At Last

After thirty-one hours of travel, including three plane rides, two Tylenol PMs, and one Lunesta, I safely arrived in Marrakech at 9PM Local Time last night. I met up with LEF’s brother and sister-in-law at Heathrow, and together we were whisked away by a driver who transported us from the Marrakech airport and into Marrakech.

We arrived at Riad Blanc, LEF’s riad, after a twenty minute drive across town and through the Medina, Marrakech’s “downtown” labyrinth of small streets and alleys. LEF, as well as her mom and dad – who at times feel like my second mom and dad – were waiting to greet us.

I have never been so happy to see LEF in my entire life. Not even after her return from London, Second Year at UVA; or her return from Copenhagen, Third Year at UVA. Not after all of her return trips from Senegal during the two and a half years she was in the Peace Corps. And not even after I returned to the East Coast for the first time after moving to San Francisco, when she picked me up at Dulles Airport at 6:00 AM. Last night, amidst a sea of taxi cabs, motor bikes, wild cats, and Moroccans, I embraced LEF with the most love I have ever felt for her.

She looked beautiful. Smiling and excited, yet calm and composed amidst the chaos of the Medina. LEF has extensively traveled the world and spent many years living abroad. As I hugged her, it felt special to be spending my first time in Morocco – not to mention my first time in the continent of Africa – by her side.

After greeting the rest of LEF’s family, I headed over to check-in at my riad, Riad al Tainam. It was a short walk from Riad Blanc, but a series of many turns down dark streets and alleys. Upon my arrival I was greeted by our host, who had prepared a meal for everyone staying at the riad, all of whom had also traveled to Marrakech for LEF’s wedding. The girls staying here are a collection of friends from high school, college, and years in Washington, DC. I hadn’t seen some of them in over a year and a half, so it was a great reunion.

We feasted – and I do mean feasted – on traditional Moroccan foods for an elegant dinner. Tajine, couscous, etc. We were lucky to be offered wine with our meal, as well. (It is illegal to sell wine to Moroccans in Morocco, so our hosts at the riad were very proud to have obtained wine for us!) We told stories about LEF throughout all of our years knowing her – high school, college, Peace Corps, and post-Peace Corps in Washington, DC.

It was a wonderful way to kick-off the week’s celebration, and listening to everyone’s stories about our mutual friend really brought out the uniqueness of my relationship with this amazing woman. We have been friends for over ten years, now; and our friendship has thrived across oceans and continents. We have grown up together, and figured out who we are together, despite often being apart.

And now she is getting married… and I’m so glad that we get to share this experience together, in Marrakech.

Flying by the Seat of My Pants

Remember when I was a list person? Life seemed so simple back then. Write it down, get it done, cross it off.

Well, lists and I don’t really get along, anymore. For many reasons. 1) I never really have time to write things down. 2) Even if I do make time to create a list, I have trouble finishing it, as the lists I create quickly become unmanageable collections of infinite tasks. 3) As the lists continue to grow, with no end in sight, I quickly lose control of my stress. I get anxious (how will I ever finish all of this?) and I develop feelings of worthlessness (I suck because I cannot accomplish anything). 4)…

Shit! See why lists suck so much for me?

So, a couple of months ago, I decided to abandon my lists, favoring a new philosophy, which is as follows: If it is important, it will happen. (Meaning if it is important, there is no way I won’t remember to do it.) This new philosophy does have its strengths and weaknesses. It facilitates living in the moment, a lifestyle for which I continue to strive. And it thwarts panic attacks by prohibiting me from ever seeing – on paper – all that I have to do at any given time.

However I have recently uncovered a few problems with this paperless tracking system, in that, sometimes, things really SHOULD be written down. On napkins. On post it notes. On the backs of hands. Or fuck, on a piece of steno paper that is labeled at the top, TO DO LIST.

In hindsight, if I could do it over again, I would have verified the departure time for my Thursday night flight to London sometime on Wednesday. And I would have written the verified departure time down. Both on my hand and on a piece of paper. I would have written down 7:23 PM, ideally, and not 11:23 PM, which I know I saw at some point in time on one of my 100+ United Itineraries. Yes, in hindsight, I would have abandoned the paperless tracking system in an effort to ensure I would not miss a very important flight to London.

But instead, I logged onto the United Airlines website the evening of my flight – that flight I thought left at 11:23 PM – to see if it was scheduled for an on-time departure. And at 8:18 PM on Thursday night, I confirmed that my flight – that flight I thought left at 11:23 PM – was in deed on time. On time, and already in the air, as it took off at 7:23 PM. Which, as anyone who can tell time can surely understand, is not the same as 11:23 PM.

I have never – never in my life – missed a flight. Part wise-traveler (why would anyone EVER connect through O’Hare?) and part travel-snob (why would anyone EVER connect when they can almost ALWAYS fly direct?) and part experience (status = first class security = short lines!). But Thursday, for myriad reasons, I just confused everything, and I missed my flight to London. Which means I missed my Saturday flight to Marrakech. FUCK!

While trying to maintain perspective, I realized that I DID NOT miss LEF’s wedding, as it is scheduled for Wednesday. And that despite having to rearrange my flights, I was still going to make it to Marrakech by Monday evening. So thankfully, I did not miss this wedding. And my paperless tracking system, as well as the, “If it is important, it will happen” philosophy are still in tact. The wedding is what is important, and I'm going to be there for it. Flying by the seat of my pants to get there, almost literally, but I'll get there.

Hiccups in travel behind me, I am now sitting at a café inside Heathrow Airport. I have been traveling for over twenty four hours and I am QUITE tired. But I am ready for a week of exploration. On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean for only the third time in my life. With friends from high school, college, Washington DC, and life in general. For a trip celebrating that which is truly important in life – family, and friends, and love.

It is going to be a great week. Stay tuned…

Rockstar

The view from my apartment isn't that special. It doesn't include those famous San Francisco landmarks, like the Golden Gate Bridge, or Alcatraz, or Coit Tower. However, it does provide a cascading sweep of the colorful houses that flank Russian Hill. And when the sun is shining on a Saturday morning, I awake to my glorious city beckoning me outside.

So early this afternoon, after a little laziness and a little more coffee, I got out of my apartment and onto my bike. Down the street towards The Bay, and then on towards The Bridge, I climbed and I cruised. Out of the city and into Marin...

I have lived here for over a year and a half, now. And I have been inspired by the beauty of San Francisco since the first evening on which I drove into the city. But the city was different, today.

Or maybe I was different today. I struggled less climbing Marin Headlands. And I paniced less descending down the hills. I didn't tip over at the stop lights, either. I powered through the entire ride, feeling strong and confident. And it felt great.

Back home, 30 miles and a couple hours later, I looked at the note on my desk my roommate left for me after our last ride a couple of weeks ago. I didn't believe it at the time, but after today's ride, I am starting to believe.

"I'm very proud of you for being such a rock star in all of your new adventures. It's not easy to push beyond your comfort zone - most people never do - and you're killing it."

Thanks, AER, for your continued support. I couldn't imagine doing this without you.

A Baker's Dozen

I was quiet today. Quiet not because I had nothing to say, but because I had so many things to say without knowing where I should begin.

Trying to navigate actions, feelings, and expectations, I make an effort to explain how I see it. Yet eloquence and cogency elude my attempts at conveying how I feel. And I keep fucking up. I don't know where to begin, nor do I know that whenever I (finally) stop talking I will be fully understood.

However, I do find solace in this closeness. And this afternoon, I figured it out. I realized, that everything - in all its elusiveness - really does boil down to the same explanation to which we've both turned for comfort since the beginning.

"This guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, 'Doc, uh, my brother's crazy. He thinks he's a chicken.' And the doctor says, 'Well, why don't you turn him in?' And the guy says, 'I would, but I need the eggs.' Well, I guess that's pretty much how I feel about relationships. You know, they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd, but, I guess we keep goin' through it because most of us need the eggs."

Despite ups, downs, outs, backs, flatlines, and tornadoes. I crack and you crack and yet we still find a way to put things back together. Yes, it's totally irrational and crazy and absurd. But it's also reassuring and comfortable and frankly, wonderful.

More than just a good egg... a baker's dozen.

