Tennessee

Thanks to the magic of my DVR-ing skills, when many weeks ago I configured DVR to record the entire Arrested Development series, I actually DID record the final episodes that aired on Friday. Seeing 4 episodes under My DVR just now as I set a recording for Grey's Anatomy just completely made my night. How did I ever live without DVR? All that excitement aside, I still am in mourning. And I thought that since I will no longer be able to WATCH Arrested Development, I should LISTEN to Arrested Development on my iPod.

So right now I am listenting to "Tennessee." Because, in addition to needing more Arrested Development in my life - in all forms - Dude, "I've really been real stressed. Down and out, losin ground... Problems got me pessimistic... Why does it have to be so damn tough?"

OK, I'm kidding. I'm not entirely down and out. But I did go to Tennessee today. Alright, Tennessee Valley. Just another gorgeous set of trails and mountains and ocean out in Marin County. Since yesterday's run didn't go so well, I thought it would be a good idea to get a change of scenery. Why attack the same road again today when I could change things up a bit and run some trails?

What a TERRIBLE idea! Trail running is effing hard. Especially when the trails go straight up mountains. And when you are still getting over a cold. Eh, who am I kidding it was only 10% the lingering cold. 90% of the problem was that I am just not in shape for trail running up mountains. Well, maybe that 90% should be divided between not being in shape to run up mountains and the effects of drinking one's face off over the weekend. Friday night I had too many beers and Saturday night I had too much red wine. Which I think is healthier than beer, but still. My face fell off in a bar somewhere over the weekend. And on the mountain today, I was again reminded that I can't drink like I could when I was 20. (Growing up sucks!)

But back to the run. Anyway you look at it, it was t-o-ugh. And I think I'm going to hurt tomorrow. I'll definitely have to run more hills if I plan to make it to the top of a certain Heartbreaker!

Running aside, the views of the Pacific Ocean at the peaks and ridges were glorious. And at one point, you could peer over other mountains to see the top of the San Francisco skyline. You could see the waves crashing against the rocky coast. And you could see the amazing homes built into the mountains framing The Bay.

I took some pictures which I'll post soon. (Patience! I used an old disposable camera. The pictures have to be, what they call, DEVELOPED.) But in the meantime, Dad sent a couple of pics of the 18" that fell on them... Check 'em out! As grueling as Tennessee was today, I doubt it was as grueling as shoveling the driveway with Brother and Dad!

"Take me to another place... Take me to another land... Make me forget all that hurts me... Let me understand your plan..."

On the Radar

The scenery was nice. So nice that it actually looked like scenery. Painted on a canvas. The coolest, crispest blue to contrast the warmest red arches of the most beautiful bridge. Flecks of white scattered throughout a deep navy blanket that silently rippled in the background. It was a perfect back-drop for my first "performance" in more than a few days.

My right hip felt kind of tight. And my left foot was kind of crampy. My breathing was a little too heavy. And my pace was hella slow. Ker-plunk. Ker-plunk. Ker-plunk. But what was most odd was my virtually non-existent balance. All over the map!

However it's better to be all over the map than to not even show up on the course radar. And it's great to be back to my cold-free self.

QED

During recent banter with my father over email, he requsted I elaborate on a theory I doumented in a recent post. OK, elaborate isn't exactly accurate. He disagreed with my theory that the skinny people sitting around the dining room table at our holiday gatherings are all in-laws.

Without naming names, we agreed that of the 5 in-laws at the table, only two can be deemed, "skinny." Dad said, "...2 out of 5 does not bode well with your in-law theory. Go back and update your blog! Ha ha ha."

Dad, I think you are arguing the wrong point here. For the record, "...and the skinny people are all in-laws..." has an entirely different meaning than "all the in-laws are skinny," which is what you were arguing in your emails and why you have some beef with my theory. Which isn't really a theory - it's more of an observation, but whatever.

Let's discuss further...

Let's let p represent the people who are skinny.
And let's let q represent the peole who are in-laws.

My argument that the skinny people at the table are in-laws can be logically represented in terms of p and q. What I was saying, was "if p then q." If you are skinny, then you are an in-law. Dad, unfortunately, you were arguing the CONVERSE of my statement, "If q then p." In this case, the CONVERSE of my statement would be, "If you are an in-law, you are skinny." Mathematically or logically speaking, the CONVERSE of a statement is not necessarily true. And as you argued over email, it is not true as applied to our real-life family matters. So kudos, you're point was correct, but you were not correctly analyzing my argument.

Because I'm your daughter and you love me, and because I think you need this logic refresher course, I am going to keep going. The INVERSE of my statement, "If not p then not q," or for the skinny in-law scenario, "If you are not an in-law, then you are not skinny," also cannot be deduced to be logically true given my original statement. However you weren't arguing this point, so this is all fluff right now.

But - I do want to point out that the CONTRAPOSITIVE of my original statement, "If not q then not p," which In this case would be, "If you are not skinny, then you are not an in-law," actually DOES have the same logical value as my original statement itself. So if you were arguing this point, you'd be wasting your time, but you'd be right.

I'm going to wrap things up, now. (If only I could find a therefore sign on my keyboard...)

Therefore, I am still right. And you are technically right, as well, but because I'm disappointed that your argument was not entirely valid, I am going to crown myself more right than you.

There is an additional lesson for you, here, though - and it's one I think you will like. You SO got your money's worth by paying Council Rock School District taxes and then agreeing to pay 3/4 of my college education at UVA. I probably could have learned this stuff at Penn State - or even Drexel - but it was more fun down in Charlottesville.

And actually, I think I get a bonus lesson in all of this, too. Because I guess in some strange way, I miss asking you to help me with my algebra and calculus homework. Hell, I think I actually miss even HAVING that homework.

So I will pine away for some night after dinner in the future, when my little 14 year old son or daughter is attempting to solve the infamous Algebra 1 word problem about how long it will take the boat to travel up the river against the current. And I will look forward being able to say, to my child's dismay nevertheless, "It would be easier if I showed you how to do this with a derivative..."

QED!

Think Pink

Hands down, conjunctivitis is the best illness on the planet. You're super contagious so you can't go to school. And yet you feel 100% fine. Save the crustiness that tends to ooze out of the eyes.

The problem with a cold, and a chest cold nevertheless, is that it is NOT conjunctivitis. You're probably not too contagious after the first day. But for a few days, you can't really move. Or remember things. And OH, the hacking. You feel like crap. I REALLY feel like crap. And I bet I will be feeling less than great for the next week.

I didn't make it to work today, much less to the trail, gym, or yoga. I guess I have been going pretty strong lately. It's not entirely surprising that some germs got the best of me.

Still, I'm frustrated. Because even though I feel like a complete hacking blob, I am antsy to get out of the apartment to do something. I feel like I all the momentum and excitement and good healthy vibes I've been building the past month and a half are colliding into a wall. All the energy is going to dissipate and I'm not going to be able to collect it again.

That's another problem with colds - they make your outlook suck.

So, I'm going to head to bed. The latest Runner's World arrived today, which begs a question: If I miss MY training run, does reading about the training runs of others make up for it? It does today!

The Short List

It was one of the top 5 days of my life. (Naturally, I keep a record of these things.)

Brunch, Booze, and Birthday Cake. A celebration of my 25th birthday. Being a total addict for both Sunday Brunch and birthdays, (mine in particular) I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate than with an all day brunch with everyone and everything in DC that I loved. 40 friends. Mom. Dad. Brother. 4 dozen eggs, 3 rounds of pancakes, 2 dozen bagels. Many many many mimosas. And Bloody Marys. And after the brunching hour, there was beer. Beer. Beer. Beer. And wine. I can't believe that there was also wine. I actually used to know the count of bottles consumed that afternoon, but I think I've blocked it out by now.

I remember standing on the steps at SKB's house that afternoon, looking out on all the people that had come to celebrate #25 with me. I remember watching my dad tell ridiculous stories to SKB. I remember MMG and CLG hanging out with my mom. And I remember AFS taking a genuine interest in my brother; I remember my brother actually opening up to her. And to me.

I have this picture from that day. We are all standing around the table about to sing Happy Birthday. We are all laughing and smiling. This picture is how I will always remember DC. A year ago, I could not have imagined that I would be spending birthday #26 on the other side of the country. Without a single person in that picture.

My roommates want to have a combined birthday party in a couple of weeks. And I'm preparing the list of people I would like to invite. I know it's only been six months, and that I shouldn't expect to have 40 names. But I didn't expect this guest list to be SO short!

