I picture you in the sun

It's now the end of the last day in June. How did we get here? Half the year gone, just like that.

Today dawned at 5:39 a.m. for me when the garbage trucks made their thunderous, window-rattling roll in front of my house. I was reluctant to get up, but I did. I lounged around for a little while, ate a half a banana, and decided to go on a bike ride since I was up anyway. I rode for 7.3 miles, and everything was so still, the water and the air. It was less atrociously hot than usual because of last night's rain. Still muggy and extremely warm, but tolerable. I enjoyed my music and the morning light and the cute dogs being walked and the way people get up earlier and earlier in the summer to exercise just so they can actually do it outside and not fall over and die. I celebrated all of the people out there jogging and biking and walking and thought, "Look at all of us, taking care of ourselves on this summer morning!" I might have been a little delirious. I thought about probably my favorite moment of any bike ride so far, one last weekend when a woman approached me running, recognized my triathlon shirt, and called out the name, greeting me, one triathlete to another, a runner and a biker. It made me feel kind of awesome. I felt like I was in a club of awesomeness. I love that this club is all women.

The day continued with no tears! I made another mixture of fruit and yogurt and added some cereal to the mix and it was delish. I drank my slushy homemade granita. I ate lunch with a girlfriend, a veggie burger and hummus and fries, and bounced her baby on my lap. There were more conversations as the day and afternoon went on and some more tears. But it was okay. My mom says that tears are words you can't say, and I think that is true, but sometimes you have to try to say the words. So I tried. I had a most excellent visit with my mom that was supposed to be just a brief suitcase pick-up and ended up lasting several hours. My mom is a very wise and understanding woman in case I haven't mentioned this one billion times already.

The quote for today is from, as are many things worth knowing in this life, The Sound of Music: "Well, you cry a little. Then you wait for the sun to come out. It always does."

Tears redux

There are times in a woman's life when she inexplicably cries for days on end. And by "a woman's" I mean "mine." The past few days have been like that for me. It all started with Marley and Me and has been going strong ever since. Just flowing, constant tears. In the car. At my desk at work. While sitting on the couch. While scrambling eggs. You name it.

One of the many strange things about keeping a journal online for nearly ten years now (what?) is the easy access to your emotional archives. Even stranger is when you notice patterns from year to year. And still even stranger is when you think back to another crying jag and realize it was happening two years ago, exactly, to the day.

Maybe it's The Book Thief. I suspected two years ago that it was the culprit of the beginning of the tears, and lo and behold, I am smack in the middle of it again. I don't think that's solely it, though.

Here are some strategies I am going to employ, starting tonight, to stop these tears from flowing:

(1) Cease and desist, immediately, listening to The Last Five Years on repeat. Stop pretending you can hear Norbert Leo Butz sing these heartbreaking songs and hold it together even on a good day, especially when the violin kicks in at about 3:40 in this clip. Turn your back on this devastating musical for a while and instead watch him as the emcee in Cabaret.

(2) Look forward all day to going on a swim because you can't cry underwater and then do not freak out when the pool is closed because it's thundering for the first time in weeks. Be happy because your grass is dying and all of the plants and farmers need the rain desperately. Come home and pop in Jillian Michaels instead and don't start crying when she says "Just a couple more!" during the squats/bicep curls and you know it's an evil lie because it's really eight more. Just suck it up and feel strong.

(3) Whip up an everything left in the kitchen dinner of quinoa topped with farmer's market zucchini, frozen peas, almond slivers, and about a million cloves of fresh garlic with garam masala and olive oil. Eat it.

(4) Have some plain yogurt with blueberries and banana slices drizzled with a little agave nectar for dessert.

(5) Watch your cat lick her paw and wash her nose with it because this is cute no matter how many times you see her do it.

(6) Read David Sedaris, any David Sedaris.

Or maybe I should stop trying to stop the tears. Maybe the tears are a healthy thing. Maybe they are a delayed reaction to major life changes, to actions of others and actions of my own that I have not dealt with even though I totally thought I had. It is very strange how you can coast along feeling perfectly at peace about something and then you get shaken up and bam. Tears.

Many kind readers out there have left comments I haven't published over the past several months wondering about my relationship status. Though it was obvious in this space that I was with the same person for a long time, I never felt right about posting too much here about the relationship and thus haven't felt right about posting about its end. But there it is, and I will leave it at this: even if it's for the most reasonable reasons in the world, and even if you square your shoulders and know it's for the best, and even if you part friends and part with love (which, let's face it, is a miracle never experienced by the likes of me until this time around), breaking up with someone you love sucks a whole lot.