The View

It was a beautiful winter day in San Francisco. So beautiful, in fact, that I felt it was absolutely imperative that I leave my office early. And I thought I should don some spandex. And some funky shoes with the word, "Shimano" written on them that make walking ridiculously hard. So hard, that the only thing left to do is hop on a bike, and ride.

Except it's not that easy.

Because hopping on a bike involves getting onto the seat. And while I love to brag that my legs are long for a girl of 5'3", my bike seat is high. I mean, you're not supposed to be able to touch the ground when you're sitting on the seat of your bike. And that makes getting started on your bike ride a little difficult.

What also makes it difficult are your pedals. Maybe the pedals aren't difficult. But the combination of the pedals and the funky shoes are effing CRAZY. No, I can't always clip in. Yes, I tipped over a time or two. And hell no, my bike is NOT scratched. Although my knee is a little bruised. You've seen My Bike! Do you really think I'm going to let something happen to her?

Despite the frustration - of stopping - of going - of uphills - of downhills - of clipping in - of clipping out - I persevered. Because cycling is pretty sweet. And I I fucking LOVE my bike!!! And because San Francisco is the perfect place to ride. Across the Golden Gate Bridge and down into Sausalito. Then back up out of Sausalito. And back across the Golden Gate Bridge. Peering out to my right at the sun setting over the seemingly endless Pacific Ocean.

A view so invigorating you can forget the frustration of your first REAL bike ride.

By the end of my ride, my friend JB (who was so patient with me!) said I was starting to fall a little more gracefully. Starting to start a little less stutteringly. And of course, he said I was kicking his ass up the hills. So maybe these lyrics are a little too extreme, but as I sat there, perched over my handlebars, huffing and puffing from both exhaustion and delight, I sang to myself...

"As life gets longer, awful feels softer.
Well it feels pretty soft to me.
And if it takes shit to make bliss,
well I feel pretty blissfully."

"The View" by Modest Mouse, from the Album, Good New for People Who Like Bad News.

And It Stoned Me

I had only been going a half mile when "the rain came pourin' down." And although it would have been totally acceptable to turn around and go back to my couch and television, I kept going.

Maybe it was the music. And maybe it was the chick in yoga pants who sprinted past me - who SHOULD NOT have sprinted past me - but something twitched. In a good way. And I settled into a pace and a rhythm that I haven't felt in...

I can't remember the last time I felt like that.

There was no gasping for breath as I plowed up the hill. There was no beg for mercy when I accellerated down the other side. As the path flattened out and The Bridge came into view, I felt lighter.

"Oh, the water!"

And then it stoned me. The sky opened up and it was slightly miserable, but entirely wonderful out there. My heart thumped and my stride increased. I glided across the pavement, to the bridge and back home again. Feeling as if I were six feet tall. Happy and healthy and balanced and exhausted and invigorated.

Distance: 8.5 miles
Time: 70 minutes
Pace: 8:15 min/mile

"It Stoned Me" by Van Morrision, from the album, Moondance.

Sweetness

It has been a sweet week and a half - on many fronts. So sweet that I haven't had much time to write, but I'll be getting back into that soon...

1) Running: I'm running again. And I don't hate it! Yesterday AER and I went out for a morning trip to The Bridge and Back, completing 7 miles in 56 minutes. Yes, we are back in running shape. It's pretty sweet.

2) Swimming: I'm swimming again, too, for the first time since the early '90s. Yes, I have been getting in the pool and splashing back and forth since early January. But as of this week, I am really SWIMMING. As in, not stopping to suck in air after every few laps but actually paddling back and forth repeatedly. For extended periods of time, repeatedly. And completing, in 29:15, an entire mile. Yes, I'm swimming. I'm really swimming. It's really sweet.

3) Cycling: Yes, cycling. Not spinning, cycling. On a road bike. And not just A road bike, but MY road bike. My Orbea Aqua Dama. She is SUPER SWEET. See for yourself...

4) And Valentine's Day? Well that was also sweet. Really, really, sweet. Just like him.

Staying Power

Except for a few of my friends from college, therapy, at least on the East Coast, is still something many people don't embrace.

However in San Francisco, it seems that almost everyone I know has a therapist. And why not? They have general practitioners to monitor their cholesterol. OBGYNs to routinely check-in and make sure all is well. Personal trainers to make them stronger. Cosmetic surgeons to improve their aesthetic appearance. (OK, that's more of an L.A. thing...)

And over the past few months, it has been pretty amazing to learn just how many people also see a therapist. To monitor their stress. And to make sure they stay well. Balanced, and strong. Not to mention, good looking / looking good...

I feel very lucky to live in an environment where so many of my friends embrace mental health. Their unconditional support the past several months has empowered me to confront so many of my personal challenges with confidence. And this past month, I have realized that I am really starting to feel great. I feel happy. And energized. And good.

A couple of times this month, I have started to wonder if maybe I am "done" with therapy. But after some thought, and after reading this article, I have come to the realization that mental health, just like physical health, has no final destination. I may lower my cholesterol. My pulse. My stress. And I may increase my strength. My speed. My energy. I may one day find the most amazing tooth whitening toothpaste ever. But if I don't continue to work at maintaining these accomplishments, I will surely lose them. My stress level will go back up. My muscles will atrophy. I will surely again grow tired.

So I'm not going to stop going to therapy. As the article suggests, "Perhaps seeing a therapist when you’re in a healthy mental place will actually increase the odds that you’ll stay there."

Ah, staying power. Give it a read... http://www.divinecaroline.com/article/22189/23422

Swim - Swim - Swim

The countdown to Wildflower is on. I have almost two full weeks of base training under my fuel belt/spin shoes/swim cap. More like a month if we count the first couple weeks of January, during which I often - but not too often - woke up early to ease into a 6:00 a.m. spin class or treadmill run.

Before I started training for a triathlon, I figured I'd get in a lot of running, a substantial amount of spinning/cycling, and a couple of swims. But after all this initial training, I have to admit that I have barely run at all. And this week, I haven't even made it to a spin class, yet.

True, work has been a little more chaotic than normal. And the rest of my life has gotten a little more interesting, too. (That's for another post, though...) I have, however, made it to the pool - many many many times - to swim. Maybe it's because the pool is only a couple of blocks from my office. And maybe it's because I like to follow-up my swims with a soak in the steam room. But the fact that I have been swimming more than I have been running is truly a surprise.

And perhaps, maybe the real surprise of triathlon training to date is how much I don't hate swimming. And even better, maybe the surprise is how much I'm not bad at swimming!

When I first started in early January, it took me 39 minutes to swim a mile. (Including rest stops to catch my breath. And to check out the hottie in Lane 1.) But this past Monday I swam a mile in 34 minutes. On Tuesday it took 33 minutes. And today, I swam a mile in 32 minutes.

And tomorrow... Well, I'm going to the pool tomorrow. Oh my god, I like to swim!

Well, I don't know how much I like TO SWIM. But I like TO HAVE GONE FOR A SWIM. Which is how I felt about running at first, too. And that is good enough for me right now, only a couple weeks into Wilflower Training.

So... now that I got that off of my chest... What's a good time for swimming a mile? In a pool and in open water? How fast should I aim to be?

Let's Ride...

Her name is Awesome. Now if only it would effing snow in Tahoe already, I could ride Awesome! And THAT would BE really AWESOME.

The Cat in my Apartment

We've been a family now for almost six months. AER, me, and The Cat. AER's cat.

The Fucking Cat...

The Cat wakes up right 6:00 AM every day. And he cries until one of us feeds him. "REER-REER-REER-REER..." Whoever suggested the onomatopoeia "Meow" is an idiot. The Cat's call for food sounds nothing like a cute "meow."

Each day, after breakfast at dawn, The Cat likes to go for a run around the apartment. Unlike me, The Cat is not so much an endurance athlete. No, there is no slow and steady for The Cat. The Cat is more of a sprinter. A track star, if you will. His specialty is the Feline High Jump. He runs and springs and clears obstacles like my desk. My nightstand. My bookshelf. And the television.

However like me, The Cat often runs into things. He breaks up his morning sprint around the apartment by running into walls. And doors. Also my bed. More than anything, The Cat crashes into my door. You know, my door that I have shut so I can go back to sleep. He crashes into it with his claws. Repeatedly. Scratching. And scratching and scratching.

