the fly. The then-parish administrator, Nancy C., purchased a scrapbook which people started filling with memories. A year later, they updated it. Now, 10 years later, we will update it again with more memories and reflections. Already, Carolyn B. has shared her report of visiting Ground Zero six months after the attacks.

in Prayers:
St. Mary's is always first and foremost a church. On 9/11, while I race, they will add some extra prayers in at the Prayers of the People in the main Eucharist, but those main services will retain their focus on preaching the gospel and celebrating the supper. The Liturgy Committee will meet next week to talk about how else we might remember the day.

My transition bag. Because after changing computers, I am a little short on action shots, 'k? I'll work on it!

As always, these projects never take place with just one person or one partner. I have already convinced my sainted brother-in-law N to be my bike mechanic. It was great to get a family member who is so bike-crazy he has always made me look completely average! There is a very special family member to whom a phone call will be made later today to be a certain particular special assistant, and I really hope she'll say yes.

And above all else- so many thanks to St. Mary's for embracing me as their edgy assistant priest. It is their willingness to adopt my interests like triathlon and work with me to find ways that we can make this all part of our whole lives together!

Preparing for Big Announcement, Plus Hills Run Report

2011-07-11T22:26:00.000-07:00

By Wednesday, there will hopefully be a big announcement about the Tri project... and it may be super exciting indeed. Stay tuned, as news will be forthcoming!

In the meantime, I shall amuse you with training reports.

First, you should know that I changed my diet. After packing on about 25 pounds of discomfort that I called Connecticut Pudge, I was getting pretty eager to work off a little before the tri. I had been about the same weight since college, until I moved to New England. Then... I blame lack of biking, crazy shifts including nights days and evenings in the same week, and a long, long commute. Oh, and the stress eating. I expect it'll take until about December before I'm back to my Seminary weight, if things keep going as they are now. But at this point, I'm a notch smaller on my belt and there are trousers fitting me which have been snug for a long time.

Basically, we went paleo, which is to say that we cut easy carbs almost entirely, and quadrupled our veggies and about tripled our protein. For a slacker vegetarian-like person, let me tell you, that's a BOATLOAD of veggies! But eating strictly vegetarian with few to no animal products over the last few years during a couple of EXTREMELY stressful years- I hadn't realized how much I had come to rely on the easy carbs. I hadn't realized how much of my meals were mostly rice, or how much bread I was really consuming. I hadn't realized how carby veggie patties can be... especially if you eat two and a half of them. And of course, by hour 24 of a 30 hour shift, anyone in the universe would be eating the homefried potatoes from the cafeteria, too.

This led us to a few weeks of change. In the first week, it was easy. All things virtuous are easy at first. It's exciting to consult the list to find out how much of this or that we can eat and to try new cooking methods. But like any virtue, it is short lived. In the second and third week, I felt like I would sell my own grandmother for a few easy carbs. I was dreaming of bread baking. I would try to workout and run out of steam about two minutes in, slogging away at a pace that the aforementioned grandmother might kindly call "a nice walk". I very nearly cried right at Crossfit.

And then the weirdest thing of all happened.

We went for a hills run with our tri club. Now, I've detailed before my lack of affinity for running. I'm a cycle sort of girl. Two wheels, nice and fast. That's how I like it. But running is necessary for tri. So I've been working hard at the running. And it's usually very, very miserable. There is panting and moaning, pain, sadness, more pain, and extreme slowness. Toddlers like running with me because I am their pace person.

So the first uphill was the normal slog, til we got to the first gathering spot. I was breathing pretty hard... but suddenly, I had my wind back and I was feeling fresh and energetic again. "Hm. This is strange," think I.

Not nearly as strange as what was about to happen. We went into the second climb, which contained a section of little rollers (tiny ups and downs which I usually called conveniently packaged misery), followed by a steep switchback. As I went over the rollers, I suddenly realized that it felt...

Effortless. I actually thought I could put on a bit more speed. So I did.

And I caught up with two of the faster girls in front of me.

And I still didn't feel remotely winded. Or even miserable. In fact...

I was enjoying myself.

A Lot.

The run was actually fun. Nice scenery. Fast pace, so I felt like I was going somewhere. And I was not totally miserable.

At the small swells, I could surge upwards like I had a little nuclear reactor inside my legs. At the switchback, there was a little energy reserve that brought me up that last little bit.

I was actually kind of freaked out. This sort of thing just doesn't happen to people like me. I know my place in the running world, and it is not a happy place. Until this run.

The next day, M was dying a thousand deaths (Crossfit had killed everyone who did this lunge workout), but I felt good. Just a little tight (more stretching in my future!).

So something strange has been happening. This might be beneficial.

Butte to Butte Race Report

2011-07-04T12:42:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: Official times are in! My net time (which is the one I care about) was 1:04:00. (Gun time was 1:06:20, but who cares about the two minutes it took to actually get across the starting line.) Pretty psyched, as even with a monster hill, this represents a faster time than my last official 10K!

The race began last night, with the Pre-Race Ritual. This basically means that I find all my stuff, lay it out, and pack the bag because my brain is mush in the morning. The Famous White Reflective Hat from the first two tris is back in action!