However, one of the OTHER best days of my life was February 22, 1999. My 19th Birthday. My first brithday celebration at UVA. My first birthday with the core of those 40 amazing people whom I miss so much.

So yes, it's a short list. But it's the San Francisco Short List.

Let the Countdown to #26 begin! (14 days...)

Thrive!

Do you ever feel yourself being persuaded by marketing? For example, do you ever find yourself in the shampoo aisle at Walgreens deciding between Brilliant Brunette and Garnier Fructis and going with the Brilliant Brunette because you can HEAR the commercial in your head? And you're thinking, "Yes! I MUST have this because the Brilliant Brunette is SPECIFICALLY FORMULATED to ILLUMINATE my drabby brown hair."

I know, it's ridiculous. However, I've also felt myself being affected by the ambush of the newest Kaiser-Permanente ads. The company's most recent campaign promotes general health and well-being through a series of advertisements on billboards, newpapers, magazines, and commercials. "Escape the gravitational pull of the couch," is one of my favorites. As is the broccolli newspaper ad. (See 'em all...)

So you can imagine the uplifting spirit I found today, at the Kaiser-Permanente San Francisco Half Marathon. There were no ChampoinChips, nor were there clocks at the mile markers. There wasn't an expo the day before the race nor did we receive any finisher's medal. It was no frills, just do it, bare bones running. But it was nice. That's what it's all about anyway, right?

The race started in Golden Gate Park at Stowe Lake and ran East back into The Haight around the Panhandle. The first couple of miles were a little tough. My legs were feeling kind of heavy, and I was concerned I hadn't fueled properly for the distance. But the sun was shining and it was warm and I pushed through. But it was just so crowded. So on top of feeling uneasy about my legs I was also getting kind of pissed off. I'm normally nothing but supportive of all the race participants but today some of the walkers were pissing me off. MOVE OVER! There is a STAMPEDE behind you! Apparently Runners High hadn't kicked in yet.

We rounded back into the park by Mile 3, running past the Conservatory of Flowers and the DeYoung museum. The pack was finally starting to thin, and the course began to present us with some small hills. All in all, there was a nice mix of terrain, and I tried to take advantage of the downhills whenever I could. Still, at Mile 5, my legs were just not cooperating. I guess they just didn't felt like racing today. I popped open a Gu and began to feel a bit better. I ran through Mile 5 wondering if Gu REALLY works or if it's all in my head. I'm sure it's a bit of both!

Because there were no clocks at the mile markers, race volunteers lined up whenever they could to call out times to everyone. It was a nice effort, but it was kind of hard to hear them. So when I crossed Mile 6 and heard 51:30, I thought to myself, "Holy effing crap!" Maybe I didn't hear that right. How is that time possible? Here I am, feeling like I'm running through mud, with a time that translates to about an 8:30 pace. Perhaps even a little faster because I didn't cross the Start Line right away...

I figured THAT would explain why my legs weren't cooperating. So I bargained with them. I said, "Legs, i will rub copious amounts of Ben Gay on you when we get home if you'll just PRETEND to enjoy the rest of this race. We've got an hour more to go, then I'll take you home and feed you a breakfast burrito. We'll drink coffee and read The Chronicle and watch a movie. Perhaps The Incredibles or maybe even Legally Blonde. After that you can sit on the couch and watch The Superbowl. Just keep going and start to like how it feels. Just a little. Deal?"

Bribery. It always works! The Legs continued to carry me. Right-Left-Right-Left - Leap-over-the-puddle - Right-Left-Right-Left - Watch-out-for-the-person-who-feels-like-walking-without-moving-to-the-side. Before I knew it I was running into Ocean Beach and out onto The Great Highway. Grabbing water and Gatorade I began to feel invigorated. Just looking at the Pacific Ocean has such rejuvenating effects. And of course, it was nice to welcome The Legs to the course. Racing is so much easier when The Legs are just as invested as the rest of you.

Soon enough, I was approaching Mile 10 and a volunteer with a megaphone. He yelled, "85 flat!" And part of me didn't believe him. Another part of me DID believe him, though. That part wanted to give up at that point. That part thought that 8:30 pace for 10 miles seemed like good enough for the day. But we were so close. And I could see The Beach Chalet restaurant at the foot of Golden Gate Park up ahead. The Finish Line wasn't far. Only 3 more miles! 3! NOTHING! So I promised The Legs Season Two of Arrested Development on top of a movie. And true to form, the bribery again worked. We made it through the last three miles. They weren't entirely easy, nor were they very fun. Especially considering the little hill at 12.75 miles. But eventually I saw balloons. And we - Me and The Legs - gave it all that we had to make it to the Finish Line. Crossing with a smile, and feeling pretty good.

In 1:51:05 clock time. I have to type that again because I'm kind of shocked still. 1:51:05... That's 8:29 pace! And, why that's a PR! What a great way to start the 2006 Racing Season. Bribery with The Legs and all!

And there, in the finish chute, I finally found my Runner's High. It was a little late in coming today, but better late than never. I guess you can't always find a runner's high on a run. Sometimes you find it while walking back to your car when it's over. When you figure out that you just had a PR. And you realize that you are on track to have another one in San Diego in June. And when you realize you're not as far away from qualifying for Boston as you thought you were. When you realize that ALL you have to do make it to Boston is keep that pace you ran today - that 8:29 - for another 13.1 miles. Yep, that's ALL!!!

So, I'm pretty stoked. So stoked that I'm using the word, "stoked." Again. STOKED! Dude, that's thrice. And man, I love the word, "thrice." Seriously.

Kaiser, keep those ads coming. I don't mind being influenced by your marketing schemes. In fact, i am quite liking their effects! In return, I promise to continue to "Be [My] Own Cause." And I promise to eat broccolli. I promise to be pro-antioxidant and I promise to resist the gravitational pull of my couch. And above all, I definitely promise to continue to Run. To Walk. And to THRIVE.

Just a Half

Today one of my best friends from college called. It went like this:

Him: "Hey! How's SF? What are you up to?"
Me: "Hi! Good, good. Everything's good. Right now I'm walking back to my apartment from yoga and a quick run. It's pretty gorgeous here today."
Him: "Man, it's snowing in Chicago... ...So you've been running a lot?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm racing tomorrow, so I just did a short easy run today."
Him: "A race?! How long is it?"
Me: "Oh, just a Half."
Him: "A half?"
Me: "Oh, um, a half marathon..."
Him: "Right, just wake up and run 13 miles before noon. You're an idiot."

It is not my intention to belittle the Half Marathon. I'm sure that come Mile 11 tomorrow, I am going to wish it was Mile 13.1. But I really DO feel like tomorrow is ONLY a Half Marathon.

Which is kind of cool, you know?

Now if only I could find some safety pins for my bib number...

Don't Sniff, Blow!

Today's horoscope, compliments of my Customized Google Homepage and the folks at Tarot.com:

"The previous months may have demonstrated the importance of your friends and their steady presence in your life. If, however, you're looking for new friends, now is a great time to make overtures to others in order to start creating more fellowship. Remember, being social is a conscious choice. Going out of your way to build community will be rewarded in the weeks ahead."

Do you see why I believe in this crap?

So, although I am struggling through the beginnings of a cold, I feel that it is my duty to go to this dinner party I've been invited to attend. I drank 3 16 oz glasses of Airborne today. Not to mention two cups of tea, and probably 8 more 8 oz glasses of water. My desk looked like a fraternity basement... sans cans of beer.

And I had to pee so many times today that I'm worried people in the office think I have a "habit." The sniffling and the tissues aren't making that image any better, either.

Hopefully this crap will be blown to the curb in time for Sunday's race!

For now, time to shower and consciously be social. I'm building a community tonight!

Resolver

So I'm sticking to my training program, but how is the rest of the resolve coming along?