Until he starts to whimper. The Cat whimpers and whines until AER or I wake-up and go into the living room. Not to feed him - he's already been fed. And not to get him water, as he has his own water fountain. The Cat whimpers and whines simply because he wants us to get out of bed.

And it is at this point that The Cat becomes a real pain in the ass.

Because as soon as one of us gets out of our beds, The Cat runs into either AER's or my bedroom. He then jumps onto the bed out of which one of us has just left. He plops himself onto the pillow on which we were just sleeping. And The Cat, himself, settles in, and goes to sleep.

The Fucking Cat!

The Cat is sitting next to me right now. He is just staring at me. Oh, how I wish I knew what he was thinking! Mysterious cat...

Tonight, when I arrived home from work, The Cat greeted me at the door. He can hear me coming down the hallway. And I can hear him scamper from his favorite chair (which coincidentally, is MY favorite chair) to the door. The Cat slides on our hardwood floors and flips onto his back. He comes to a stop inches from the front door, paws curled, belly exposed, and eyes wide, begging, "Scratch me!"

The Fucking Cat. So damn cute!

He follows me around the apartment as I put down my bag. Collect my mail. Cook dinner. If I've just come in from the gym, and I then change my clothes, The Cat gets comfortable atop my smelly workout gear. (He's particularly a fan of my stinky socks!) When I sit down at the table to read the mail or open my laptop, he jumps up onto my mail or laptop so that I cannot read anything.

And when I do win sitting rights in the chair, to crochet or watch television or to read a book, I often find The Cat is perched to my right on the armrest. I look at him, and he purrs. He crawls around and sits himself down right on my lap. He nuzzles his head into my arm and says, "If you didn't work, we could sit like this ALL DAY!"

The Cat. He loves me!

Sometimes I can't find The Cat. I often find myself panic a little when he disappears. Sometimes I even catch myself peering out the window to make sure he didn't fall out or anything. We have screens and we hardly ever have the windows open, but still, I worry. But deep down, I know I'll find him. And so I go looking... The Cat normally turns up quickly. Under my bed. Under my desk. Under my dresser. Inside my dresser. In my closet. Under my sink. In my shower...

The Cat is a lunatic!

Before I got to bed each night, I head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. The Cat, sensing that it is time to go to sleep - meanders over to my bedroom. He looks around, tries to act natural. Pretends - just for a second - that he has no interest in jumping onto my bed. But sure enough, up he goes, and around he walks, settling himself right smack in the middle of where I intend to sleep.

He looks startled when I approach the bed. And he raises his eyes as I pull down the covers and request that he please, move OVER just a tad. I scratch his neck, and he obliges. Purring, he gives me a good night sniff. We play for a few minutes and he gnaws at my hand. He settles down and goes to sleep right next to me. Next to me - not AER. He's her cat, but he likes to sleep with me.

The Cat. I fucking LOVE this cat!

Puck

Beard Burn

My chin is kind of dry. And red. It's also a little sore. I look kind of silly, to be honest. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Light skin. Red chin...

Why is my chin so red?

Shit - I have beard burn!

Oh, that's SO good! Beard burn... Certainly NOT going to find any complaints about beard burn here.

(Giggle)

California Girl

Deep down, I'll always be an East Coast Girl. Particularly, one with roots in the Mid-Atlantic. I'll always walk at a quicker pace than the rest of the crowd. I'll always tell a story in half the time it takes my friend from Richmond, Virginia to relay it. I'll always roll my eyes at the cheesesteaks, pizza, and bagels sold in every state other than Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York.

But California - and in particular, San Francisco - has really rubbed off on me, I have to admit. Yesterday morning, I ordered an Avocado and Cheese omelette for breakfast. I just got back from running an errand and heard myself mutter, "It's effing COLD out!" (Please note that the outside temperature is 48 degrees.)

Furthermore, I've noticed that I no longer jump crosswalks. Why start crossing the street without the walk signal, just to risk getting hit by a car in order to cut 5 seconds from my travel time? Time is on my side! What's the rush? According to my new outlook, everything gets done. Eventually.

Believe it or not, I roughly drove my car no more than fifteen times in 2006, and 5 of those times were when my family came to visit me. (1 - To SFO, 2 - To Ocean Beach, 3 - From Ocean Beach, 4 - To Napa, 5 - From Napa.) Also during the past year, I received 2 parking tickets ($80) and was once towed ($300). Add in $1000 for car insurance, and the hours spent circling for a parking spot, and it is very easy to conclude that owning my very own car is far from priceless.

So I'm selling! I spent today scheduling appointments for people to check out my car, which I recently posted as FOR SALE on SF Craigslist.org.

Once I sell, I'm going to take the funds buy a road bike and a snowboard. A trade-in that my co-worker, also an East Coast transplant, says completes my transformation from a Philly Hoe (kidding!) to a California Girl...

Sounds good to me, but I think I forgot to start surfing, so I'll get working on that.

Procrastination

Getting back into the swing of blogging this week, and what do you know, I've been tagged! (Walchka!)I have a meeting in a half hour, but let's see if I can get this done...

The Book Survey

1. Find the nearest book. (OK...)
2. Name the book & the author. (Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris)
3. Turn to page 123. (OK...)
4. Go to the fifth sentence on the page. Copy out the next three sentences and post to your blog.

"When the holidays rolled around I used to rent a moving van and drive into the city, snatching up every bright new extravagance that caught my eye. Our twin sons, Taylor and Weston, could always count on the latest electronic toy or piece of sporting equipment. Beth might receive a riding vacuum cleaner or a couple pair of fur-lined jeans and those were just the stocking stuffers!"

5. Tag three more folks. - I'll take volunteers...

The A-B-C Survey

A-Available or Single? Always...
B-Best Friend? AER, my roommate.
C-Cake or Pie? Pie. With ice cream.
D-Drink of choice? Red wine.
E- Essential Item? Cell phone.
F-Favorite color? Red.
G-Gummi Bears or worms? Bears. Orange ones.
H-Hometown? Newtown, PA - outside of Philadelphia!
I-Indulgence? Lately - snowboarding.
J-January or February? February! Birthday!
K-Kids & names? One day, 2 boys and a girl. Or three boys. Perhaps Kyle, Regan, and... Well, I guess the father should be able to weigh in, so I'll only pick two.
L-Life is incomplete without? Laughing.
M-Marriage Date? Not sure I'll get married...
N-Number of siblings? 1 - The Brother
O-Oranges or Apples? Oranges. Unless we're talking pie.
P-Phobias/Fears? Open water swimming.
Q-Favorite Quote"It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot
R-Reason to smile? I'm going to see Justin Timberlake tonight!
S-Season? Fall. Fall in San Francisco...
T-Tag three people: Volunteers?
U-Unknown fact about me: Like I'm going to share that?
V-Veggie I hate: Broccoli.
W-Worst Habit? I say "sorry" too much.
X-X-rays you've had? Arms, legs, teeth...
Y-Your favorite food? Ice cream.
Z-Zodiac? Pisces.

Warming Up

Here's a surprise - I'm not too fond of doing things that I'm not good at. Hold the phone, I know. I really hate being bad at anything, so quite often, I just completely avoid those things that I'm bad at.

Enter The Year of Yes, and I can no longer run from these deficiencies. These perceived weaknesses.

Yes, in The Year of Yes, not only am I putting on a bathing suit - more than once a week! - I am also donning a cap and goggles. I'm jumping into the pool. Taking a breath, going under, and pushing off. I kick and crawl and flip and turn... And to date, I haven't drowned.

It's not that I can't swim. I spent a good few years on a swim team when I was growing up. Practicing twice a day - 8:30 AM and 4:30 PM. Diving in, swimming laps, and getting out. Diving in, swimming laps, and getting out. Staring at the black line, waiting for the "T", and then doing a somersault. Staring at the black line again.

The fact that I'm willingly subjecting myself to the monotony of swimming is appauling.

And the fact that I just might be warming up to it... well, that's just an example of what can happen when you start saying YES.

Today's Stats:
Type: Swim
Distance: 1 Mile
Time: Too long...

Hope and Tonic

The results are in - I have been receiving treatment for major depression for nearly three months, now: and I feel better. Happy, good. Therapy - in all its shapes and forms - truly is ameliorative.