Unfortunately, I tend to deal with nerves by becoming an obsessed control freak. Which explains how, at 11:45PM, I was looking for my sparkle socks and shaking my fist at the unfolded socks in the clean laundry pile. WHY MUST LAUNDRY EXIST TO THWART ME SO!

I get a little worked up before a race.

This was my first Aquafina Butte to Butte and many things went well.

First, for the first time in all existence, there were no lines for the porta potties and they had plenty of TP. This alone is a miracle. Bless you, organizers. You have mastered the portaloo formula.

It was super-easy to park and get to the shuttle location, even though we are still new to town. Yay, us! There were plenty of people dressed for serious running, and lots of people in goofy costumes. We ran near the Statue of Liberty for pretty much the whole morning. Red, white, and blue tutus were abundant, but I can't run enough bleach through my brain to erase the image of the red thong over the blue bodysuit. Why, why, why? The humanity! Next year, maybe I'll put some tinsel on my hat.

I really liked the clothing shuttle- you could wear your sweatshirt up to the start, and drop off your extra clothes to be shuttled down to the finish. We took advantage of this handy service, and let me tell you, it was really nice to be a little warmer at the start and to have my flip flops at the end. And now I know to put my name and race number on my bag BEFORE I leave home.

And then it all started. People told me that the first mile was entirely vertical, so I went in expecting misery and sadness and pain and suffering. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the first mile was actually more of a gradual slope- the real steep-suffering-pain-agony part is only the last third of the hill. This is another reason I love my neighborhood- we live in the Southwest Hills ourselves, reportedly on the other side of the Butte we ran this morning. Recently we started running hills workouts. By recently, I mean "last week", and by "running", I mean that I've never know such pain and misery. This means that today's hill wasn't all that shocking. I suppose camaraderie does a body good. I did slow to a walk for the very last bit of the hill, but recovered quickly at the top. One family was handing out donuts midway up, but I skipped them at that point. (IF they'd been a half-mile later....!)

It was all downhill from there.

Not in a bad-race sense, but I mean, literally. The course looks like this, so you pretty much coast for the next few miles. See? Downhill, mostly, and super-flat.

See?? Isn't that course insane?? (Disclaimer: Not actually depicting Eugene. **)

I was able to relax, keep M in sight, and look for spectators. I didn't see any of my friends in the race itself, but I heard there were people from Crossfit, Multisport, and St. Mary's all running. I did see my boss on the sidelines, and several parishioners along the route! The Boss missed M, who was a few seconds ahead of me, with flames shooting out of his speedy sneakers.

A word on speed: M and I are both running a pace that could be called snail-tacular. Here in TrackTown USA, we are so slow that most people don't recognize what we do as running at all. Small children regularly pass us. Heck, old people zoom by us... REALLY old people. (Last year's 70-74 age group finisher beat my time by at least 20 minutes.) However, last year, I couldn't even do a mile without stopping. So holding down 6 miles with no stopping and at a consistent pace: I call that a major win, baby, win. I take it where I can.

The only downside: EWEB was handling all the "Pure Refreshment" stations, and apparently they adhere to the proper sports concept that for workouts of an hour or so or less can be done on straight water. I have a bad time trying to eat much before a workout, let alone before a race, so I kind of rely on Gatorade mid-heavy-workout to keep me in balance. Trust me, after experimenting all last summer, I know what works foe me. The straight water was starting to upset my stomach by the end! I did not hurl mid race, but there were a few dicey moments when my stomach said "You witch! Where's my Gatorade! I hate you so, so much." My stomach can be very tempermental like that. It always makes up with me later.

All told, near the end, M (who'd been pacing ahead of me) started looking around for me. At mile 5, I finally caught up with him and asked him if he wanted to run this thing out together. He agreed. I think it's just really sweet when your beloved knows he could smoke you if he wanted to, but decides he'd rather finish the race with you.

We finished the race together, just a few seconds before the Statue of Liberty. I took the opportunity to go eat some carbs, yeah, baby, carbs* (whole wheat currant scone and a big cup of coffee with milk). We have declared this a fabulous way to start a Fourth of July!

*I have been really stripping down on easy carbs to focus on getting more protein and whole foods, to strip off some of this pudge before the fall. My body is learning to rely on fat stores for energy and overall, we both feel pretty good. But I think I am hardwired to love carbs, with great great warm squishy fresh-out-of-the-oven love.

This was my last loaf of bread before starting on the new nutrition program. The sweet memories!

**In the picture above, that IS actually Yosemite, with pictures of Half Dome. In the past week, the joke had been made that the Butte to Butte course was so steep that it had cables like Half Dome. It wasn't that bad.

Working on the Run

2011-07-03T22:15:00.000-07:00

Well, I have been training HARD this week. Hard enough that I decided to take most of yesterday and all of today as a rest day. The donation stuff is almost ready to go live!

I've had a number of friends doing other physical stuff all over the country, from the Warrior Dash in CT to a whole bunch of running to the Tour De DioMil. What I really love is that all these folks (who are sweet, awesome, and cool) were people who are NOT natural born athletes. They give me so much hope that there's still hope for me!

How hard have I been training? Well, on Tuesday at Crossfit, the Workout of the Day was to run 400 meters, then do 60 squats, and then run 400 meters, and do 40 pushups, and run, then 20 pull ups, and run, and then 10 handstand pushups, or something very much like that.