Maybe this teary interlude is due to hormones. Maybe it's extended bike rides and swims when I can't avoid the quiet space in my head. Maybe it's the busy season at work screeching to an abrupt stop. Maybe it's heat so swelteringly oppressive that it's impossible to keep up defenses against it. Maybe it's a million different things. And maybe six months or so is a sensible amount of time in which to have stopped crying. Or maybe, if you're me, it's when you really get started.

And maybe it will stop when I see my sister soon. And maybe all I need to do is go see The Hangover and laugh and think about how much I enjoy Andy Bernard in general and when my little brother does that thing with his hand, like marking the notes in the air, while singing when imitating Andy Bernard doing his musical notes from Here Comes Treble. Maybe all I need to do is think about how happy my older brother is right now and how blessed I am to have parents who just celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary and about friends who are having their own happy milestones. Maybe I should think about how much fun it was to get gelato with my girlfriend yesterday and her precious girls I love so much. Maybe I just need to remember that I've tried to be as honest as I can with myself and everyone else during this emotional madness, even when it's been hard, and that's something.

In Say Anything, Lloyd Dobler says, "The rain on my car is a baptism." ("The new me, Ice Man, Power Lloyd, my assault on the world begins now.") And not to be all metaphorically barfy, but maybe this much-needed rain tonight and these sudden tears are a baptism. Rebirth, starting anew, and all that jazz. On that note, what better song is there to listen to right now as the rain pours and the thunder and lightning pound the sky than Patty Griffin's "Rain"? I sure can't think of one.

Randomosity

Today's entry will be a string of random thoughts.

It turns out that I have some complex feelings about Michael Jackson. At first when he died, I was immediately annoyed that everything was super positive about him with nary a mention of the fact that he was bananas and possibly did some unspeakable things to small children. But then I started watching clips and remembering. Remembering how much I once loved him, the posters on my bedroom walls, my lapel pin with his face on it, how he predated any other celebrity crush I ever had in later years, the way I adored him before my age even hit the double digits, the whole thing. It's hard for me to articulate my feelings about this so I'll leave it to Linda & Sars, who both said it better than I could.

Apologies to those who have already heard me rant about this: I do not think Chace Crawford is a good enough actor to play Ren McCormack in the Footloose remake, and I wish Zac Efron were going to play him as originally planned. Because I actually think Zac Efron is very talented! Shut up. I also think that Julianne Hough in the Lori Singer role (Ariel) is an abomination. She's supposed to be dark and damaged, and I highly doubt that Hough has that in her. Lori Singer was hardcore. It sort of bothered me when I was very young that she was not your typical teen beauty type like Cindi Mancini in Can't Buy Me Love, but as I've grown up, I realize that she was pretty much perfect for this role. Like, if my dad were super strict and my life were that legitimately dreary and hard, maybe I wouldn't eat either. (Not trying to diss her skinniness, I'm just saying.) Footloose is not all feel-good dancey dancey lighthearted goodness by any stretch. I mean, Ariel's brother died. The reverend is genuinely conflicted. There are some long and sort of boring for children scenes dealing with this, particularly the one set in church and the talks between the reverend and his wife. Bricks are thrown through windows. Books are burned. Ariel's boyfriend beats her up. I'm saying, it's got some heaviness interspersed between chicken races on tractors and Ren teaching Willard how to dance. And the director of the remake directed High School Musical. The more I think about the remake the more annoyed I get, frankly.

I've now made these two weekends in a row. I first made them several summers ago for B.'s birthday, and I've been thinking of them ever since. These past two batches, I've had some trouble dislodging them from the muffin pan without breaking the edges, so they look kind of ugly, but they still taste great. (I use sugar cookie dough instead of peanut butter cookie dough because they are already plenty peanut buttery.)

This was a weekend of nonstop chick-flickery. First: He's Just Not That Into You. Despite my enjoyment of Justin Long in anything he does, this is just not a very good movie. For many reasons. I lack the energy today to get as worked up about this movie as I'd like to, so let me just tell you that I don't recommend it. Second: Confessions of a Shopaholic. I rented this movie solely because of Isla Fisher and Hugh Dancy, and it did not disappoint. I find them both infinitely charming, and this movie is totally cute and entertaining. Third: Marley and Me. Bawled my eyes out at the end, not just cried quiet civilized tears but bawled. I can't say it was a great movie, but Marley sure was cute and reminded me so much of Zuko, that stupid, wild, destructive maniac of a dog I can't help but love.

Went on a 13-mile bike ride this morning. Yesterday I rode to a bike store to get my bike outfitted with new pedals and pedal brackets (baskets? not sure what they're called) -- things to put my feet into. Not clips or anything that would require me to actually fasten my feet in or buy expensive new shoes, but just something to slip my normal sneakers into so I can pedal more efficiently. Other than actually getting both feet inside these without tipping over -- it took me several tries -- I liked this newfangled way of riding and do think it helped me go a little faster.