• 5 servings of vegetables a day: This goal is total bunk, but I continue to strive for 5. Salad, salad, salad. Morning, noon, and night. OK, not morning. But veggie omellette or veggie burrito or 5 a day ain't happening. Oh, and for the record, mushrooms and tomatoes count as vegetables.
• Calling my brother once a week to say hello: I keep calling. And I keep asking how he's doing. I really do think that one day, this whole "conversation" thing will click for him, and he'll ask me how I'm doing. Until then, I will press on...
• Wearing more hats: Probably the easiest one on the list. I have been crocheting a lot lately and I even made myself a couple of new hats.
• Reading at least one book each month: I'm going to give myself some slack here. I am almost done with Blink, which for the record doesn't hold a candle to The Tipping Point. But because I'm also reading Wired magazine now, I learned that author Malcom just entered a deal to turn Blink into a movie. A movie! Are you kidding me? God, I effing HATE L.A.!
• Running a marathon PR of 3:50: Well, the marathon hasn't happened yet, so I'm off the hook on this one for now, but I think I'm on track...
• Cooking a new meal for dinner once a week: I have been doing a lot of Tilapia lately. I'm mildly obsessed. But I almost didn't cook this week because I really have to go to the grocery store and it's amazing how far the 3 blocks to the nearest store are. So I got creative the other night and cooked up an interesting version of chicken sausage scalopine with a side of high-fiber quesadilla. Yum.
• Putting at least $250 into my savings account each month: Score! I opened an ING account, too, so I'm going to get some great interest rates. And I've set up my account to withdrawal the money automatically on the same day I get paid. I won't even miss it!
• Taking the GMAT: Dolt! I haven't thought much about this one.
• Applying to business school: Can I get a double dolt and a ditto!
• Sending birthday cards to my friends and family: I've missed the January birthdays. Damn! I forgot all about this little resolver. Luckily there are many February and March birthdays coming up.
• (Really... for good) Getting over the exes: HA! Was I joking? I haven't talked to them, though. This resolution would be a lot easier if I could meet someone here that I want to go on 4 dates with!
• Exploring more of San Francisco: Check! Went to the Moma last Friday, ran across the Golden Gate on Sunday, and checked out some good restaurants, too. Dottie's for brunch in The Tenderloin and Andalu for dinner in The Mission... Never stop exploring! Never Stop Exploring!
• Ending binge drinking habits: I think I had a total of 10 "drinks" this month. 7 of them can be attributed to the visit of EMI. I imbibed in the others last weekend.
• Resuming taking dance classes. I believe we've been over that nonsense. But my mom just sent me my old dance bag, so I guess I'll be going back again sometime soon. I better start warming up those deep-buttock turn-out muscles, now.
• Learning how to ski... or snow board: Damn! Not going to get to this one again. The roommies are headed to Tahoe this weekend but I have a half marathon to run. Soon soon. Soon soon.
• Taking golf lessons: I think I reserve the right to delay this resolver until the rainy season ends.
• Paying off my car: On track. Oh so very excited to get rid of that bill. And all of the stupid junk mail that accompanies it. BTW, I get AARP mailings because my dad's name is co-signed on the car loan. Thanks, Dad. Thanks.
• Flossing daily: I have grown to love the floss. I am partial to Glide. Try it. It definitely hurts so good.
• Taking vitamins each morning: 1 One-A-Day, 2 Multiminerals, 1 Viactiv Calcium Chew, 1 Fish Oil, and 1 Glucosamine Chondroiton. I need to get better about taking the Iron supplements though. You can't take them the same time you take Calcium, which is totally throwing me off.
• Drinking less coffee and more tea: The new office has a rather impressive collection of tea. I am particularly partial to the Decaf Vanilla Chai.
• Being on time: A very relative resolution, don't you think? I plan on continuing to adjust my frame of reference to rig this one in my favor!
• Eating more fish: Nic + Tilapia = True Love. I think I've been eating it about 3 times a week. Fishy!
• Eating less peanut butter straight from the jar: Actually, I take back what I said about the futility of attempting to eat 5 servings of veggies a day. Because I think I have a genetic mutation that prohibits me from using a knife to spread peanut butter on something other than my tongue before it enters my mouth. There was only one thing to do: all nut butters are banned from my apartment. For a while, anyway...
• Taking a great vacation somewhere warm and tropical: There is still time. It would be much easier if I found a friend with a place in Cabo...
• ______: Like I'm telling you!
• Religiously applying anti-wrinkle cream: Yes, and no, it's not working!
• Singing loudly and often: All the time! Especially in crowded places!
• Laughing much: Despite the rough patches this month, I still believe I managed to get a couple of snorts in. But I have yet to pee my pants.

Quite the resolver I am...

A Metamorphosis

I didn't make it home tonight until after 9PM. Sweaty but satisfied with my efforts on the treadmill (30 minutes of easy running) and at Bikram (90 minutes of difficult asanas - I wasn't very balanced this evening), I am content and proud of the evening's accomplishments. And as I walked home, I reflected a bit on the first month of 2006.

Miles Run: 120
Miles Walked: 144
Miles Elipticaled: 3
Hours Spun: 4
Hours Bikram: 9

I have made it either to the gym, to yoga, or to the trails every day this past month. My jeans are a little looser, my legs firmer, my arms more cut. My butt amazingly tighter although very much still a classic round Italian. I can run for hours without getting winded. And my tempo pace is comfortably at 8:30. I can get through Bikram classes without feeling sick and dizzy. I still don't like broccoli but I am trying to eat it. An I once came home from a bar (where I only drank water) and made myself peppers and hummus for a midnight snack.

Had I not caught myself (longingly) staring into a McDonald's while waiting for the bus tonight (no need to scale the Sacramento Street mountain after 2 hours of exercise, at night, in the dark, by myself...) I would have thought I'd metamorphosised into LGA.

I do some pretty good thinking at bus stops and tonight I realized that I haven't eaten any fast food in the entire state of California save one cheeseburger and half an order of french fries at In N Out. And that was in August. In Los Angeles. And In N Out is technically healthy Cali style fast food, so I don't even know if it counts as a true fast food indulgence. I have been so good the past month I am a little shocked. Not to mention slightly grossed out at myself. I can't stand those girls who go to the gym every day and eat salad for every meal and holy shit I am one of them. I didn't even have a bite of cake yesterday at work for KR's birthday. Not even a bite! What the hell happened to me?

I guess what happened is that I realized how serious this shit is. Not just the numbers on the scale, but the overall importance of being healthy. My family isn’t necessarily blessed with good health genes. Gather the extended family around the dining room table at Christmas and the skinny people are all in-laws. My brother takes medicine for high blood pressure. My mother takes medication to manage osteopina, the early signs of osteoporosis. She also takes medication to manage high cholesterol. My grandfather had Type II Diabetes and suffered from various other heart problems. And my mother was just diagnosed with some strange heart issue, too. I thought my dad had high blood pressure for a while, but he said he didn’t.

So this isn’t just a diet. And it’s not just an exercise kick. It’s a commitment to being healthy. For the long term. Hell, forever.

And so far, I feel really good. I am going to PR my next marathon without a doubt. I am going to be excited to get a physical next month and see that my cholesterol is still low. I want to be the first person in my family who doesn't have to take medication to manage osteopina or high blood pressure or heart problems or Type II Diabetes.

Bring it, February. Bring it.

Double Down-Up

On Saturday, my iPod froze. I was able to reset it, and it contined to work just fine, but quite a scare. Later in the evening, the display and sound on my cell phone *just* stopped working. OK, I dropped it, but there wasn't any alcohol involved in the mishap - promise. And then, our wireless Internet and cable modem crapped out.

On Sunday, I still could not do anything useful with my phone. I could hear it ring when someone called, and I could answer the call, but no one on the other end could hear me. And because Cingular Wireless is managed by an army of idiots, I couldn't get a replacement. Defeated, I went home and worked my engineering degree to the bone as I attempted to restore connectivity to the Internet. Yep. I turned the power on and off and unplugged and replugged that modem at least ten times. But no success. The cable modem kept blinking at "Send" and never made it to "Online."

And then there was Monday. A day without technology. Er, at home anyway. Yes, I sat in front of a computer and next to a traditional telephone all day at work, but do you know how stressful it is to not have a cell phone or a computer for an entire day? How about two entire days?

Three days? Don't even go there. Because on the third day, Tuesday, which will forevermore be referred to as my Sabbath, on Tuesday Techno-Goddess shined down upon me. She said, "Nic, I'm going to help you out here." And help she did.

In a last ditch effort to save my cell phone before wasting an hour on the phone with Cingular, I power on to find a lit display! I place a call and the person on the other end hears me. And I hear them! Mr. Comcast comes to my house and fixes my Internet connection. He doesn't damage my ego - the problem was with the signal being sent to our house. Woo-hoo!

And then, just when I don't think it can get any better, a nice big box from Dell is placed on my desk at work. And inside that box is my new laptop. MY laptop. MINE MINE MINE MINE.

I fought my engineering urge to go home and play on my new computer all night. I took myself to the gym. I completed my 6 mile tempo run. I did it in 51:30. I nearly had a heart attack when I looked at my watch and saw how fast I did the run. And then I nearly had another one when I realized that my heart wasn't really pounding too badly, nor were my legs feeling like jelly. I felt fantastic.