My coach modified it so I would do 800 meter runs, and 2/3 of the other stuff. On one hand, it's awesome because the squats make your legs feel *exactly* like they do when you get off on the bike.

On the other hand, when you go out to join your tri club that evening, you are already tired and they smile and look happy and tell you you are about to run 2 miles. Then bike 10. Then run 1 more. And you must reach deep down in the dregs of your existence to pull out the happy power.

I managed to hang with one of the guys for the first mile but couldn't keep up the pace after that. So I was on my own for the bike.

Then came the run. Where I missed the cone signaling the 1 mile turn around and so I kept running and running and running and finally the club leader ran after me as I slowed down and down in agony, and told me I'd missed the cone a while back. So I actually ran 3/4 in each direction, or 1.5 miles. Which means that I WON THE LONG RUN!

I also won the long swim at Nation's last year, by virtue of getting lost and tacking a couple hundred extra meters onto my swim. I really need to stop doing stuff like this.

All told, on Tuesday I turned in a total of 7 miles over the course of the day. And I ran a little brick on Monday, and ran hills on Wednesday which was exquisite misery in a pudding dish of sad, and finally on Friday biked 24ish miles with friends. (Bikes are simply happy workout candy. AWESOME!) Then about 12 or so to the Saturday Market... Which was demoralizing as I huffed and puffed all the way while M sallied forth looking incredibly strong.

It turned out he'd loaded my bag with all the heavy stuff, AND the bike locks. Plus I was riding my hybrid, which is a TANK! So he had a road bike, some kale, and a pint of strawberries. I had a hybrid bike, collards, honey, strawberries, carrots, basil, bike locks, and a side of "wow-ouch".

So... I actually put in some serious mileage this week. Dude, I should really log this, shouldn't I?

In other news, M and I decided to get in on the fun here in Eugene, so we signed up for the Butte to Butte. It's a 10K that starts with a first mile that is essentially vertical. Apparently, you get to the top and cry. And then you run a little and they give you doughnuts somewhere. I signed up mostly for the Tshirt and the promise of doughnuts. People from Crossfit, my tri club, AND my church are all going to be running, so I hope to have some friends in the crowd.

In Which I Lose my Head on my First Paceline and Run a PR in the 5K

2011-06-27T08:47:00.000-07:00

To Do This Week:

I'll be setting up donation portals, among other things, to figure out how to make it easy to help you help me benefit two fabulous causes, Concerns of Police Survivors and Episcopal Relief and Development. I have one person already who has some frequent flyer miles, and a place to stay some of the time in DC. I'd love to stay in a race hotel (to get the shuttle) the night before the race, if that's possible. But now my big thing: figuring out how to get my Beloved Bike from here to there, and get it tuned up.

I think I might go full one-piece trisuit this year, and perhaps sleeveless wetsuit. I liked my trisuit from last year, but I am almost ready to try the bibs concept. I was sold by the guy who mentioned that bibs eliminate muffin rolls and I am extremely vain.

The Weather in Eugene

The most confusing part about moving to the Pacific Northwest so far has been the weather. Oh, sure, I'm usually used to the weatherpeople on TV not quite getting it right. I mean, one of my uncles is a weatherman, and he's able to tell me exactly why weatherpeople are not infallible. Something about weather constantly changing.

But Eugene is extra odd. Sometimes, in the morning, I wake up to this and go riding in weather so thick that the local turtles are practically swimming in mid-air.

This is the same bike path as from a few weeks ago, when I could see the Sisters.

And three hours later, it's glorious and blue and clear and sunny and everything is sparkly.

Same day, same bike path, just a little later. Insane, right?

I'm not quite used to the morning being quite so devious.

Biking

This week, I learned how to paceline, on a tri club ride on Mackenzie View. That's right, I rode my very first ever paceline. This is a cyclist term where a bunch of people ride together to make it easier to ride into wind. It's actually illegal in tri, but we were just on a fun ride. Pacelining is very cool and snazzy, and only really hot cyclists get to do it.

J in front of me had been "pulling", which is what cool people call it when the person in front takes the full force of the wind and makes it easy on the rest of us. She waved me on with the cyclists' secret gesture and I got ready to take over. The idea is that the person pulling goes to the side and the rest of us pass her and she gets back on at the end of the line, while a new person pulls.

So I took over the front. And there I was, at the front of the paceline, for the first time ever, cutting the wind for everyone and bravely leading my team.

Naturally, I buckled under the pressure and went into a full-out sprint. I pedaled like they were trying to rob me. "Fast!" thought I, "Fast is fun! Everyone loves fast! Must... prove... myself... to ... team..... Fast! Faster, or my true identity as a ruthless sandbagger will be revealed!"

A few miles later, we hit our planned rendevous point, and had a nice chat about pacing and not running away from the team. We like paces. I like paces, too.

They actually let me lead again later. I behaved myself, then.

Running

Crossfit had a 5K this week. I'm finding Crossfit to be a blessing and a curse. I'm skipping heavy lifting days and bargaining down the adding of extra weights, and adding on extra running whenever I can. The sprints seem to really be helping me, but I can't do the heavy lifting and still maintain form on runs and bikes. I'm looking at subbing Crossfit Endurance workouts, but finding it a little confusing...