Unfortunately, I'm still exhausted, and my doctors weren't pleased. So it was back to the blood work. And as it turns out, I have subclinical hypothyroidism. I've read various articles that report as many as 10% - 20% of women have subclinical hypothyroidism; however most cases have no or very mild symptoms. Other research I've encountered is more alarming.

In one study, researchers found that subclinical hypothyroidism may increase the occurrence of depression. And in another article, I read how both subclinical hypothyroidism and major depression share a common physiological basis: triiodothyronine and L-tryptophan. Triiodothyronine, also referred to as T3 , is a hormone produced by the thyroid. L-tryptophan is a chemical present in the brain and a precursor to the manufacture of serotonin. Lower availability of L-tryptophan results in lower levels of serotonin in the brain - yes, the dreaded, "chemical imbalance."

Findings show that both T3 and L-tryptophan appear to be taken up by the same portion of red blood cells in the brain. And studies based on these finding suggest that taking a thyroid hormone replacement to treat subclinical hypothyroidism in addition to antidepressants speeds recovery of depression.

So that's the plan. I am now taking a synthetic thyroid hormone called levothyroxine. Levothyroxine is a synthetic derivative of thyroxine, also referred to as T4. Taking the medication should normalize the levels of TSH, T4, and T3 in my bloodstream. I take this new medication every morning. And luckily, it's available in a generic form, so it will only cost me $10 a month. (And believe me, I never thought I'd be complaining about prescription drugs at 26...)

It may take up to six weeks for my symptoms improve while taking a thyroid hormone replacement. However I should expect moderate weight loss (yes!), less puffiness (yes-yes!), improved pulse (no complaints!), improvements in anemia (woo hoo!), less dry skin (nice!), thicker hair (very nice!), and lower LDL cholesterol (fantastic!).

Levothyroxine - please, start making miracles happen! Because I simply cannot wait to not always be so tired. There is just so much I want to do. And I don't want to sluggishly experience any of it! I want to be alert and energetic and excited! And I'm hopeful that I will be. Thank you modern medicine!

And thank you, Orison Swett Marden. I'm not quite sure where I originally found this quote, but it seems rather apropos at the moment.

“There is no medicine like hope, no incentive so great, and no tonic so powerful as expectation of something better tomorrow.” - Orison Swett Marden

A Decemberist

The holidays really sneak up on you when your walk to work takes you past palm trees. And now, it's already December 24! Christmas Eve!

Looking back on how crazy the past few weeks have been, I realize that I live for December. For parties and cookies and egg nog. Friends and laughing and shopping and presents. Cheesy music and singing. Red dresses and white lights. LOTS of white lights.

December is happy. It really is, "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year."

The month went by very quickly, and now it is time to officially celebrate the holidays. This year I'll have Christmas in Lake Tahoe. With my roommate, AER, in her cabin in Squaw Valley. It's a great cabin in a fantastic location, almost walking distance from the mountain. (You can see the lifts from the kitchen table - if you look out past the hot tub on the deck!)

It is beautiful up here. And I am very excited to spend the rest of December in Lake Tahoe. It will be a wonderful way to enjoy the rest of my favorite month.

A very Merry Christmas to you all...

The Wild West

Living on the West Coast can make a girl go a little Wild...

And that's what exactly what I plan to tell myself when January rolls around and I begin my quest to complete a 1.5K swim, a 40K bike, and 10K run in Lake San Antonio, Monterey County, CA on Sunday May 6, 2007.

I'll tell myself that I'm WILD. Yes, wild. Wild, but not CRAZY!

I don't know, I'm a little nervous. Fortunately Walchka - who was in San Francisco this past weekend - seemed to think that my plans to take a swim/bike/run on the Wild side were pretty awesome. Come January, I hope I agree with him!

For now, though, I am feeling good. Great, even. I am finally starting to feel rested. And I am ready to tackle a new challenge... Well, I'll be ready in a couple more weeks. No need to rush into things. The goal is to be WILD. Yes, wild. Wild, not CRAZY!

¡España, Otra Vez!

2006.11.27 - Madrid y Toledo

I don’t spend a lot of time in cars. And when I do, I’m not normally driving. I’m being chauffeured. Most of the time, the chauffeuring is being done by a taxi cab driver. But on Saturday night, Dad was driving. He and Mom were driving me to the airport in Philadelphia, after a few days in PA celebrating Thanksgiving. Nine hours later, I was sitting in a limousine on my way to the Ritz Carlton Madrid.

It’s a tough life…

I arrived to a plate of chocolates, nuts, and dried fruits. But I was too tired to notice. I crawled into my bed and awoke nearly four hours later. I proceeded to take one of the best showers of my life. The water pressure and water flow was amazing. Seriously, I felt like I was standing under a steady stream of buckets of water. Better be a good shower for 480 Euros a night, right?

At 9:30 PM, I met the team for dinner. These late dinners absolutely KILL me. Spain and food in general kill me. I’m rather certain that my meal cost about 100 Euros. And I would have been just as satisfied eating a salad from Whole Foods for seven bucks. I don’t get Spanish food, really. So much bread. So little meat. So much fat. At least they poured healthy servings of wine.

The next day, we had a large meeting with almost 100 doctors and scientists who would participate in this clinical trial. The meeting went very well, and the presentation I gave ranks as one of the coolest speeches I have ever given. I was the only American in attendance at the meeting. And even though the participants were doctors and scientists, not everyone is completely fluent in English. Hence, my presentation was translated into Czech, French, Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish. Everyone wore headphones while I spoke. It’s how I envision the United Nations operates. I couldn’t help but get wrapped up in that idea. It was cool.

After the meeting, the group attended a fancy dinner out on the town in Madrid. We ate in what used to be a casino but is now a space for private parties. At the dinner, I quickly made friends with the Italian doctors. Or rather, they quickly made friends with me. They noticed that my last name ends in a vowel, and had to ask, “From what village is your family?”

(Now, Dad, before you get all excited and impressed by these Italian men, you should know they are very disappointed that you have not brought your family to your homeland. And their eyes nearly bulged out of their heads when they heard that your Irish wife has been to Italy but you have not. So, maybe you should get on that?)

After a brief meeting Tuesday morning, I found myself with a free day in España. So I packed my bags and headed to the train station, La Estacion de Atoche. Just a few blocks from my hotel, I walked there, suit case in tow, and purchased a ticket to Toledo. Toledo is a small town approximately 70 kilometers outside of Madrid. A thirty-minute train ride followed by a 5 minute cab ride, and I was checked into my hotel, Toledo Imperial, right next to El Alcazar.

As I stood out on my balcony, looking at the cobblestone, labyrinth-like maze of city streets, I couldn’t believe I had taken myself all the way from San Francisco through the Spanish country-side and into what is essentially a medieval town. All without speaking more than a few words of English. For anyone who has traveled abroad extensively, this little trip from Madrid to Toledo is no big deal. But to me, traveling on my own, in Europe only for the second time in my life... I was a little pleased with myself. But I've always been good at navigation!

And so I dropped off my bags, grabbed my camera, and set out to explore the town. I shopped. I ate. I took pictures. I realized I needed an adapter to plug in my electronics, so I hunted one down. No one spoke English, so my Spanish skills were put to the test, but I survived. And I bought an adapter for only 1,50 Euros. My fun was cut short by rain, but it was still a nice trip outside of Madrid. Toledo is a beautiful city, and I highly recommend this day trip to anyone visiting Madrid.

I got back to San Francisco late last night. The return trip took roughly twenty-four hours, from hotel to train station to airport (Madrid) to airport (Philadelphia) to airport (San Francisco) to apartment. It is amazing how tiring it is to sit on your ass in an airplane all day. Especially after a few days of leisurely strolling around town barely speaking to anyone.

This month alone, I have traveled 23,134 miels on United. That's a lot of miles. And a lot of hours. A lot of time staring at the "Welcome to United Economy Plus" sticker. And a lot of time thinking about life. But as exciting as traveling is, it's nice to be home again. Nice to get back into the groove. Again. ¡Otra vez!

All I Want for Christmas 2006

It is that time of year again. And it has been since the day after Halloween. But in honor of Black Friday, I think it best to compose The List: All I Want for Christmas 2006.