Scary, no? A double high a la Techno and Runner?

Red Lights Flashing

It’s dark. Rain is falling, but it drops so lightly that it could easily be mistaken for a thick fog. For the first few blocks it is very quiet. Almost too quiet. I make it to Polk Street and am greeted by the street lights, which are a soft yellow, and the flashing reds of the stop lights.

The only cars on the street belong to the street cleaners and delivery teams unloading pounds and pounds of fresh vegetables to the corner stores. Everyone is getting ready for another day.

I scurry from corner to corner, quickly looking both ways before I dodge across the intersections. I think about my upcoming run or spin class. Now that I'm out of bed, the hardest part of the workout is behind me. I develop my daily mental checklist of all I hope to accomplish before hitting the pillow at night.

During these moments, nothing stands in my way – not even a crosswalk. For these 15 minutes, the upcoming day, week, month, and year, are full of promise.

Running on the Top of the Bay

It was sunny. And at 55 degrees with a light breeze, it was perfect weather for a long training run style tour of the city. Starting with a brisk warm-up down California Street to the Ferry Building. A right onto Embarcadero in the direction of SBC Park, which I actually hadn’t seen until this Sunday. Dodging tourists and kids on tricycles, the first 40 minutes of the run flew by before I was back on the familiar trail, running along the Marina and through Crissy Field.

Out to Hoppers Hands and I had ONLY been going for about 70 minutes. And so I decided to see how the Golden Gate looked from the other side – the TOP side. Back towards the city, and up the Presidio hill. (Yep, the hill that everyone who ran the Nike Women’s Marathon loved so much!) I quickened my pace in an effort to make it go by more quickly. And between breaths, I laughed to myself at the pure idiocy of running this hill on my own volition.

After a much shorter time than I predicted, I reached the top and took my first few steps out onto the bridge. Crossing #2. Although it was loud, and there were a bizillion tourists, these two miles across and back were nothing short of glorious. I allowed my mind to wander as I took in all the sounds and scenery. Will traveling across this structure ever become mundane? How can people who want to end their life not change their mind when they see how beautiful everything is from up here? When will my family and friends come visit me? Will my inner thighs ever stop rubbing when I run?

I didn't say it was all going to be poetic...

Recent bouts with homesickness and my scale aside, life really can’t be too bad when the scenery for you’re weekly long run includes the San Francisco skyline, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Marin Headlands.

Life is good. And so was my run: 2 hours, 20 minutes, 15 miles, 1 yummy packet of Chocolate Gu, 0 blisters, and an accomplishment that merits a few hours of wasting time.

(Insert whistles here...)

Euphemisms

My doctor would prefer if I weighed 15 pounds less than I currently weigh.
My current weight is 15 pounds more than what is ideal.
If I lost a pound a week for 15 weeks I’d weigh what I should weigh.
I weigh 15 pounds too much.
High school: 7 and a half years and 15 pounds ago.
If I chopped off an arm (or a leg?) I’d weigh my ideal weight.
If I were six inches taller I’d weigh what I should weigh.
I have to lose 15 pounds.

All of the above are obvious euphemisms for the following: I effing HATE scales.

Who Spins When She Spins

She grew up in front of a mirror. She danced solos and lead large groups. She won trophies and the respect of her peers - teammates and competitors. She even danced professionally, albeit at a theme park. Her teacher couldn't understand why she wanted to go to college, expecting her to dance on Broadway or MTV.

Maybe if it were JUST about dancing, she wouldn't have walked away from it all. Because all too often, it was about line ups. All too often she endured hearing, "5 of you are too fat." Weekly, as she came into the studio straight from soccer practice, she was told not to run too much. It was making her legs thick. And there were the injuries. Pinched nerves and pain in the hips. Hours and hours and hours each week for a few minutes on stage. It lost its appeal. It wasn't fun anymore.

And so she walked away. She went to college. And although she did end up dancing there, it wasn't the same. It was much more relaxed. (Which was good, obviously.)

There was no dancing in DC. Four years have passed since her final curtain call. But she can't bring herself to throw away the leotards. And when presented with a desserted hallway or open kitchen floor, she still finds herself tapping or twirling. The songs still give her goosebumps. She can still perform her first routine, which she danced over twenty years ago, now. When she hears music, she sees the movements that should accompany it.

So she summoned all of her courage. She put on the leotard and tights. She stood in the back of the room. Her body doesn't move as easily as it did during her 17 years of consistent, dedicated study. She is dizzy after a series of chaînés. She can't hold her arabesque. She trips over her own feet while she performs pas de bourrée across the floor. Her short term memory fails her over and over again. Eight count after eight count goes in through her eyes and out through her feet. The steps are drowned by the music. Most of the time, she is lost.

There was little grace. And there was barely any confidence. But the wonder was still there. And on that rare occassion when a pirouette was completed perfectly, there was a smile on her face. There was a happiness surging from her fingers to her toes.

...we are spinning and spinning and spinning and...

Determined, after completing the class, to come back next week. To come back out of her shell.

Beep Beep, Bang Clang

The City of San Francisco really cares about the environment. And I'm lucky for that.

I’m lucky that the city trash collectors collect trash (and recyclables...) in my neighborhood every day. And I’m really lucky that I have a trash chute at my backdoor. Because the trash collectors back their truck down the alley next to my apartment pick up trash in the back, I never have to walk trash out to the curb. And I never have to walk the garbage can back to the house from the curb. As my former roommates can attest, I HATE this chore. And I'm so lucky I never have to do it!

Oh, but that's not all. Because I’m also very lucky that the city trash collectors make so much effing noise during this whole, "Back into the alley-Slam the trash into the truck-Drive out of the alley" process. (All under Nic's bedroom window...) Because it happens - EVERY WEEKDAY MORNING - between 5:00 a.m. and 5:30 a.m.

Eh? Didn't I tell you? So tremendously lucky!

Here's the thing: I actually WANT to wake up somewhere within this half hour time span. You know, the night before I have to wake up, I mean. When I get ready to go to bed, I look at the clock and say, "I will rise at 5!" However when 5 rolls around I'm not normally as keen on waking up as I was the night before. I tend to wake up and contemplate re-setting my alarm for two hours later. (I do NOT snooze!)

Luckily, I have this whole city trash initiative. Thanks to the City of San Francisco, every morning, whether I like it or not, glorious cacophony catapults me from my bed. Without thinking I apply the BodyGlide and leap into my shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes. I am so eager to get away from the noise that I quickly forget I am OFF on my run. And by the time I REALLY wake up, I have logged the day's running mileage.

No wonder I haven't missed a single run in this year's first Training Schedule.

Location, Location, Location

Around the corner from Grace Cathedral. Nob Hill. San Francisco. California. West Coast. This Location, Location, Location is fabulous.

Still, sometimes I find myself staring up at the Sacramento Street Mountain with fear. Empty and afraid of the landslide of loneliness that screaches down the hills and swallows me.

Luckily, she's been there. And at Speed Dial #2, second only to my voicemail, she is within easy reach. Our friendship defies the thousand miles for each Location, Location, Location that separates us.

Her voice is soothing. She reminds me to breathe. I gather my courage, and I surface from the flood of tears. She walks me home, empowering me to conquer tonights' emotional double black diamond.

And when I do make it to the top, winded and teary eyed, it does feel good to be here. San Francisco - it has its ups and downs. Oh, the prices we pay for Location, Location, Location.

Me and My Shadow

She's taller. And leaner. How I wish I looked. And fast. She's fast.

But I was keeping up. And if you want to get technical about it, I guess I was driving her. Down JKF Jr. Drive. Down and around the carousel. Past the Conservatory of Flowers. Around the Japanese Tea Garden. Alongside Stowe Lake and without realizing it, headed into Ocean Beach and the Pacific Ocean. Left on the Great Highway. Smiling. Hello-ing to everyone I passed.

I didn't glance at my watch until I had been going for almost 40 minutes. I turned around at Vicente Street, my Out finished and my Back beginning. Up the Sunset coast, beaming. Stronger than the sun with every stride. Right onto Martin Luther King Jr Blvd, winding along, up and down the rolling hills. All the way back to Hippie Hill. High as a Kite...

Me, and the San Francisco locals hanging out there.

I'm 5'3" on a good day, but today I was 5'6" for 12 miles. Soaring through Golden Gate Park. Right, Left, Right. Just me and My Shadow. She's taller. And leaner. Unfortunately for her, she can't beam like I can.