But when it came to 5K day, I was SO THERE. The coaches were sitting in heaps at the couches, trying to tell me they just aren't good at the endurance work. (Ahem. I think they both turned in sub-30 minute 5Ks. Good on you, guys.) But most of the Crossfitters are 5K sprinters. I wanted to try to maintain consistent pace, and finish strong enough to do more. (Since an Olympic is a 10K, after all.)

I turned in a 31:49 5K, which is my new personal record and my time to beat forever more. This was most respectable for me. I think I might be getting a little better at the running.

Running Around in Circles

2011-06-20T20:55:00.000-07:00

This year, since I am not doing the tri with Team in Training, I am working on my own for training.

About 10 minutes from my house on a bike: this is a bike path with the most incredible view. Workout candy! It doesn't show in these pictures, but you can see Three Sisters from here. Big mountain!

I'm trying to draw up a week-by-week plan, yes. But more importantly, I'm trying to balance Crossfit with training. As in, one day Crossfit, one day tri training. (Tomorrow will be a tri day.)

Today was a Crossfit day. The coaches have agreed to work me on lighter weights so I don't bulk up or get too muscley while I work to get leaner so I can be faster.

I guess I am building up speed since I consistently beat M on the run part today. Yeah, I said it. Once, he was quite a bit in front of me and I ran after him and caught him and beat him in. And on the last lap, he was checking out the rear view all the way, because he never caught me at all.

I am Betsy the Rabbit.

Of course, M then went into the gym, picked up the weights, and proceeded to crush me by lifting bigger weights faster, and jumping on a higher box. I had to go to a shorter box after I couldn't jump high enough and clunked my foot on the side and knocked myself over. So he's way stronger.

He is M the Mighty Man.

I'm hoping these short explosive workouts balance the long distance building stuff to help me build speed, and also to burn off some fat. I'm feeling a serious need to whittle off some of this CT Pudge so I can look that much more badass in an all spandex suit.

To help out with that, I'm eating a lot more veggies, cutting out most carbs, grains, and dairy, and adding a ton of protein. There's actually something special going on, but I'll save that for a month or so before I know if it's actually working. Cutting carbs has helped my energy even out a great deal, I've noticed, so I'm not getting the energy spikes and drops. (It also makes those church dinners totally guilt free. Tres Leches cake? Don't mind if I do have a tiny piece since I haven't had any bad carbs for a week!)

The Schnoz. Classic. Roman. Sculpt this, Michelangelo.

The dairy free thing also seems to help on a problem that has plagued me for years on my bikes and now on my runs: the nose. You see, being of Mediterranean descent, I come equipped not with a nose, but with a schnoz. They make statues in museums to celebrate this nose. It is a "classic Roman nose". In grade school, other kids used to draw me as a witch with a wart due to the large prominent facial feature that took me well into my late teens to grow into. Adrian Brody would be my nose buddy. If I ever met him, he'd look up at me as I walked by, and smile knowingly with a small nod, gently tapping his own schnoz with deep understanding.

Apparently, many endurance athletes suffer from a problem known as snot nose. They make gloves with extra big "snot rag" areas. Some of us have actually been known to carry "bandanas" or "hankies" tucked into our jersey pockets. (Now you know why all my jerseys go straight into the wash after a ride! Yes, they do.) A few people think they are really talented because they can do a "farmer's hankie", and to that I say, "EWWWW!! Take the 30 seconds and go to the woods and get a tree leaf or something! You are GROSS! EWW EWW EWW EWW!"

I have discovered that eliminating dairy has helped to almost totally eliminate that problem.

Shocking, amazing, and very, very handy. Sad that I may never again drink chocolate milk which I love with deep love, but great for the Campaign Against Unnecessary Grossness.

Tri Club and Oregon Open Water

2011-06-18T08:16:00.000-07:00

So, since one thing I haven't done a lot of here is swim (well, haven't swum at all in months. Uht oh!) and I am slow as mud in the water, I need to work on my swimming. And the most important part is to swim in open water since that's what we'll be doing in the actual race, or at least, in the races I've raced so far.

Yesterday, I joined with my new club teammates for the first open water swim in Oregon. We swam at Richardson Lake. Some people swam 2 miles. I swam 1/2 mile. I am still slow as dirt. But it was really delightful to get out in the water. It was about 65 degrees, and the cleanest, coolest water I've ever been in. I felt I could drink it, practically! (But I didn't.) When I swam the Potomac, I was sneezing brown all the rest of the day, and I washed brown silt off everything when I got back to the hotel. Here, the water was sparkling.

Richardson Lake and it's sparkly clean waters!

And on the way home, there were rainbows!

And in open water, we need a wetsuit. I am no fan of cold water. In fact, I typically shriek like a little girl as I enter all water temperatures. This year, I'm thinking of getting a sleeveless one for those times when I don't need to be AS warm. Besides, my new teammates in sleeveless look totally badass.

It's all about appearances. I would like to be a badass too, thank you kindly.

I joined a tri club here- The Multisport Advantage club. They meet for group workouts several evenings a week. I considered their training program, as well, but the 6AM start time ALL WEEK LONG felt a little daunting.

I'm not a morning person. Bad, bad, bad. So I talked to my Crossfit coach and we're going to try Crossfit Endurance with me for a bit. It means he still gets to wreck me a little, but will focus more on bodyweight and gymnastic movements instead of heavy, heavy weights, and he'll make me do a lot more running.