1. Energy. To wake up at 6:00 a.m. every day.
2. Courage. To try new activities, like snowboarding and skiing and wakeboarding.
3. Inspiration. To never settle.
4. Charisma. To make each day brighter.
5. Serenity. At home. At work. Despite the stress.
6. Love. From a man.
7. Loyalty. From my friends.
8. Support. From my family.
9. Ambition. To train for another race.
10. Perseverance. To push through when it gets difficult.
11. Speed. To run a marathon in 3:40.
12. Acceptance. Of myself. For what I am and what I am not.
13. Understanding. Of my brother. For what he is and what he is not.
14. Patience. With my mother. And my father. Because I am only going to need more as the years pass.
15. Discipline. To resist chocolate. Alcohol. Peanut butter. (In excess…)
16. Forgiveness. For everything.
17. Optimism. Because goodness often hides.
18. Empathy. For everyone I know and love.
19. Humor. Because I rarely feel like doing sit-ups.
20. Laughter. Is there anything better on which I can blame the wrinkles around my eyes?
21. Introspection. To write and read and think.
22. Money. For now. And for later.
23. Conversation. Over pots and pots of coffee.
24. Pride. For who I am today. And for who I am going to be.
25. Joy. To share with those around me.
26. Growth. Despite the pains.
27. Thoughtfulness. To give great presents.
28. Depth. Underneath layers and layers and layers.
29. Thick skin. To shrug off the criticism.
30. Confidence. To toe the line.
31. Curiosity. To explore. Dream. Discover.
32. Peace. To sleep soundly.
33. Flexibility. To bend when it’s necessary.
34. Leadership. And something to believe in.
35. Chemistry. And snap, crackle, pop.
    
36. Surprise. Every once in a while. To keep it interesting.
37. Warmth. In a smile.
38. Comfort. In the embrace of someone I love.
39. Excitement. In the ordinary.
40. Excellence. Because anything worth doing, is worth doing excellently.
41. Frequent Flyer Miles. To soak it all in.
42. A porch swing. On which to sit on a clear night.
43. A bay window. From which to view the San Francisco skyline.
44. A boat. By which to sail away.
45. Sand between my toes. While I lie and think about nothing.
46. Musicality. Because life needs a soundtrack.
47. Wisdom. To know what is important.
48. To be genuine. "Even better than the real thing..."
49. Creativity. To alleviate boredom.
50. To "make the most of [myself], for that is all there is of [me]." (Emerson)
    

On the Road

For a while now, it has been hard to get started. Running. Going to yoga. Cleaning my room. Returning phone calls. And of course, writing.

But once I do get started, things aren't as bad as I think they'll be. I am always glad I went on that run. Or to that yoga class. I am always pleased with myself for cleaning my room. I am always happy after catching up with that old friend.

And with all that said, I do feel a little bit better about a few things. It is good to get in a benchmark of where I am out in the open. Because in the future, I will only feel "better" with a frame of reference for where I was.

And so, I am now officially on the road. Again. For the first time.

On the road, training for another race. (Kaiser Permanente San Francisco Half Marathon) I'm training with my roommate this time, which will be great. We'll run three-four days a week with plenty of cross training activities to keep it interesting. I am excited.

On the road, traveling for work and pleasure. I just got back from Phoenix and I'm headed to Philadelphia to visit my family for Thanksgiving tomorrow night. From Philadelphia, I'll continue onto Madrid for another work meeting, then onto Toledo for some exploration on my own.

On the road, to figuring out what I really want to get out of therapy. And on the road, to reaching inner peace and happiness.

80 Degrees and Sunny

...

Been staring at this draft for a while, now. Not quite sure where to begin. For starters, I'm in San Francisco. NOT Chicago. The meeting I was supposed to have in Chicago next week - the meeting to deliver my most recent project at work to the client - was cancelled. On Thursday afternoon. And with it, my flight to Chicago on Saturday morning to run in the Chicago Marathon.

Since Thursday afternoon I have been angry, and sad. Frustrated and stressed. Irritated with my project. My client. My job. And, if I'm being honest, my life. Because it always seems to work this way. Up and down and up again and down again. Hurry up and wait. Get it done yesterday turned, eh, it's not really needed anymore. I am overwhelmed and exhausted and tired. I am so tired. I really have never been this tired in my entire life. And I need... well, I don't know what I need. Or want, at this point. Other than to figure it out. I need and want to make some changes.

But admist the fluster and aggravation and disappointment, I am relieved, too. RELIEVED!

Because I'm not prepared. I'm not prepared to run this marathon. On such little sleep and so few long runs. Through rain and 40 degree temperatures. I'm not ready to attack the physical challenge of the marathon. Furthermore, and more importantly, I'm really not ready to attack the mental challenge. For so many reasons...

So I didn't buy my own ticket to Chicago. And I am not running this race tomorrow. I'm not going to push myself through something else that's been on my list of things to do just to cross it off. I'm not going to run myself down any more than I already am. I'm not going to just, "make it work."

It is 80 degrees and sunny today in San Francisco. I am going to take a long walk to the bridge, and I am going to read my book, and I am going to clear my head.

Let Me Work It

It's not quite "3:40:59." That was a killer list. This one borrows from "3:40:59" here in there, but I'm trying a new approach, this time. I'm hoping it at least gets me there in 3:54:00. WORST case. 3:50:00 would be better.

At any rate, finishing - it is worth it. So now it's time work it...

Name	Artist
Marching Bands of Manhattan	Death Cab For Cutie
Utilitarian	Spoon
Mother We Just Can't Get Enough	The New Radicals
Bang a Gong (Get It On)	T. Rex
Outsiders	Franz Ferdinand
Small Stakes	Spoon
Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me And My Monkey	The Beatles
Kissing The Lipless	The Shins
Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)	Arcade Fire
Bury Me	Guster
Little Ghost	The White Stripes
Gravel	Ani DiFranco
Piper	Phish
Paint It, Black	The Rolling Stones
Steady, As She Goes	The Raconteurs
Let the Cool Goddess Rust Away	Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Nausea	Beck
Scrap Metal	Bitch And Animal
Barely Legal	The Strokes
The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song…	The Flaming Lips
Jonathon Fisk	Spoon
Look Good In Leather	Cody Chesnutt
All These Things That I've Done	The Killers
Novacane	Beck
Crazy	Gnarls Barkley
Come Again	Saigon
Beware of the Boys	Panjabi MC
8 Miles and Runnin'	Freeway & Jay-Z
SOS	Rihanna
Notorious Thugs	Notorious B.I.G.
Sexyback	Justin Timberlake
California Love	2Pac, Dr. Dre & Roger Troutman
Dirt Off Your Shoulder	Jay-Z
My Humps	Black Eyed Peas
Bring the Pain	Method Man
How Do You Want It	Tupac Shakur
What You Waiting For?	Gwen Stefani
Lucifer	Jay-Z
Gone Daddy Gone	Gnarls Barkley
Party Up (Up in Here)	DMX
Just Lose It	Eminem
Nasty Girl	Nitty
In da Club	50 Cent
Triumph	Wu-Tang Clan & Cappadonna
Fire (Yes, Yes Y'all)	Joe Budden & Busta Rhymes
Hotel	Cassidy & R. Kelly
Method Man (Skunk Mix)	Wu-Tang Clan
Work It	Missy Elliott
Stop Being Greedy	DMX
Lose Yourself	Eminem
P.I.M.P.	50 Cent
Feel So Good	Mase
Good Girls, Bad Guys	DMX & Dyme
My Love	Justin Timberlake
30 Gallon Tank	Spoon
8 Mile	Eminem

8 Miles and Runnin'

I have just launched the largest software system I have ever built. And I am 100% exhasuted by the last six weeks of my life.

Not that I'm 100% recovered from the twelve weeks of business travel I endured from June through August. Every now and then, I still wonder if my watch is programmed for the correct timezone.

I am somewhat cranky. And sleep deprived. Stressed, and anxious. I am tired...

But I can't rest yet!

Because my flight for Chicago departs from SFO on Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. And I'll be flying First Class (Oh, business travel does have its rewards!) headed for an arrival at ORD by 12:00 Noon. And then it's off to 2301 South Martin Luther King Drive.

I've got a Race Packet to pick-up!!!!

So this Sunday, October 22, find me in Chicago, IL. In the Preferred II Start Corral.

It's Chicago Marathon time, Baby. I'm not making any promises, as I have not put in the level of endurance training I put in prior to Rock N Roll back in June. (Really? A 20 miler?) But I have churned out a few 16 milers. And quite regularly - for whatever reason - I have complete brick cycle/run workouts. So it shouldn't be too much of a surprise that my new average 8 Mile pace is sub 8:00.