Seven - Eleven

You're drinking a Miller Lite. You're out with your friends. At the standard Friday night locale. You start casually talking, and because he's actually funny, you don't really realize how good looking he is. At first. You protest when he tries to buy you a drink - you still don't realize how good looking he is. So you order one yourself but continue talking. And after a while, you're actually enjoying your time at this bar.

You realize he's wicked funny. And because you have finally realized that he is good looking, you start to fear that you are laughing and smiling so much that your forehead vein is bulging. And then you start to hope you remembered to floss because he keeps making you smile so much and you'll die if anything is stuck in your teeth. You want to go to the bathroom to reapply lipstick but you're having too much fun. So much fun you start to wonder if you shaved your legs. And you actually hope that you didn't because things always seem to happen when you didn't.

And since my father reads this, I will clarify that THINGS are always rated PG, of course.

And when the tone of the conversation changes you realize he can also speak - intelligently - about books and movies and television shows. You are thrilled that he is also pissed yet secretly proud that Arrested Development wasn't grasped by the mainstream. His girl (space) friend stops by to say hello you are overjoyed that he has a girl (space) friend. You are delighted to hear him ramble on about his favorite band more than his favorite sports team. Although you are relieved that he also does have a favorite sports team. And when the conversation inevitably turns to something political (because you brought it up) he doesn't offend you. And you wonder what your friend (GPSH, LEF, AFS, MMG...) would think about his response.

And this is all because he's a Seven - Eleven. Undercover Goodlooking plus How Can You Not Love This Guy personality. Clever. Intelligent. Funny. Well-read. Pop-culture literate.

Mr. Seven Eleven.

And now I've psyched myself up enough to get in the shower and go out tonight.

Better Off

I carry stress in my neck. It's not an ideal location. It presses on my collarbones. And makes holding my head upright difficult. It makes me seriously consider hailing a cab home to hide in my bed under layers of covers.

It makes me bitter. And it prohibits me from thinking straight. That's the part I hate the most. Right now, within this fog of stress, I wish I could take back every fucking minute. Those spent late at night picking up slack. And those that infiltrated my vacation. My non-vacation. And those filled with the drama. The MELOdrama.

It is wrong to want to take the minutes back. Because I am fortunate this happened now instead of later. Fortunate it isn't worse than it is. Fortunate that it provided me lessons I won't find anywhere else.

I will continue to make it about the people. I will continue to do my best. I will continue to be fair. But next time, I will never forget to look out for myself. And next time, I will demand that they EARN my respect, trust, and loyalty. Next time, I won't be so naive. And next time, I will be so much better off. Having this behind me.

Detach

Some describe runner's high like a detachment from mind and body. Quite often, it does feel that way for me. Right, left, right, left, POW! I can't help but smile, I forget about the chub rub, I don't feel the butt jiggle, and I take off, full speed ahead. I can't feel my legs. I almost look down and see myself moving. I feel six inches taller. I am (figuatively) higher. And my body screams, "I LOVE THIS!"

On other days, more often than not, it doesn't feel like that. Right... left... right... left... WHAM! Every stride is into the wall. It is a challenge to actually suck in the air. I obsess about the chafe. I incredulously examine my watch for defects. There is no way in HELL I have not been on this track/trail/belt for at least ten times longer than the time appearing on the display. I hate every step.

These unpleasant, difficult steps still scream, though. Not as loud as the good ones, but loud enough to muffle the SHOULDS. The I should call, write, spend, save, hurry up, slow down. The I should eat more vegetables, practice more yoga, overanlayze fewer relationships, watch less television, wear smaller jeans, read more books.

Which is why, even though this morning's trek was unpleasant and difficult, I will lace up again tomorrow. Because even the unpleasant and difficult miles provide detachment. If not between my mind and body, than at least between my mind and itself.

Float On

Her visit went quickly. One minute I was instructing her how to take the bus to my apartment, and the next I was alone again. She on a flight back home and I about to pay my toll to cross the Bay Bridge and drive back home to my apartment from the Oakland Airport.

She is rather ridiculous. One minute telling the DJ he can't DJ for shit because he won't play, "Push It." The next touristing at Pier 39, mockingly stirking the "Pensive" pose in front of the sea lions. First clinking saki shots to being bold, and much later helplessly (not to mention incorrectly) writing herself off as inherently flawed. And finally proclaiming love for a bridge without referring to either of the two that cross the San Francisco Bay.

She is rather amazing. She is hella wicked smart. And she can't help but leave you with your jaw wide open when she discusses what she wants to do with her life. She recalls entire episodes of Saturday Night Live that were aired before her birth. She conquers public transportation systems wherever she goes. And she clears the dance floor with her seductive gyrations. She cannot answer a question without bringing an entirely unique perspective to the issue. She is intense. And fearless. And caring.

I can't help but talk for an hour without taking a breath when she asks what's going on. And I can't lie when she asks how I am and the answer is NOT GOOD. I can't help but feel better because her advice is sound, and calming. I can't help but giggle like a little girl at her. And after a weekend with her, I can't help but be reminded of what I have accomplished. I can't help but be proud to be HERE.

But after this weekend I am also entirely sad that we never had the Sunday at Tryst with the Washington Post. Or that we will likely never again have another Wednesday night to wait for Manny & Olgas to never arrive while playing Klax on Sega Genesis without speaking for 3 hours. And that we will never again smoke cigarettes out of our apartment windows and talk about how we can't wait to tell our daughters (someday) about the amazing 3 years we spent together, just out of college, really figuring out life, in Washington, DC.

As I drove past My Sign, I realized that more than likely not, our future together consists soley of long weekends in San Francisco or Chicago. I smile and wipe away the tears that fall as I remember her telling me that it's OK to not feel like myself. Even HERE in this amazing place. Because I'm no longer who I was and personal growth is hardly comfortable.

I turn up the radio. There will be other weekends. More WELCOME signs. More suffocating hugs and countless good-bye air kisses. We will continue to go wherever the wind, the relationships, the job, or the MOXY takes us.

EMI and I will both float on alright.

Jacket Free January

It was barely a mile away. And it was before 8:00 a.m. And I love walking - especially when it's really an urban hike. So I laced up my sneakers. Their blue trim matched my navy blue suit. I strapped on my laptop and head out the door.

It was glorious outside. The kind of morning you took for granted when you were a kid and had summers off. The kind of morning that now, as a young professional, makes you cry. (When it falls on a weekday.) Because it was August. And it was DC. And after barely making it 4 blocks from my apartment, sweat had permeated thoughout every fiber of my pale blue blouse. I was dripping with sweat, and there was no way in hell I could acceptably show up at my 8:30 AM meeting looking - and melting - like this. SBS!

So I ducked into the Starbucks at 18th and Colubmia. I promptly covered myself in napkins, frantically dabbing my soaking wet skin in a feeble attempt to lap up the liquids streaming from my pores. I ordered an Iced Coffee and tried not to make eye contact with the Barrista, who was likely wondering why I had pieces of napkin all over my face. I downed the coffee and then used the change from the purchase to board the 42 Bus. I rode it seven more blocks to my meeting North of Dupont Circle.

As you can imagine, I was suprised to arrive at my new office on Day #1 with a bit of Sweaty Back Syndrome. (Luckily, the back of my knees were safe from perspiration.) So it seems like I can't fight the Italian in me and I'm going to continue to sweat even here in temperate San Francisco. But I'm OK with it. Eventually, summer will arrive, and I'll be enduring the coldest winter of my life. For now, three words: Jacket Free January.

In With the New

In with 5 veggies a day. In with cooking dinner. (Tonight) In with using a knife to put peanut butter on something else before it reaches my mouth. In with the tea, and in with not drinking an entire pot of coffee each day.

In with a new roomate, KT. In with a new coffee pot and a new blender. In with Harriet, my new iPod, who replaces the deceased Wilson. In with new music, and singing... and skatting... loudly.

In with a new "commute." In with a new office and cubicle and boss and team. In with new products, training classes, SOPs, and holidays. In with a new email address. A new daytime phone number. In with a new combination to get back into the office from the bathroom. In with a new favorite lunchtime destination.

In with a new, refreshing start to life in San Francisco. And in with what feels like Phase Five is FINALLY, REALLY getting up and running.

Resolve

While reading the newspaper over Christmas, in PA across the table from my dad, I came across an editorial asking people to resolve not to resolve in 2006.

I don't quite see what's fun about that, though. Therefore, I resolve...

• To eat at least 5 servings of vegetables a day.
• To call my brother once a week to say hello.
• To wear more hats.
• To read at least one book each month.
• To run a marathon PR of 3:50.
• To cook a new meal for dinner once a week.
• To put at least $250 into my savings account each month.
• To take the GMAT.
• To apply to business school.
• To send birthday cards to my friends and family.
• To get over the exes. (Really... for good.)
  