They still have these crazy ideas like women having actual upper body strength, and they have me lifting actual heavy weight, and getting stronger. I think they think that I'll be doing pushups someday.

Seriously, Crossfit has been great because I'm actually starting to look forward to the runs. It's how we know the workout is really hard, when I say, "OH, a 400 METER SPRINT! WHAT A NICE BREAK!"

Well, it's Saturday in Eugene, and that means one thing: meeting friends at Saturday Market.

As far the Nation's Tri, I have my organizations on board, and hope to announce a donations link soon!

Tri Club, Tri Training, Coaches

2011-06-13T18:09:00.000-07:00

So, last year with Team in Training, I had coaching included. Sure, I paid for my gym membership (and have since Seminary- since I'm cheap, I find I am most responsible when I'm paying for something), and used the pool for swimming and went to yoga. By the way, even gym pools get gross when there are little kids in them. Blllllech.

At any rate, I now have motivation to find a pool quickly for swim workouts, and to get cracking on some real tri training.

Enter dilemma.

We joined Crossfit when we arrived, and the guys are really nice, and they push me hard. They push me way harder than I would push myself. I've definitely gained some fitness. I haven't lost weight, which is annoying, because I feel like I've put ON some muscle. This is really frustrated, since I'm hardly a small girl. But the price is right, and the same all year round. And they are great to work out with, as a woman- I like it when someone pushes me without treating me "like a girl".

Then I found a tri-specific gym here, with a focus on endurance and body-weight training, so you get a strong core, but a leaner body and tons and tons of tri-specific workouts. But they do charge extra for things like a nutrition consult, and their price goes up in the winter. You do get to workout with the club.

I could also join just the club and try to do my own training, or to see if the Crossfit guys want to hold me accountable or to work with me on a tri training plan, or give up Crossfit in favor of tri-specific training, or put Crossfit on hold until winter?

I dunno. I will be talking to the Crossfit coach on Friday and in the meantime... what would YOU do?

Nation's Tri!

2011-06-09T15:40:00.000-07:00

So, here's the big news, race-wise:

I was accepted to get into the Nation's Tri in the category of First Responder. They opened the category to police, fire fighters, EMS, and "other first responders". When I wrote and explained the sort of work I did, they were very happy to accept an emergency services chaplain. M insisted I sign up that day!

Of course, here's the kicker: I get the most energy out of races when they are done for the benefit of someone else. (Also, they are too expensive to go to very many!) So if I have just one big race a year, it better be an awesome benefit. Long-term followers will remember the famous Team Ben last year and how we blitzed our fund-raising goal. I thought about doing Team in Training again this year, as I had such a great experience with them. In the awesome news section, Ben has been in remission for months. He and his wife are enjoying some very well-deserved recuperation and relaxation time. Well, SHE is. HE is attempting to revert to his hard-working ways. Ahem, Ben, we're watching you, buddy!

And this year, the race is being held in DC, on 9/11. 10 years ago, I'd just started Seminary. I will never forget the roars of the fighter jets. I had never heard sonic booms, and to this day, it chills me that we had to have jets scrambled over American soil. Over the next few years, it was my very great privilege to serve with the COPS conference and the Alexandria and Arlington Police supporting survivors. My favorite survivor of all is a sweet guy from NYC- he lost several buddies in the World Trade Center. The first year I met him, he was angry and defensive and didn't want anything to do with the COPS conference. I gave him directions to the "fun" stuff in DC and let him go. He kept coming back, and the fifth year out, he did the Police Unity Tour with my chapter. He was starting to remember how to have fun and why he became a cop in the first place. He was starting to remember what it felt like to help people and to do good.

So this year, in honor of all the awesome emergency workers I've worked with and will continue to serve, I am going to be doing this Tri for them.

I'm going to be talking to some folks to get a donations account set up, and intend to donate 50% to COPS and their awesome work, and 50% to Episcopal Relief and Development. These organizations care for the people and the communities long after the fires and ash have burnt out, and long after the gunshots have faded into memory.

I'm also asking if anyone has any frequent flyer miles they'd like to donate to me. I'll be joining a new tri club here and will work the discounts, but if anyone would like to help me with the flights or the cost of a hotel room for right before the tri and right after the tri, I would be so grateful. I've already put $190 towards my own efforts (for registration), and for every flight and hotel room people donate, I'll be able to put an extra donation towards COPS and ERD.

This'll be a major personal project this summer, and I am so looking forward to the Potomac River neti pot effect. This year, I want to not get lost in the swim, and to shave some time off my run. Oh, and to not be the last first responder to cross the line.

Tri Season and Eugene Bike Exaggerations

2011-06-05T22:50:00.000-07:00

For the record... I have applied to get into a certain race under a certain category that I might or might not qualify for, depending on the race organizer's definition of my job and whether all my time in BDUs and boots (or scrubs, or bike gear and bulletproof, or business casual and funny purple latex-free gloves, depending on the day) is the same as mine. More to come. If I get in, it'll be awesome.

In the meantime, I have been riding around Eugene.