Throw in the fact that my friends from DC and UVA (LGA, EMI, ESB, and CCE) are all going to be in the crowds to cheer me on and that I know - really, I KNOW - to never, ever, drink PowerAde. Again. And, shit, the fact that I'm running with Walchka, and I realize I'm pretty effing excited to run this race. And it's about effing time!

I feel a playlist coming on...

Stifled

Everyday, it weighs on me. Because I really want to do it. I want to have the time. I want to have something to say. I want it to flow and be good. I want to finish and review and redo and finish again. And again.

And I want it to feel good. I want to enstill pride. With a touch of fear. Of what people'd think. I'd want the feedback... As long as I wanted to want it, though. Yeah, that's what I guess I really want.

But I can't seem to find the words let alone write them down.

It doesn't choke. But it does kind of stifle, a bit. However it isn't angering. Actually, it just makes me feel incredibly tired. Too tired to find the patience to do a whole lot about it.

It'll come back...

How Stella Got her Groove Back

I just found this link.

And for the first time in a long time, the thought of running the Chicago Marathon is actually making me smile.

I'm bouncing my knee.
I'm nervously grinning.
I'm enjoying the feeling of my heart beating in my throat.

I'm cracking my knuckles.
I'm stretching my hip flexors.
I'm confidently tightening my pony tail.

I'm donning my tights.
I'm lacing my Asics.
And I'm getting off of the couch...

NOW.

The Least Complicated

I think we always know what we're getting into. Deep down, we know.

It doesn't take much for that gut feeling to take shape. It comes together, and then sinks down, nice and low. So low sometimes that we can't feel it. We can't hear it. For the rest of the night, the weekend, or the month. Sometimes for two and a half years. Yes, sometimes we ignore it for that long. But all along, we know.

We know when we justify. And make excuses. And omit key details of stories to our friends. We know when we don't ask them to meet our parents. When we don't call. When they don't call. When we don't go to breakfast in the morning.

He asked for my number on Saturday. He emailed on Tuesday. And he called tonight. And tomorrow, we're... Do I have a date tomorrow night?

SHIT! What am I getting into?

Deep down, I don't know this time. On the surface, it's a little complicated. No, really, it is. Or is it? Deep down, does it really matter? I don't think it should. Maybe at first it will. But deep down, we all know. I mean, it's not that complicated. Number. Email. Call. "Date."

SHIT! I just GIGGLED!

The ones that work are always the least complicated. Hardest to learn, but least complicated.

Where (Heart and) Soul Meets (Mind and) Body

They talk to one another. Oh, sure. All the time. That much I know. But sometimes, I have no idea who initiates the conversations.

Since my body can't move without my mind sending it signals, I'm inclined to think that my mind is in charge. But I think The Body can take over sometimes. For the past three months, I think my body has been trying to control my mind. The result is that my boyd was telling my mind what to go back and tell my body. And what's worse is that my mind seems to have always been following orders!

Throughout the entire summer, my mind has known that it should have been running. And my mind knows how fast each run I actually did complete should have been ran. How long each run should have lasted. When to have pushed through and when to have pulled back. My mind KNOWS. She has done her research.

However, for an entire three months, my body - this LAZY body - has dominated the daily debate:

• Run? Don't run?
• Fast? Slow?
• Give it your all? Give it all up?

My summer had more sit-at-homes than get-out-and-runs. More slowly-shlep-your-feets than swiftly-stride-and-step. More I-don't-want-tos than I-can-do-its. Yes, I'm pretty sure The Body was The Boss this summer.

I haven't been able to write much this summer. Again, it has been a couple of weeks since I last wrote. And while it is true that I haven't had a lot of time to say much, it is also true that I haven't had much to say. And while I'm sad that I haven't had a whole lot to say, I'm more sad about my lack of initiative to really do much about the situation. I didn't take very many steps to get my life back in order this summer. To be true to my priorities, and to make time for what really matters. Something that is both difficult and disturbing for me to admit.

...Today is September 26. SHIT! It's already the end of September. That fact is also both difficult and disturbing to admit, to realize; but it is also comforting. A new season, and a new start. (I know that the current season is autumn, and that autumn isn't normally used in metaphors for starting again, but have you ever seen a San Francisco autumn?) I am pretty that the fall air has inspired my my mind to again rn shop. And I think she's running pretty strong! Because we ran well today. Me and the roommie, AER. We ran to the Golden Gate Bridge and back, for 8 miles in 65 minutes. At an average pace of 8:07/mile. And we felt great.

It is a homecoming that is drastically past due, but nevertheless much appreciated. I am so glad to be back. To that place where my thoughts and actions collide, my intentions and responses synchronize. Where I do what's right instinctively. When my spirit begins to sing and my heart begins to dance. In that place where my heart and soul, along with my mind and body endure.

Empty Your Pockets Until They're Full

I can already feel it before I'm even there. The fear. The pain. And a little bit of dread. But mostly the fear. And as I get ready, the fear only mounts. I open that door and I feel the nervous energy take over. The heat is on. Literally. I swallow the fear that is perched at the back of my throat.

It starts and I am quickly reminded of why I come here. Because with every breath, I am a little bit taller. My head a bit higher, my shoulders less slouched. With every breath, I am a little more confident. A little more hopeful, with every breath. Less fragile; instead, more flexible, easygoing.

I am a little less afraid, with every breath.

Of the pain. In all its shapes and forms. That I am feeling right now and that which I feel all the time. I am a little less afraid of it. Because, I realize, it doesn't last. Not for long, forever. Once I let it in, I can confront it and allow it to pass. So that it ebbs and flows such that my tears well but then subside.

It hurts, it does. For 60 seconds or 60 months, either way. But we can come out of it. We do come out of it. We inhale deeply and we sigh slowly. And we release all that made us clench and twist and wince. We let go of the bite and the snap. We reach that point when we lick our lips and nod our head and move on.

For 90 minutes. For 90 years. We suck and we suck and we suck it all in. We hold it and carry it and too often, refuse to let it go. We strain and we wear down. We hold our breath and we purse our lips. Our hearts boom and we let them.

Until we burst. Until that time when our only remaining option is to let go. To blow it out. To blow it all out. Until there is nothing left. We sigh and we laugh and we cough and we sing and we scream and we sweat and we cry. Until there is nothing left. Until we are empty.

We empty our eyes and our minds and our mouths and our ears and our hearts. We give all that is left of ourselves. We don't stop for 60 seconds or 60 months. For 90 minutes or 90 years. We empty ourselves over and over and over again.

Until we are full.

Chain Two

Well, today it happened. Finally. I got sick.

I woke up to a sore, dry throat. And a headache that should only be felt on a Sunday morning after a fantastic wedding. 16 hours, 16 glasses of water, and 8 advil later, I still can't seem to evade the pounding in my head.

It seems as if the summer has caught up with me. Of course! One day after I finally woke up on the RIGHT side of the bed. And had a calm day at work. One day after I developed new ideas for how to overcome my lack of ambition... (More to come, naturally.)

And so, I sit on the couch. Crocheting a blanket. Trying to focus on something other than the hammer that is pounding against the back of my left eye.

Single crochet, chain one, single crochet, chain one, single crochet, chain two...

The No Ambition Tour

I just can't seem to pull myself out of bed in the morning. And I can't seem to escape from my desk in the afternoon. Er, evening, really. I haven't been getting home until well past the start of Prime Time television shows. Good thing the new seasons have yet to start.

I've been away from home weekend after weekend after weekend since... SHIT! I don't even remember the last time I sat on my couch on Saturday morning. And while I still do love to travel, I am realizing that I love it a little bit less these days. Since I have a great apartment and a fabulous roommate and an adorable cat...

I just haven't felt myself lately. I can't focus. On anything. As soon as I give my attention to one project another one starts screaming at me. And quite often I find that I am only half listening to people when they're talking to me. I'm walking into walls and bumping my head on doors. I keep losing my keys. My wallet. My cell phone. My mind...

I feel like I am falling apart.

And I'm pretty sure the only way to fix this feeling is to rest up, eat right, and exercise. But I can barely bring myself to lace up the Asics or roll out the yoga mat. All I want to do at this point is stare at my ceiling.