• To explore more of San Francisco.
• To end binge drinking habits.
  
• To resume taking dance classes.
• To learn how to ski... or snow board. Whatever.
• To take golf lessons.
• To pay off my car.
• To floss daily.
• To take vitamins each morning.
• To drink less coffee and more tea.
• To be on time.
• To eat more fish.
• To eat less peanut butter straight from the jar.
• To take a great vacation somewhere warm and tropical.
  
• To ______. (That one's personal.)
• To religiously apply anti-wrinkle cream.
• To sing loudly and often.
• To laugh much.
  

Happy New Year!

Re-fizzing

Late Friday night my cell phone started beeping. I had a new message. And it was from The Homeowner. He wanted to know if I was free for dinner.

Lesson Learned: Never let a cell phone company ruin a relationship.

We had dinner last night. And as we drove around the city trying to find a parking spot, I asked if I could have a sip of the soda that was in the cup holder of his car. He said it was kind of old and FLAT. (If he only knew...) He grabbed the soda as we were getting out of the car, and he tossed it into a nearby trash can. Which was exactly what I was thinking.

Dinner was GREAT. He is GREAT. I am... an over-analyzer. But I think I'm closer to reaching peace. I don't know if this relationship is going anywhere - Hell, I don't know if I want it to go anywhere. And (because I'm immature and I've been reluctant to ask him what HE thinks about all of this) I don't know if he wants it to go anywhere, either. But I think it's perfectly acceptable to classify "Dinner" as a destination. Dinner is one destination we're definitely heading towards again.

And that suits me perfectly. It's always great to re-fizz.

A Very Sac-Town Christmas

Very little in this world leaves me speechless. But 100+ people, mostly middle aged, alternating between the chicken dance and bumping to Tupac with their twenty-something children, all the while nearly black out drunk, on a Sunday night, while wearing designer jeans in the suburbs is just a little hard to wrap my head (which still hurts) around.

Additionally, very little in this world paralyzes my plans of action. However I stood at this party not knowing what to do with the rest of my life. Do I marry a wealthy Silicon Valley entrepreneur, make beautiful blonde children who grow up to play water polo at Cal or Stanford, and retire at 40 so that I can also throw very large insane parties on Sunday nights in my gated community? Or do I...

Wait a minute. Plan of Action still very much in tact.

I love California.

She's Leaving Home

She drunk eats vegetables late at night. She makes me scream, "Saki.... BOMB!" in loud, small, crowded Japanese restaurants. She has a nearly unhealthy obsession with Friends. She eats Oreos and milk for dessert almost every night. She cries while watching The Biggest Loser. She agrees that the Cala grocery store, a mere 3 blocks away, is quite a hike. She debates the issues. She brings new, intelligent perspective. She calls, "Bye, Love!" to me each morning as she leaves for work.

She has packed up her room. And she has emptied all of her food from her shelf in the pantry. She has moved out of our apartment.

And although she is only moving 8 blocks away, I cried as I watched her pack. Out of sadness that I will no longer see her every day. And although odd, I think I also cried out of a little bit of joy. Joy that I have been here long enough to have really grown to love a new friend.

Flat

Sweet, fizzy, and refreshing. Like a Fountain Soda. A Cherry Coke! Man, I LOVE Cherry Coke. That's how we started out. And every week throughout the past couple of months, we'd have another fountain soda together. That's what our dates were. Every one. A Cherry Coke. Sweet. Fizzy. Refreshing. And good. Really good.

It's just that I barely drink soda anymore. It gives me gas. And it so often has a really bad after taste. And to be honest, I haven't had a REAL fountain soda in - man this is embarrassing - since junior year of college which was about 5 years ago, now. And in a lot of ways even THAT soda wasn't a REAL fountain soda.

So now, given that it's been a while and I'm actually doing quite fine without the REAL stuff, I'm kind of picky. I mean, THIS was fountain soda. He - Me - we aren't crappy cans of storebrand pop that's sold individually. We're both pretty high end. Gourment, if you will. It just turns out that neither one of us is that big of a Chery Coke fan.

He called tonight. But I missed the call. He didn't leave a message. And it hurts more than I thought it would.

I guess that the only way to explain it is that last week, when we poured another soda, neither one of us felt like having much to drink. And as the days have passed, it has just sat there. The bubbles have stopped floating to the top. The fizzy has mostly fizzled flat.

The part that I hate the most about this flat soda is that it doesn't taste bad. Flat soda is still really sweet. It's just hard to drink it without the bubbles. Without the fizz. Without the excitement.

Domestic Goddess

At 2:00 p.m. this afternoon I entered early retirement. And what better way to celebrate than to cook dinner for my roommates? Yes, you read that correctly. I cooked. And because so few of you will believe me, I am posting the pics to prove it. Strangely enough, I enjoyed both the cooking and eating... Looks like I just may have a chance at being a Domestic Goddess afterall!

Grandfathered

"Not Exactly." That would be my usual response to the often-asked pre-move question, "Do you have any friends who live in San Francisco?" And by it I meant that while I didn't have REAL friends there YET, I had plans to make some people I knew lived there become my friends. In particular, an older brother of MMG.

I have been hearing about the Three Brothers G since Day 2 of Friendship MMG. I have known I would like each of them even before I ever met them. And since it took almost three years of stories and forwarded emails before I actually met Cowboy, #2 in the lineage and ten years the senior of MMG and me, I basically felt like I did already know him before we met. So much so that I actually forgot to introduce myself to him the first night we hung out. I just started talking...

And we proceeded to have a few beers. PBR's, no doubt. And then I told him a few bad stories. Pointless, bad stories with long awkward pauses in the middle due to lost trains of thought. I think MMG forgot to tell him about that unique trait of mine. A few days later, with MMG still in town visiting us, we brunched at his apartment. And I took a "nap" on his sofa, whilst the rest of the brunch party continued to... well, party.

Time has passed. We've had a few more PBRs together, the most recent ones consumed on Sunday night. After a dinner party, red wine, and some kick-ass biscotti. And when I awoke with a headache at 7:30 Monday morning, the first thing I thought I needed to do was call MMG and tell her a) how much I love her, b) how much I miss her and want her to move to San Francisco, c) how grateful I am that she has an older brother who lives in San Francisco, d) that she Grandfathered him into my friendship circle.

It is certainly great to have reclaimed my dignity with Cowboy after the Introductory Meet Nic Weekend. And it is really nice to have gained a Big Brother figure in moving to San Francisco. But mostly, it's great to share a new San Francisco friend with one of my best friends from home.

Crapshoot

I know I should have called him. But if I did, how would I have ever found out if he would have called me? And I know I should not have played any games. But without one, how was I ever going to find my way through this way too straightforward relationship?

When you boil it all down, dating is really no more than one big game. Right? The more I think about them, the more I marvel at how suprisingly accurate are the Theories of LCJ. Slurring-ly dispelled to me on a balcony in Charlottesville - in between sips of a Nattie Light and drags of a Marlboro - she taught me one of the most important lessons of college: Love is a Crapshoot. (It is also a battlefield, but that lesson was taught while standing in beer sludge inside a fraternity basement, NOT on a balcony...)

And so by not calling, I found out. By playing a game I got my bearings. Since he always bought dinner, the only money I lost during this crapshoot was on a couple cups of coffee. And the emotional wounds from this battlefield are relatively small. They can be healed with a small band-aid.

I am sad. But willing to anti-up again. Not willing to bet hard sixes that he'll call again, but I'll venture a bet on the pass line. Because thing best thing about craps is that the house advantage actually isn't that terribly out of wack. In the short run, we CAN win at craps, and hopefully, in love.

Underwear in the Kitchen

Standing in my kitchen. In my underwear. Singing,"Bring It on Home to Me." Loudly. While ironing my pants.

My roommates are out. And I am getting ready to go to a dinner party. It is being hosted by the one person here I have actually befriended on my own. Sort of. And while I am genuinely excited to go out tonight, I can't think of another time when I have been more homesick for Washington. For my old apartment. And for my old friends.

I haven't stood in a kitchen in my underwear for over four months.

As I wipe away a tear, I laught at the ridiculous crap I miss. And the nonsense that makes me realize I miss it.

What Do You Do?

I'd have to venture that the most frequently used run-on sentence in DC is, "What's your name what do you do?" (A close second within my circle of friends may be, "I'm a Democrat you're a Democrat, right?")