Eugene is really awesome. It's sort of like a biker chick's dream town to live in. Do they make heart-Oregon stickers for my bike, too? However, among other things, I have learned that Eugene might have a fibbing problem when it comes to bikes.

It started with stuff like my normally sweet and innocent parishioners saying things like, "Oh, I'm just a casual around town rider". And then you find they are super-commuters who are so tough that rain itself stops in their general vicinity and yields the bike lane to their awesome commuter super-powers. Or the one who said "Oh, I have a few tools and I like to tinker" and proceeded to give my road bike the best damn tune up it's ever had in its short life. (That bike is riding AWESOME right now!)

The other day, I took M out to a ride on the famous River Bike Bath. It borders the Willamette River and goes right by McMenamins, which is now dear to me for introducing me to my new favorite junk food- cajunized tator tots.

Several people have told me that the River Path is 20 miles. We rode it end to end, and barely scraped up 11 miles. That was a rather infamous ride, as M took off on a little speed-demon trip to show me how fast he was. Sadly, he missed a crucial turn and we got separated and mildly lost and by the time we found each other and our car, I had gotten seriously rained on. Plus I was worried about my missing beloved. And really, really cheezed off that he'd ditched me. Ahem. Wives are pretty much on par with cats when they are both wet and mad. Somehow, I think he'll be developing his "looking behind him" skills a lot.

Also- there's a hill nearby my house called Green Hill. I was told it was "500, maybe 600 meters of a nice rolling climb. There's a few flattish spots to catch your breath." I wonder if the guy knew he was lying to a priest?

Because Green Hill feels like about 12 miles of straight uphill, 80% grade. There's a few flattish spots where I can catch my breath indeed- it's pretty flat once you give into to the shaking legs and clip desperately out of your pedals and lie on the side of the road for a minute, heaving precious molecules of oxygen into your deprived body, which is busy screaming "Why, why, you witch, why?"

However, I must say that on the other side of Green Hill, there's the most awesome screaming descent. I broke 40mph, despite holding my brakes most of the time. M has the most bizarre ideas about "safety" and stuff. Secretly, I want to try going all out sometime to see just how fast I can go.

In the meantime, I tell you, I better have the most awesome quads in the world by the end of this summer. Because WOW, these hills are kicking my squashy East Coast heiny! Is there some reason I haven't magically become super skinny since moving here? My legs are slowly turning into steel, but I should be much skinnier, kind of like I was when I lived in VA. It can't have anything to do with the many fabulous people who give me cake each week, can it? Oh, new job, you people celebrate so many wonderful things with such amazing cake. And pie.

And tater tots!

Are we settled yet?

2011-05-31T23:32:00.000-07:00

Oregon has tons of rainbows. Usually, it's good for at least three a week.
Once, I saw six in one day, including one triple rainbow.

Whoa. Yes, it has been a long time. And I have gotten a number of questions of whether I would ever blog again. I suppose blogging was my voice in a time when I had few people to talk to. When I was a staff chaplain, most of my working hours were between 4 PM and 830AM... I was the only one in my department. I had a solo on-call room. I worked alone, and went home to a house that was usually empty as M had often left for work or to study. I made solo lunches and went on solitary bike rides and went back to work by myself.

Some of you CT Yankees might remember some of my constant invites for lunch, coffee, puppy walking. At least one of you probably remembers me running after you on an early morning dog walk, me jumping off my bike and running after you, clopping away in my road shoes, waving like a mad man. Yes, I really was that desperate for human interaction. I was feeling rather troll-like.

Now, being in a busy parish, it's full of people who talk. It's one of the coolest things of my new position- there's people everywhere! I go out to get a cup of coffee from the free-flowing bottomless pot-o-blessing aka the coffee that flows like living water, and the office assistants talk to me. I head back to my office and I have my boss on one side and my colleague on the other, and several more colleagues downstairs, and sometimes everyone can just talk to each other all day. (Though it does crack me up when one of them uses the phone to call me from the next office. Hey, guys, sitting will kill us.) Sometimes, I have meetings all day long and talk to people. I can go to the coffee shop and make small talk with the baristas who recognize me. I come home and I see more of M than I have in years and I talk to him, too. Even at Crossfit, the coaches talk to me! And then they try to kill me with pushups.

It's really kind of fun, after the last years when I spent so. Much. Time. completely alone.

I haven't known for a long, long time what it was like for this extrovert to have enough of people and to want to be alone for a bit. Don't get me wrong- I love, love, love talking to people. I think my favorite weekday might be Thursday knitting group. They talk AND drink tea! Yet sometimes, quiet and alone feels okay. Today, I actually went for a run to get some alone time.

It's interesting, really.

So if I don't need a blog anymore to say the things I used to not be able to say, what WILL I do with it? I'm thinking I did a lot of talking about triathlons last summer... maybe it's time for the biking priest to chronicle more tris and bike rides. Because this year, I am determined to lose my CT pudge and get fit and trim... and maybe even fast. Most Sunday events are out for me, but I have PRs now, and they exist to be broken.

Game on.

Now the Green Blade Riseth...

2011-02-27T19:31:00.000-08:00

This is a big old swatch of bright, green grass. In fact, it is grass in Eugene OR. It is the way the grass looked in late January. We'd flown out of CT barely missing a giant snow storm. In fact, we'd land in a storm as well, coming off the red-eye. But while we were there in Eugene, this is what we saw.