So that's what I'm going to do... Thus, my ambition-free weekend continues.

H2C - The Proof

Who wants to run next year?

2006.08.06 - Madrid Day 01

Aug 6, 2006 - 43 Photos

26:37:36

5:00 PM Friday August 25. It was Happy Hour throughout the rest of the West Coast, but for me and my 11 teammates, it was time to get things started.

Hood to Coast 2006:

• 2 vans.
• 12 runners.
• 36 legs.
• 197 miles from Mount Hood to Seaside, Oregon.

We gathered at the Starting Line near the Timberline Lodge. The first wave of runners left the start at 8:00 AM Friday morning. 9 hours later, it was finally our turn to begin the treck. Nine hours - can you believe that teams had already been running for nine hours before my team ever even set foot on the course? And there were still quite a few more waves to go - the last team didn't take off until 7:45 PM!

All teams are required to finish the race by 9:00 PM on Saturday. So I have to admit, getting the late start time was both exciting (hell yeah, we're fast!) and nerve racking (but are we THAT fast?) We only had 28 hours to finish, meaning we had to average 8:30 miles the entire time. Could everyone on the team do that? For three legs? On zero sleep? In the middle of the night?

We'd soon find out. Van #1 blazed down the slopes of Mount Hill and through the first six legs in approximately four and a half hours. So at 9:35 PM, it was time for Van #2 - The San Francisco Contingent - to begin our journey.

Running in the afternoon can be difficult for me, so to say that running at night - er, EARLY morning - is difficult is also an understatement. I ran my first 5.9 mile leg of Hood to Coast form 1:00 AM to 1:50 AM. Sure, I averaged under 8:30 minutes/mile, but it was painful. I think everyone in Van #2 felt that way, too. We finished our legs, but it wasn't always pretty.

So, after meeting up with Van #1 at the exchange, the SF Contingent piled back into Van #2 and headed down the course to the second van exchange. During this time I had the *pleasure* of riding in The Stinky Seat, which not only sucked, it smelled. Needless to say, I did not get much sleep during this rest time. But I'm pretty sure feeling nauseous due to a lack of sleep, a smelly van, and an overdose of Cliff bars is all part of the fun of a distance relay...

Four hours later, it was time to run again. The sun was coming up now, and I must say, Oregon is really quite beautiful. RN, our first runner, had a pretty difficult 6-mile leg. Up up up up up lots of hills in time to pass off to DC, our second runner. He averaged 7 minute miles through most of his legs, and was a great last minute addition to the team. DC endured 6 miles on a dirt road for Leg #20. He passed off to EZ, another 7 minute miler, who killed his leg before SS climbed a mini mountain and picked up 17 road kills for yet another 7 minute mile performance on Leg 22!

The hand-off from SS to KT was just as fast, transferring enough momentum to KT to keep the speedy paces going. KT finished 4 miles for Leg 23 in 30 minutes! An average pace of 7:45 minutes/mile! She was going so fast she almost couldn't stop to do our transition dance. (You laugh, but relays are SO much better with transition dances...) I shouted, "Come on KT - MAKE IT WORK!" To which she replied, "Go Nic! CARRY ON!" (Yes, in our best Tim Gunn voices. Not going to lie, the crowd loved us.) A quick do-si-do and I was off on Leg 24.

It was starting to get warm by now. And although Leg 24 was flat, there wasn't time to slack off in cruise control. I flew out of the transition and onto the long, winding road. It felt good to be running in daylight. The team drove ahead to meet me 2.5 miles into my leg, but I reached them a little less than 20 minutes into the leg. No one saw me. To be frank, they weren't even LOOKING for me yet. I guess they thought I'd be running 8:30s again. Turns out, though, I was running a little faster than 8:00 minute/mile pace. And it felt good. So good. But not good enough to stop for water! I decided to keep going for fear that slowing down would bring me to a standstill.

Instead, I said I'd meet them at the transition, which turned out to be easier said than done. Because by now, there was a bottleneck of vans trying to make it to the van exchange. I passed our van and realized there was a chance I was going to make it to the handoff before they did. And that's almost what happened. Except luckily, SS and RN jumped out of our van and sprinted almost an entire mile to the exchange, just in time to see me finish 4.9 miles in 39 minutes. (With 15 road kills!) Under 8:00 minutes/mile average pace - a PR for Nic, and the start of a very-well deserved rest period for all of Van #2.

Thank goodness. Because by now it was pretty effing HOT. It took a long time to drive to the next van exchange. The traffic was terrible and there were runners everywhere. I don't think I have ever seen so many runners. It's just amazing to think that for two entire days, 200 miles of Oregon was covered in runners.

The heat slowed Van #1 considerably during their final legs, so we had to wait a little longer to run again. This extra time made us realize how tired we were. So by the time we met up with Van #1 at the final exchange, we weren't looking good. But we were so close! And Van #1 was done!!!!! So Van #2 embarked on the final legs of the race. Tackling rolling hills and cruising through well-deserved flats. In a lot of pain but with a lot of heart, everyone blazed through their final legs. Until it was my turn to run Leg 36...

I was nervous at the handoff. I was just so tired. And nervous. And tired. I really HATE being last! For almost 26 hours I had been dreading this final leg. Leg 36 had nearly two miles of climbing at the start. And I just haven't been training very consistently, lately. And I certainly haven't been running too many hills! FUCK! I'm tired! And petrified of that hill!

But eventually, it was time to face the incline. I took off at around 6:58 PM, climbing my first mile up mostly trail. Up! Push! Leap! Spring! I dodged right and left around boulders. I scurried past other runners. I pushed and propelled and forced my way to the front of the pack. Once I reached the road, I didn't quit. I continued to grind out the climb, and I made it to the top of the hill in 16 minutes.

Which meant that it was all downhill from there! Downhill for the fastest, most beautiful mile of my life. Winding right and left and down and right and left and down through the tallest pine trees under the clearest blue sky. Never stopping or slowing, only thinking of that beach. That beach that is only a few more miles away! And before I knew it, a H2C volunteer directed me to turn right and said, "Only a half mile to go!"

"WHAT? ONLY A HALF MILE TO GO?"

My watch read something around 37 minutes.

"HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

I ran as fast as my little 5'3" body could carry me. I smiled. I cried. I soared. I fucking booked it down that promenade. I high-fived small children. I high-fived their parents. I said hello to doggies. I looked out at that Pacific Ocean and BEAMED with pride and excitement.

And I crossed the Hood to Coast Finish Line at 7:37 PM on Saturday August 26.

• Team Total Time - 26:37:36
• Team Overall Place - 257/1032
• Team Overall Percentage - Top 24.9 %
• Team Overall Average Pace - 8:06 minutes / mile

My stats...

• Leg 12 - 5.9 Miles - 49:45 Total Time - 8:26 min / mile pace
• Leg 24 - 4.9 Miles - 39:15 Total Time - 8:01 min / mile pace
• Leg 36 - 5.8 Miles - 41:29 Total Time - 7:09 min / mile pace

By the time I went to bed that night, I had been awake for forty hours. And I had run - I had really RUN - 17 miles. I was tired. My legs hurt. My stomach was in knots. My eyes were dry. And I was having trouble breathing without wheezing. I had the world's biggest headache and I kind of sort of wanted to die.

And I couldn't remember the last time everything felt so damn good.

SOS Please

"Someone help me.
It's not healthy.
For me to feel this way..."

I am still at my desk.
I have a million more pages of documentation to pull together before I'm, "DONE." (Whatever that means.)
I don't expect to sleep tonight.
I am icing my left wrist.
Because I think I have carpal tunnel syndrome.
I have not had a good run in two weeks.
In fact, I have barely run three times the past two weeks.
And to prove it, I have a fucking WORK injury and not a RUNNING injury!

I am running in Hood to Coast on Friday.
Er... Saturday. Our start time is something like 9:00 PM.
And I'm running Legs, 12, 24, and 36.
So I probably won't be running until the wee hours of Saturday morning.
And even though this 195 mile 12 person relay race is supposed to be AWESOME, I just kind of don't want to do it.
Because I'm tired and cranky and stressed and overworked.
And because I'd kind of rather spend the weekend in San Francisco for once...

Oh, I am not ready for this race at all.

So if you thought I was dead, I'm not.