With slightly less confidence, I'd bet that the most frequently used run-on sentence in San Francisco is more like, "What's your name do you want to go hiking/skiing/boating/eating/drinking/shopping /loitering with us this weekend?" (With a close second being, "I'm OBVIOUSLY a Democrat you're OBVIOUSLY a Democrat, too, right?")

The difference in these two sentences is definitely one of the reasons I love San Francisco. While I do genuinely WANT to know what people I meet do for a living, I really love that asking and responding to "What do you do?" is not a San Francsco mingling standard. I love that the people of San Francisco are more likely to find out that I have run 3 marathons before they learn how I afford the entrance fees.

But today I OFFICIALLY accepted a REALLY awesome new job. With a growing, vibrant company. And a nice set of perks. No longer consulting to the government. Instead managing the development, customization, and implementation of software to manage data collected during clinical trials. Being part of a product development team. And traveling all over (the world!) to introduce the product and work with users to make that product better. It just may be that dream job I have been trying to communicate to someone outside of my brain since I was in college.

So tonight, at RLP's bar-thday party, if someone asks me "What's your name what do you do?" I will buy them a drink and tell them the ENTIRE story.

Quitters Sometimes Win

The graph below depicts my 9-5 mood the past six weeks.
I wonder if the nadirs have anything to do with my job? I wonder if the peaks have anything to do with the days I wasn't working and was hanging out with my friends and family? I wonder if the surge to 100 has anything to do with the fact that I went on a great interview on Tuesday? And that they offered me a job on Thursday? And that I QUIT on Friday?

I wonder who made up that stupid cliche that quitters never win... Because this quitter is winning. Definitely winning.

Triple F Night

"Come on, we're going to DKE! It's grain night!" they cried.

"But Cedric Diggory is DEAD!" I sobbed.

How could they expect me to go out on a night like this? I know, it was the night before our last first day of classes at UVA. Fourth Year Spring and the last first day of classes in our undergraduate career were only hours away. Just like we had done seven times before, the girls were going to DKE. To drink copious amounts of grain alcohol chilled with chunks of dry ice. To show all the rushees how cool Pi Phis were. To make it home (if we were lucky) to barf our brains out and awaken hung over and ready to start our last semester of college.

In the end, I wiped away the tears, put on my black srat pants, grabbed my srat cup, and went to DKE. I had to drown my Potter-based sorrows in something.

I have basically been waiting for the Goblet of Fire to be made into a movie since that night in early 2002. So I of course jumped at the opportunity to go and see it with the family for our annual Thanksgiving Forced Family Fun night. Triple F Nights are those rare occasions when Mom, Dad, Brother and I spend time with one another, sometimes against our own will.

Lately, FFF events involve a trip to see Harry Potter. And I gotta admit, since the advent of the Harry Potter movies, FFF night has gotten a lot better. I really have to hand it to J.K. Not only are her books getting kids to read, but they are also getting families, like mine, to spend time with one another. Without arguing. Even though we're sitting in a dark theater not speaking to each other, we're not arguing. And that's a start.

7.9 Days of Thanks

When JBB came to town, he told my roommates that we met at a Phish show. He told them that I wasn’t always this preppy. That at one time, I had dreads and didn’t shower for days. That a few years ago, it wasn’t unlikely for me to drive cross country and settle down in San Francisco. Most likely, with flowers in my hair.

The truth is that I never really liked much Phish until after I met him. (Hmm…) I certainly didn't meet him at a Phish show. And, with the exception of seventh grade, when I loved Pear Jam, Vans, and flannel shirts, I actually HAVE always been this preppy. And when it comes to music, I have to be honest. I believe I arrived at UVA with 4 Dave Matthews Band CDs, the soundtrack to Rent, some cheesy pop music, and a collection of mix tapes full of Jay-Z and Wu-Tang from my then boyfriend, RED.

Now I am proud to brag that I have 11 GB of music on Wilson. And most of it - save my Cheesy Pop playlist of Justin, Britney, Christina, Avril, and Kelly - would not make my music-buff friends dry heave.

And so on this Thanksgiving I would like to take some time to be thankful for those of you - mostly my ex-boyfriends, but also MJC and MMG - who have supplied part of the 2870 songs (7.9 nonstop days!) that comprise my musical collection. I apologize for all of my freeloading. And for rarely being able to return the favor.

I doubt that my endless commentary on the talent of American Idol contestants, not to mention my non-stop kitchen tap dancing is as beneficial to you as your CDs are to me. But perhaps one day you WILL want to see a one man show of Rent. And when that day comes, you know I'll be ready for you.

When In Rome

Three months in San Francisco and I know that there is no weather here that cannot be managed without several layers. I know the Super Shuttle is the best way to get to the airport from my apartment. But I still fear for my life as the shuttle rolls back on Jones Street as it attempts to make it up the hill at Green. I know UVA alums are all over the place, but I’m still excited to sit next to a UVA hat on the plane.

Three months in San Francisco and I’m back in DC for the first time since I moved.

Three months away from DC and 40 degrees is borderline unbearable. Forgetting to pack gloves and a scarf is assanine. But LEF still insists she can get to the airport to pick me up in 15 minutes. MMG is still as hot as ever in her hot pink blouse. The salsa at Lauriol Plaza is still tops. KJS is still the sweetest ass hole guy I know. And MJC still greets me with my all time favorite, "Hi Dahlin."

They ask me if I'm still happy that I moved. This night is fantastic. Almost everyone who matters is here. In DC. And it is kind of hard for me to explain that yes, despite this entire night, I am happier in San Francisco.

Because I think the only reason I was ever happy in DC was because of all of them.

And I'm not the type of person who likes to rely on others for happiness.

But while we're all here together... Let's have one more round of drinks!

Spoon Me

I have two crushes right now. And today, on my last day in San Francisco before I head back to the East Coast for two weeks, I spent time spooning with both of them. #1 up close and #2 from afar.

The morning session with #1 lasted more than 3 minutes without bribery. Damn I am liking this guy. And the evening session with #2 (all 4 members) was two hours long. Session #2 was also at The Warfield. My first San Francisco concert.

The crowd was barely out of the theater and I had already rushed home to scour #2's website to see when they come into town again. I'm not even gone yet and I already can't wait to come back to see #1.

Excitement. Anticipation.

"That's [just] the way [I] get by."

The Going

The Monday to Friday "Going" has been a little tough lately. My running Going has also been tough lately. Aside from a pretty impressive marathon out of nowhere, I've been mostly sprint-sputter-stop, the running equivalent to hurry up and wait.

But today my running tough got going again. I don't know if it was the playlist Wilson orchestrated. Or if it was the scenery of Chrissy Field - the Golden Gate, the waves, the pelicans. Quite possibly it was the thought of Sunday's cheeseburger and french fries settling on my saddlebags. Even more likely it was just me trying to run away from my Monday. But today, 4 miles turned into 8. And I finally got my high again.

The absence of high didn't stop me from reading Runner's World cover to cover the day it arrives. It never stopped me from drinking bottles and bottles of Propel. It never stopped me from lacing up anything but a pair of Kayanos.It never stopped me from thinking that the sliced bread cliche should be updated to reflect the mother of all inventions, BodyGlide. The absence of the high really didn't stop me from acting like a runner at all. You know, except for the running part.

The lack of high has however, spurred self-doubt. I haven't felt like much of a runner for a long time. Which lead me to think about what it even means to be a runner. I'm not sure I know anymore. I don't know if it's running races or finishing marathons. I don't know if it's owning all the gear. Adoring Fuel Belts and shunning cotton socks. I don't know if you even have to LIKE running all the time to be a runner.

But maybe, being a runner is just having the gumption to lace up again. No matter how long it's been since that last run. And to keep going. Even if it feels bad, but especially if it feels good. Maybe being a runners is about turning that 4 miler into 8 without even thinking. Looking up at the street sign and saying, "How did I get here?" Or maybe it's getting back to your front door and forgetting why you didn't want to go out on that run in the first place. And maybe it's feeling for just a few minutes that you can't wait to run another 26.2 miles. Or 3, or 5, or 10, or 13.1... It's looking forward to lacing up your Asics, sucking on some Gu, and getting The Going going again.

Guess I'll be buying some more Gu tomorrow.

Dream Date

Today The Homeowner and I had a daytime date. We went shopping for new furniture. And rugs. Some would say that this Dream Date is a little intense. Are WE/THEY picking out furniture together already? Are WE/THEY even a WE/THEY?

I don't attempt to answer those questions. The furniture and rugs wer for HIS apartment. My role was really quite simple...