Today's ride also marked a milestone I've been working up to -- reaching down to grab my water bottle while pedaling. I have never braved this feat because it's really far down, practically below the seat, and takes a really long reach to grab it, which means pedaling one-handed and reaching down and grabbing it and this just seemed too herculean a task to achieve. But today I reached down and touched the bottle a few times without actually grabbing it (tip from Jessie) to practice the reach down. It got to the point that sweat was pouring from my forehead down my nose to my upper lip into my actual mouth and I was so thirsty I started tasting what can only be described as lung juice in the back of my throat and this disgusting sensation propelled me to reach down and grab the tip of the bottle between my knuckles. Triumph! I swigged with abandoned and thought I'd just hold the bottle the rest of the ride and drink out of it at my leisure. But then I remembered I needed my hand for, you know, braking. So I had to reach down and return it to its holder. Which was scary in and of itself but I did it. Then I repeated the whole process twice more over the course of the ride. I am very glad I now know how to do this because it's going to be a long, hot summer and I can't ride without drinking water, hello.

The ride was fairly delightful once I got this new routine down. Nature highlight: gorgeous, delicate egret slowly walking across the water. Nature lowpoint: seeing how low the lakes are due to basically zero rainfall in weeks. Musical high points: the harmonies in Cages or Wings and the theme to The Greatest American Hero and hearing The Weepies sing about how you can't steal happiness.

Easy like Sunday morning

It's Sunday morning, and I'm sitting on my couch with a towel on my head and my cat perched on the cushion behind my neck. I'm drinking a homemade iced coffee that I put in the freezer for a while to get slushy with an orange bendy straw. Both the air conditioner and the ceiling fan are blasting. It's 88 degrees, but it could easily be 10 degrees hotter in the next few hours. It's been an unbelievably hot week for June. No rain for days, and none in the forecast.

This morning I slept in until about 8 and got dressed for my bike ride. This involves putting on my new biking shorts (expensive but worth it), a quick dry shirt, my sneakers, and my helmet. I set off for my 13-miler and sweat my face off. One day I will work up the nerve to reach down and grab my water bottle and swig from it while riding. That day was not today, however. I had to pull over about halfway through and sit on a bench and guzzle some water and then set off again. It was mostly a pleasant ride despite swallowing a mouthful of gnats and taking out a small branch with my helmet. I tried to focus on my beautiful surroundings and not on how slow I truly am. I am hoping that getting some brackets for my pedals that I can slip my feet into will help me to move a little faster. But the truth is just that my bike is kind of heavy and slow. And so am I. But I am getting better, and for the most part, I really like it.

I am re-reading The Book Thief after a recent commenter reminded me how much I loved it. It is still really wonderful.

I am feeling really lucky today to be able to prepare and enjoy a meal with my family and to celebrate my dad. I am feeling for my friends who no longer have their dads and hoping today is not too hard for them. I am feeling grateful for my very fat cat who is now pressing herself against my side and arm just because she likes to be close. I got to play with a six-month-old baby last night while his mom tucked in the other kids and, to be frank, we fell in love. We rocked in a rocking chair, and we played a hilarious game of peekaboo with a throw pillow. In fact, he found mostly everything to be hilarious -- the dumber and more ridiculous the better. It is amazing how it literally only takes a few minutes alone with a little baby or kid for the first time to stage a rootin' tootin' love fest.

(Later...)

Today a very large meal was cooked for Father's Day. I made a vegetable pasta dish with whole wheat angel hair with garlic, purple onion, zucchini, yellow squash, teeny tiny tomatoes, red and green bell pepper, and fresh basil with grated romano cheese sprinkled on top. All but the garlic and purple onion were grown either in a neighbor's garden or at a local farm, which I felt great about. My mom and I peeled shrimp and cooked them with a little olive oil and Tony Chachere's, all they needed to be perfect. We heated up a loaf of whole wheat bread baked by a lady across the river, another farmer's market purchase. The crust was super hard and chewy and the inside was squishy soft and delish. I ate a piece (or two) (or three) with real butter. I made these for dessert (with sugar cookie instead of peanut butter cookie dough), which we squished into vanilla ice cream from a local dairy. My older brother's new fiancee brought salad and warm from the oven banana bread.

It is hours later and still I am so full I feel drowsy. My eyes are drooping and my belly is round. I ate more than one person should, but I ate very happily. Over and out.

Chuck

There are deeper shows on TV, more complex shows, shows with tighter plot logic, possibly even better comedies ... but none features as much pure, concentrated fun as "Chuck."  It's overflowing with joy, as if [the creators & writers] repeatedly ask themselves, "What else can we put into this scene that's awesome?"