But I likely will be come Saturday evening upon crossing the finish line on the Coast in Oregon.

(HUGE EFFING SIGH)

Back in the US(S)...A

Well, I'm currently sitting at Gate C24 of the Philadelphia airport. Only 45 more minutes before I can board my flight back to San Francisco. If I don't make it home tonight, I am certainly going to die trying.

And as I'm too tired to work - wait, doesn't this travel time actually count as work? - I've decided to uploaded all of my pictures for everyone's viewing pleasure.

2006.08.06 - Madrid Day 01

Aug 6, 2006 - 43 Photos

2006.08.08 - Madrid Day 03

Aug 5, 2006 - 66 Photos

2006.08.09 - Madrid Day 04

Aug 8, 2006 - 15 Photos

And guess what? I'm going to Chicago next week... Nothing says, "Welcome Home, Nic!" like, "Pack your bags - you're going to Chicago!"

(BIG Sigh)

Me Gusta Correr

On Sunday, I attempted a run. It was 7:00 p.m. And I thought that it would have cooled down enough by that hour to attempt physical activity outdoors.

But I was wrong. True, I was already coming from behind with the jetlag. For all intents and purposes, by 7:00 p.m. on Sunday in Madrid I hadn't really slept since Thursday night in San Francisco. Except for a few naps here and there on the plane, coupled with a jolt to 9 hours in timezone changes, I was wiped. And my legs felt it.

But the heat itself was still pretty paralyzing. And the air? It felt like I was smoking every cigarette in the pack at once, while I was running. I mean, I was WHEEZING! I had to stop and walk to catch my breath! Now, I have certainly stopped running to walk from time to time, but it is normally out of mental weakness. On Sunday evening, however, it was because I couldn't facilitate a transport of oxygen from the air to my lungs.

It was a scary three miles. 10-minute pace, maybe. But not EZ...

I couldn't really fit in a run on Monday, because I spent the day in meetings. And then I spent most of Tuesday either working or exploring the city. Which left me only this morning to try one more time. So even though I went to bed extremely late, I rose at 8:00 a.m. I donned my little running shorts and packed my adorable little camera in my ID pouch. (And yes, Dad, I also packed my ID. And a few Euros for cab fare in the event that there was a repeat wheezing performance.)

But there was not a repeat performance. Madrid in the morning is cool and breezy. The air actually feels nice! Not too many other runners were out, but lots of older people taking walks. I decided to explore el Parque de Buen Retiro one more time so that I could check out el Palacio Cristal. I had a little bit of trouble finding it, at first, until I was stopped by an old man who asked me if I like to run...

"Te gusta correr?" he asked.

"Si, senor, me gusta correr mucho," I replied. Kind of funny, I guess. I always just assume that people who are running enjoy doing so. I quickly realized that there was no way I could continue on my run without first stopping to talk this man, and so I did.

He told me about the park, and then asked me if I run here often, because he has never seen me before. To which I basically replied that I don't live in Madrid, and that this is only the second time I have ever ran in this park.

Of course, the man assumed I lived elsewhere in Spain. So when I replied, "No vivo en Espana, soy de los Estados Unidos" he repeated, "No me digas!" six or seven times. (For the non-Spanish speaking, he basically said, NO WAY!) So it turns out that this man's son lives in San Rafael, which isn't too far from San Francisco. It is amazing that I know this, however, as I am still not too familiar with the majority of the Bay Area.

We talked a little more, and he told me my Spanish was very good. (MENTIRAS!!!! - LIES!!!!!) He asked me what I did while I was in Madrid, and couldn't believe that I was only here for a few days. He then directed me to el Palacio de Cristal - my final tourist destination of the trip - and then we I was on my way again. But before we said good-bye, he kissed my hand and both of my (sweaty) cheeks. He said he is glad to know I will be returning in October, and that he will keep an eye out for me in the park.

With that, I was back on my run. Legs strong, breathing well, and a smile on my face, as I realized that I was pretty glad I was going to be back in October, too.

NOTE: I'm having trouble with accents and tildes. Lo siento!

Siempre Sola

I had friends in college who could not bear to sit alone at the dining hall. Moreover, they couldn't bear to know that on occasion, I myself would sit there alone. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Late dinner. They would always ask, "Why?" Or, "How?"

The answer was always quite simple, really: I was hungry. No one else was.

For the most part, these friends still can't comprehend the general comfort I have achieved with my solidarity. I think it is often because these are my friends who argue with boyfriends over what to buy while grocery shopping - Healthy Choice Frozen Pizza? Or Meat Lovers Digiorno? Wine? Or beer?

The answer, again, to me always seems quite simple: Buy both.

Maybe it's because my parents, still together after all of these years, maintain separate bank accounts. And pay for their own vacations that they take without the other. And prepare their dinners differently. The salad bowl on the dinner table at their house always has another little bowl of cucumbers next to it, because Mom likes cucumbers and Dad doesn't. They have maintained separate interests throughout their entire relationship.

Come to think of it, one reads my blog (guess who?) and the other doesn't...

Of course, I do often wonder how their relationship has made it this far. And I often wish they had more in common. But to be honest, I'm pretty damn proud of my mother for refusing to pretend she likes golf.

Because I am reaching an age when I am finding so many of my female friends conforming to the likes and interests of their boyfriends and husbands. At times it seems that many of them have forgotten to maintain a sense of self within their relationship.

I know I am not the best at listening to them work through the quibbles of their relationships. Perhaps that's because I don't understand why they don't just buy what they want to buy at the grocery store. Or go see the movie that they want to see on Saturday afternoon. Or take a trip to visit their friend without their boyfriend in tow...

It has been a long time since I had to ask Him what He was doing for dinner. For the weekend. For New Year's Eve. Perhaps I'm just insensitive.

But it does follow rather naturally that I am spending my first time in Europe, without a travel companion. Exploring by myself. Snapping photos by myself. Eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner, by myself. I am sitting at a cafe on the other side of the world with no one to tell how entirely exciting and simultaneously depressing it is to be in Madrid. Alone. Because right now, it would really be nice to share this bottle of wine with someone special.

But if I have to drink it by myself, I will. Salud!

There's No Place Like Home

Day 1 in Madrid is complete. And I realize now, as I am about to climb into my bed for an evening of well-deserved rest, that I really love my new apartment.

In fact, I'm a little homesick... and that NEVER happens!

Nic's New Apartment

Aug 1, 2006 - 22 Photos

Four star hotels in Madrid are great, but when it comes down to it, there really is no place like home sweet apartment.

Livin' La Vida Loca

Buenos dias! Estoy in Madrid! En España!

Can you believe it? Two weeks ago my boss called me into her office to see how I felt about taking on a new project. I was getting a little bored again, as my other projects were under control. And since I apparently LIKE having too much to do, she noticed that when I actually have time to stop and take a coffee break, I become rather unhappy.

What else would you expect from me? I'm a marathoner! For whatever reason, I enjoy pain.

So to thwart my pending job dissatisfaction, she awarded me my first international project. OK, that's not the only reason why she gave me this project. And it's not the only reason I took it, either. But if you're going to work late at night and on weekends, well it just makes sense to put in those hours while residing in a foreign country.

So, I expedited my passport and picked it up on Monday afternoon. I had a busy week - running, spinning, and yoga-ing on top of dinners with friends and full days at the office. So on Friday afternoon I came home from work and did three loads of laundry. I packed my bags, and then went out until 4:30 a.m. with some friends. The Super Shuttle picked me up for SFO at 5:15 a.m. I boarded a plane to PHL and connected onto MAD.

I arrived this morning at 7:30 a.m.

Once through customs, I picked up some Euros, hailed a cab, and successfuly communicated where I needed to go with the cab driver. We conversed in broken Spanish while we rode to El Gran Hotel Canarias. I checked in, took a shower, and tried to go back to sleep for an hour. But I am apparently too excited. So I headed downstairs to the Desayuno Buffet before picking up an adapter for my laptop's power supply.

And here I am! Is my life not crazy?

So my kick-off meeting with the team is tomorrow. I have all day today to explore Madrid before meeting up with everyone for dinner at 9:00 p.m. (Not sure how I'm going to last that long...) Right now, I'm headed to el Museo Nacional del Prado, and I have no idea what's after that.

Deséame suerte! (Wish me luck!)