It does a soul good to see green, especially this winter when we are so white-weary of the frozen water droplets.

Sometimes people ask me if I'm nervous about moving to Eugene. Well, naturally, YES, of course! It's very far away from the East Coast. It is not my beloved Virginia. They will give me lots of tofu, but it's absolutely going to be an adjustment to living in the new land of the West Coast.

What is keeping me calm is remembering that this is not just a job- this is a call. I had myself some serious conversations with the Great Above during this entire process. And my new gig held the most intense, unique interviews ever. It was very bald and open and revealing- I don't think I've ever revealed so much about myself in a weekend, ever. But I met so many people who all joined together to help make the decision- and that's what is keeping me calm and centered.

This is not just my decision. It's a mutual decision of a community in prayer. Whew. That really does relieve a lot of pressure. Really, it does.

We can't exactly even explain in English WHY we know we were called out to Eugene. We just know that we HAVE been called out, and that for some inexplicable reason, we both feel a sense of certainty and peace. It's beyond logic, but we know this is right.

How about some more Eugene pictures?

These are flowers. They were blooming in January. People go for walks together in January, outside. In fact, I ever heard that people ask other people to meet them somewhere for a chat and to hang out, and instead of going for coffee, they go for a walk. People walk up and down the Buttes (pronounced BEAUTs. Really!) and hang out. It'll be a nice change from the eating-centered hanging out I've done all this time in Connecticut.

Our current opinion of Eugene!

The mittens are from a store called Down to Earth, of all this green, sustainable living stuff. Compost bins, table wear, pots, pans, nut milk bags, garden items... way too exciting! Eugene even has a store that sells natural latex beds (it's the non-hot alternative to memory foam. M is agitating for a memory foam bed!)

Moving is FUN!

2011-02-21T10:52:00.000-08:00

So, news is out that we are moving to the West Coast. I'm so excited. They give you tofu right in the restaurants. The trees have lichen on them, so even the leaf-less trees have a faint green. We'll be about an hour from the coast. I think it'll be fun to live in-between the coast and the mountains. I'm told people ski on the mountains. I've actually NEVER skiied in my entire life. So these hot-shot kids in Eugene will have a lot to teach me. I bet Eugene is teeming with skiing whiz-people.

Anyway, the packing is going OK. So far, I have accidentally smashed only my favorite beehive shaped cookie jar. I have repacked several boxes BETTER and LABELED them. Ahem, my beloved M. Packed. With paper, and padding, and labels. This is important with packing, as you found out this summer. But you make me amazing fried eggs, so you are off the hook. Except that our bread machine died, so I can no longer have toast with my eggs. The death of Bread Machine is truly tragic!

For fun, I'm getting moving QUOTES, to give my new employers, so they may pay the movers for moving me to a new house/condo/apartment/townhouse. We haven't yet found a place to live. My plan is to get to Eugene and then house hunt furiously. It'll be fun and adventurous. Don'tcha think? Anyone live in Eugene? Wanna come house-hunting in a few weeks?

One company has already sold my name to other small moving companies, so I'm getting random calls from places like New Jersey. This will probably continue until I change my phone number. But really, alleged moving companies, if you don't leave me a message, do you really think I'm going to answer the phone when it says BLOCKED? And if you won't do an in-person estimate, I am not going to let you move my stuff.

In other news, I had a lot of non-moving related fun yesterday. I visited my friends at St. Mark's Storrs, which is one of my favorite Episcopal Churches in CT. They are just wonderful folks. St. Mary's Eugene people will soon see the coolest Advent/Christmas/Lent thing EVER. I'm not kidding. You guys will flip.

I also did an indoor triathlon yesterday afternoon. I'm still waiting for results to be posted. Clearly, Star Hill Sports has just done their first tri, because results weren't available instantly. Don't they realize that many triathletes are junkies for numbers? Don't look now, because I did this one without having swum for a month or run since the first snow. I've only been cycling inside on a trainer while watching cheesy sci-fi. But I might have posted a person best in the run. I don't know yet, but I'll share if I do! It WAS a nice tri, though. Star Hill really does have great space for indoor tris, and should really, really consider doing a series during the winter. Which is actually when the magazines tell me I should be doing "active rest" and mountain biking (check), eating real food (check), and doing engaging winter sports like snow shoeing (uncheck. No one will lend me their snow shoes!)

Hoodie Sweatshirts Change Lives

2011-02-15T16:45:00.000-08:00

Well, back a few months ago, I owned only one hoodie sweatshirt. It is the Newington Soccer sweatshirt my parents bought me when I made travel team and we have to buy certain parts of our uniform. It has my name on the back. They bought it too big and gave me this huge lecture about taking care of my sweatshirt. 20 years later, I still have it. You're welcome, Mom and Dad.

I wore it while my dad taught me to refinish and I re-did a secretary desk which now looks really awesome. But my picture won't upload, so imagine a gorgeous desk.

Awesome, eh?

I was very sad here in the Frozen Icey Nutmeg state. (Sounds like a coffee drink, no?) It is hard to find a place to ride your bike. I often racked my bike and drove it to places to ride it. I wished I lived in a place where I could ride my bike right out of my house.