• Yes, the dark brown wood is better.
• No, you don't want that living room set. It doesn't include a TV stand.
• No, you can't turn a wine rack into a TV stand. Not when you're going to put a 42" plasma on it, anyway.
• Yes, I'm having fun. You can't tell?
• No, don't get a rug that sheds. You don't have a vacuum cleaner yet.
• Yes, that's the rug. The other one is too brown to match the couch. This one is perfect.
• Yes, I think a lavendar floral bedspread will look AMAZING in the master bedroom.
• No? You'll lose focus if we look at artwork today?
• Yes, check out Pottery Barn for a bedspread.
• Yes, of course I was kidding about the lavendar flowers bedspread.
  

You can only begin to understand just how perfect of a date this was for me if you have seen me in action at IKEA. Sometimes the shopping trips make me squeal. Imagine my pure delight to be shopping for furniture that I won't have to put together! That I won't have to cart out to Honda by myself! That I won't even have to pay for!

Again, excited for another date. And hoping the furniture arrives sooner than later. Because the only thing cooler than shopping for new furniture is setting it up and testing it out at home. Er, HIS place.

I wonder if he'll let me paint...

The Corner Store

The problem with The Corner Store is that you get to know the guys working at it.

They take pictures of you on Halloween, accept packages in the mail when you're not home, and give you a hard time for buying a pint of Ben & Jerry's every Wednesday night just before The Apprentice Martha Stewart starts. And when you get a new California license, for example, they are sad that they can no longer make fun of you for being from DC, which, "isn't even a state!"

(Note that the REAL state from which I come, PA, isn't a state either. It's a Commonwealth. But people on the West Coast don't know about Commonwealths.)

So back to why all of this friendliness is a problem...

One day, you get a really bad stomach virus. And you hobble down (and then back up) a small hill to the corner store to buy soup and Saltines. You stand at the counter and realize you kind of need to purchase some Pepto. Or Mylanta. Or Immodium. Or all of them. And Corner Store Guy, who isn't bad looking, is going to have to know that you've spent the past three days lurched over a toilet, crying for your mom.

But then, with a sarcastically concerned look he says, "Are you sick? Do you have a cough?"

"Yep," I reply. "And a wicked head cold."

He smiles, and scans my gastic medications, and I realize that he doesn't give an ounce of shit that I got the shits and barfs.

So, I guess that's actually what's so GREAT about the Corner Store.

Growth

I have certainly done a lot of growing the past few months. Packing up my apartment in DC. Driving my car through the middle of Texas. Sitting alone on the beach staring out at the Pacific Ocean. Going to that party alone, not knowing anyone. Pushing myself through Mile 22 of the Nike Marathon. And then carrying myself all the way up the hill back home.

Last night, a little after midnight, I realized that in my life I tend to do the most growing while perched over the toilet on all fours puking my guts out. I have learned how capable I am of taking care of myself when I have to go get myself a glass of water, the thermometer, the ginger ale, the tea, the toast, the soup, a new trash can for my room because I actually didn't make it to the toilet...

Of course I always follow these growth spurts with tears and moans for my Mommy.

One step forward, two steps back...

Ain't No Sunshine

Since I've moved to San Francisco, there has only been one sunshine-less Sunday. That day is today. I'm sure I could drive across the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin County to soak up the rays that are shining down out there instead of in the city, but I did that yesterday. Check out the pics...

And so today will be spent on the couch and in bed. And I'd like to take a brief moment to all those who are making this day of sloth possible...

1) I'd like to thank the guy downstairs for being quiet for 2 whole hours. Without this unexpected silence I never would have been able to sneak in an afternoon nap.
2) I'd like to thank the team at Comcast, without whom I never would have been able to use On Demand to watch three old episodes of Real Time with Bill Maher.
3) I'd like to thank the team at Tivo, for prompting Comcast to add DVR service options to my already ridiculous cable bill. Without you, I never would have been able to watch The Sandlot on TBS without all the annoying commercials.
4) I'd like to thank the team at Netflix, for crafting this amazing unlimited (or 3 at a time) movie rental deal for only $14.99 per month. Yes, I do get 200+ channels as part of my cable services, but when I STILL can't find ANYTHING to watch, Netflix, you are there for me. I cherish you.
5) And finally, I'd also like to thank the milk products, or whatever it is that is tearing up my stomach right now, for further fueling my desire to do nothing but be slothful. I really guess I owe all of this lack of accomplishment to you.

Thanks again to everyone.

Card Me

I often wonder how old children and teenagers who pass me on the street think I am. Because I don't think I could conceptualize being 25 when I was a child.

For the life of me, I can't remember ever wanting to be anything but a 14 year old when I played House or School or Office or Barbie. I always wanted to be 14. I wanted to be in eighth grade, I wanted to have braces, and I wanted to wear a training bra. I think once or twice I wanted to be 19. Not because I would be away at college by then - who played College as a child? I simply loved eating Kellog's Product 19 cereal.

But I daresay I never imagined being 20. Or 21, even. Let alone 25. Well, not unil I was 19, anyway.

Do children see me and think I'd be a cool babysitter? Or do they see a grown-up? When I smile at a cute little kid and he runs away is it because I'm old enough to be a STRANGER and someone he shouldn't talk to? Or Trust? Am I the crazy lady who may put razor blades in his Halloween candy?

Do teenagers see me and think I'm another teenager? I'm short enough. And although I'm starting to notice lines around my eyes, I do have a young face. Or do they think I might old enough to buy them beer? Or old enough to at least buy them cigarettes?

I guess that little biotch at United Artists in Arlington who carded me when I went to see Sideways obviously thought I was about 16. Not even 17? At 25 I don't even look like I'm 17? What 17 year old girl goes to a movie by herself? On a Sunday? Without make-up?

For a while I was slightly upset about that carding fiasco. Getting carded was getting old. But my new California driver's license arrived yesterday. I must say it is my favorite license of all time. I've had PA, VA, and DC now, and CA is definitely the best. No, I don't think it has anything to do with my long hair, tan skin, or Glamour Shot photo. Although those qualities do help. This IS my best license picture by far. Must be something in the air...

I wish you all could be a California Girl.

The Decision's Right

"I love capers," he said.
"I know," I repliled. "Do you want some?"
"How do you know I love capers?"

I laughed. I have been having dinner with this Man for three years now. An affinity for dishes with capers, jalapenos, and single malts, but an adversion to chocolate made its presence known very early in our dining relationship.

When Man comes into town, he whisks me away to a dinner I can't afford and we catch up. Eventually, the conversation rolls around to his story, or bits and pieces of it, and I listen. And although I've now heard this story and its fragments and spinoffs countless times, I always listen to each telling as intently as I did the first time I heard it. I try to apply it to my life and my career. I try to explain that I want his job and his life without sounding like a groupie. But it never comes out eloquently. He laughs, and states his hopes to still be around when I hit my professional stride. For a few moments, awe, my self-confidence, and drive are in equilibrium.

His story can make anyone study a little harder. Work a little smarter. Play out that childhood dream. It has challenged me to figure out what I really want. It has embrazened me to leave my comfort zone. At times, it has even comforted me when I have failed and felt directionless. It has forced me to confront several of my professional and personal ruts, while empowering me to make the necessary changes. On some levels, I think the story, the conversations, and the entire relationship, have helped coax me through somewhat of a personal transformation. Because I don't recall always being bold enough to have the guts to pack my life into my car and drive it 3000 miles away from familiarity.

Last night was the first meal we've shared since I made the possibility of being bold a reality. Since I merged my life and my dreams onto a new path. This new path that is suddenly - and kind of unfairly - encountering unexpected curves and bumps and junctions with major freeways. This path with perfectly beautiful scenery but heading to a destination I no longer control and at a rate I can't predict.

And given the mentoring role he's played in the past, I expected guidance last night. What should I do? Will this work out? Should I be worried? Is this hopeless? Last night, there were no answers. If anything, light was shed on a few more bumps, curves, and junctions that I had not yet seen.

"It's difficult, huh? knowing you have so many options," he slyly commented.
"That's a start, sure," I replied as I gulped my wine.

Then he leaned in as if he were about to whisper something secretly, but said, "Nic, I don't know the right answer. And I know you don't know the right answer. So pick an answer, and make it the right one. You've done it before!"

My eyebrows furrowed as I attempted to review my mental catalog of my good decisions. "When?" I asked.

He raised his glass and retorted, "We're here, aren't we?"
"Ha Ha!" I laughed. "One for me. To San Francisco!"

So yes, to San Francisco... and to making another decision right. Soon. Very soon.