I was also getting very sad at work. I work in the ED and I love my ED people and my Nuero people... but the nature of our work involves a lot of death and dying. And while my people like to feed me cake and coffee (and whole snack spreads on C9I! You guys are awesome), the death and dying was starting to get to me. I love helping people. I love talking with a person as they work through their issues and being present as God's grace illuminates darkness. But I grew weary of the dying. Sometimes I'd have 9 deaths in a single night. Once I had two babies and a co-worker die in the same day. I'd always said that I would know it would be time to get out of the chaplaincy work when I started feeling numb. That time came.

Unbeknownest to me, M had purchased a Christmas present in the fall. It was this.

It is a hoodie sweatshirt from one of my favorite bloggers, the Fat Cyclist. I like him because he does good things for humanity like raise money to fight cancer, and he's obsessed with his bikes. He went to hell as his first wife died of cancer, but he has come back to celebrate living fully. (And his second wife, nicknamed the Runner, sounds so awesome. I have the most major girl crush on her.) He also describes crashes in great detail. A true cyclist, really. I like to imagine that the Fat Cyclist and I could have a nice chat for an hour or two, talking about nothing but crashes and comparing scars and eating our weight in french fries. It would be fun.

After this hoodie arrived, it immediately began working its hoodie magic even though it was being hidden. I saw a posting for a job that looked like a lot of fun in a really cool location. I talked to the boss there and applied for the job.

And Martin gave me the hoodie for Christmas.

And the job invited me to fly out to interview as a finalist. And I loved the place. The people were awesome. The town was awesome. And the weather is so mild you can ride your bike every day. In fact, many people bike commute, riding right out of their garage and all around the streets. I thought this really rocked.

Now church work isn't just a job. It's a call. Priests and clergy (and hopefully, every person of God) see their work as a calling, as something where God calls us to grow and change and transform. So when we join a parish, we aren't just taking a job for some quick cash and sweet vacation benefits. We should be accepting a call because we believe it is where God wants us to go next. The parish calls us because they discern in groups called "committees" that we are the one being called there. It means when the call comes, it's more than just you- it's a process that involved a few dozen people saying, "Hmmmm... I think this is the right call."

Whenever I get the nervous tremors about moving 3,100 miles away, I remember this. IT'S NOT JUST ME MAKING THIS CHOICE! Phew. So much less pressure.

So when the church called, I accepted. And we gave each other these for a Valentine's present. Therefore, Hoodies Change Lives. Because all the positive changes in my life these past six months were accompanied by hoodies.

So I have a new call, to Eugene, OR. I will become a West Coast priest. I will be bike commuting and getting to eat tofu in fast food places. It's not just a cool job. It's a call.

It means that God, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.

And the hoodies are just a bonus, after all.

Craig's List

2011-02-15T07:31:00.000-08:00

So we are trying to sell M's Kia Sephia on Craig's List, and I wrote a joke ad that he dared me to post.

I've done all sorts of things on a dare, like bungee jump. So post an ad? Sure.

It is for an ugly, but well running Kia.

Then it got nominated for Best of Craig's List. And I read this, which might be the best ad ever written.

Please put down any items- coffee, soda, babies- before proceeding.

MICROSTORM! And shout out.

2011-02-12T14:43:00.000-08:00

In the category of super-creepy things in Connecticut... I was watching the sun set from my 10 floor place, and freezing my duff off. That might be due to M's bad habit of opening the windows because he is "hot" and it's "stuffy". (We don't even use the heat in here, but the man has a body temperature that should be studied as a model for a portable fusion device. He's hot, in so many ways.) I was wearing a sweater, a shawl, socks, AND Uggs and still shivering.

Suddenly, I heard a rushing wind sound, and even as the west is still pink and lovely with a few lazy clouds in the light blue sky, these black snowflakes started barreling down. At first I yelled, "OHMIGOD, IT'S HAILING!" M insists it's snowflakes but they look black because they are totally backlit. There are black rolling clouds visible to the North. So it's some sort of freaky microstorm.

This weather is creepy. Cold, and creepy. Any day now, I am expecting the elevators to start pouring blood and to have someone chop down my door yelling "Heeeere's JOHNNY!" And I've never even SEEN the Shining- only the Shinning! (Thank you, Simpsons and the Treehouse of Horror. Without you, I'd never know the plots of horror movies.)

Meanwhile, in the GOOD NEWS front, I did have an excellent day of errand running. Among other things, I got a much-needed gig bag at a fabulous price from Lasalle Music in West Hartford, on the corner of Lasalle Rd and Farmington Ave. It was more than $50 cheaper than comparable bags I'd been looking at, and it was long past due that I bought a bag for my electric piano (88 weighted keys, and only a few basic piano and harpsichord sounds. Serious piano stuff and no fluff. If you really wanted to know.). Previously, I've been asked to bring it for retreats and small events, but it was a tough thing because I had no bag, so I would wrap it in blankets and towels. This will make that SO much easier, so now you may ask me any time (well, if you know me and we live in the same state and stuff) to bring my piano to events.

Meanwhile, it's still sunset and orange and pink and blue and there's STILL CREEPY BLACK CLOUDS AND SPOOKY SNOW, accompanied by a few flocks of starlings and crows, circling our buildings and crying out in scary bird voices. I may never leave my apartment again. Seriously. They write thrillers about stuff like this.