--Alan Sepinwall on "Chuck"

[Note: I wanted to link back to that quote, but I wouldn't click on it and read the post if you're not a "Chuck" viewer, as it's the review of the season two finale and thus filled with spoilers a-plenty.]

As I have mentioned before, Sepinwall is my favorite TV critic and has been for a long time. I don't know why it took me so long to get on the Chuck bandwagon, of which he is a major leader. I'm just glad I finally did. 

I finished season two on iTunes last night. It was such an immensely satisfying experience, this immersion into the first two seasons of this show over the past six weeks or so, that I'm not sure how to explain it. I had no idea what I was getting into. I thought nothing could top season 1, but as season 2 went on, building and building as the stakes were raised episode after episode until the final 3 or so episodes which were just perfection after perfection, I would sit there watching almost in disbelief of how much I was enjoying it and how it made me swoon and laugh and clap my hands and even cry a little bit. 

I've never fallen so head over heels in love with a show like "Chuck". Maybe it's because I've never before seen a show like "Chuck." Or because there's never before actually BEEN a show like "Chuck." Ever. Watching it is just such a good time. 

When an episode of a show is off-the-charts awesome, Sepinwall sometimes frames his reviews in terms of Dayenu -- he explains that Dayenu "is a traditional folk song sung during the Passover meal, where you list all the amazing things God did for the Jews during the story of the Exodus from Egypt. After you list each one, you say if only God had done just that, 'Dayenu,' which means 'it would have been enough.' So when I see an episode like this one, overflowing with awesomeness, I feel the need to sing its praises as if I was just sitting around the seder table with my family." (Link to that explanation is here, but don't click on it if you aren't already a viewer because it's full of major spoilers.)

And that's kind of how I feel about the whole series. If the show just had Adam Baldwin's facial expressions and nonverbal grunts and groans and "unleash the Casey." If it just had Lester and Jeff and their ridiculousness. If it just had the relationship between Chuck and his big sister. If it just had the way Chuck looks at Sarah and Sarah looks at Chuck. If it just had shirtless Captain Awesome and the way he says "bro" and "dude." If it just had the whole concept of the Intersect. If it just had the undying loyalty between Chuck and Morgan. If it just had one of the many great guest stars. If it just had one of the incredible songs it features episode after episode. If it just had Zachary Levi and his wondrous combination of gangly, nerdy heroism and heart.

And after giving so many years of my life to a super heavy show like BSG and recovering from its end-run in March and then watching 43 emotionally draining episodes of In Treatment after that, I needed a show like this. I needed "Chuck." Maybe a TV show should not bring light and joy to your life. But I am a person who has always found joy in really good TV, and I am not ashamed of it, okay? I am just not ashamed in the least. And "Chuck" is really good TV. 

And I don't understand why more people don't watch it and love it. Maybe they just had the wrong idea about it like I did or never had someone sit them down and grab them by the shoulders and say, "What?! You don't watch this show?! You must! You would love it!" like my brother did to me. And he was so right. I just love it so much. You can watch all of Chuck on Hulu, it seems ... starting with season one ... I think would be a pretty swell way to spend the summer.

Swimming with shackles off

I love swimming. I love it a lot. Tonight I swam 1143 meters (1250 yards), my longest swim yet in this whole training season. It was glorious. Mostly. Things that are not glorious about swimming: the bugs, leaves, blades of glass, wads of hair, and other filthy things in the water. My gym's pool is not fundamentally disgusting; I think it's just the result of the sheer quantity of people in the pool, many of whom are small children. I try to look past the dirty bits and just breathe.

Like no other form of exercise for me, swimming allows me to totally free my mind, as En Vogue would want me to do. I just tune out the whole blur of life. I count my laps and listen to the air bubbles made when I breathe. It sounds kind of like the ocean in my ears, like I'm listening to a conch shell, because the cap fits tightly over my ears and adds to the whole drown out the rest of humanity sensation. I just go to my happy place. It's so anonymous -- with your face in the water and your hair in a cap and goggles over your eyes, it's like no one knows it's you. You're just there all alone in the water. It is such a comfortable and comforting solitude.

Today, a good friend of mine introduced me to the Martha Beck concept of "shackles on" vs. "shackles off." I am not sure who Martha Beck is, exactly, but I really like this concept upon first glance. I am going to look more into it because I am intrigued, and I like that it seems to involve gut-checking and, more importantly, gut-trusting. That is so important and so hard sometimes. Anyway, swimming = totally shackles off for me, and I am thankful for it.

It's a good thing I love it so much, otherwise peeling off my bathing suit and seeing a clump of hair that does not belong to me plastered against my bosom might send me keeling over in a dead faint. I tell myself it's all chlorinated and to calm down. Really, swimming calms me down so much intrinsically that these things do not bother me. It's like an OCD miracle.

I also had my best bike ride yet yesterday morning. 10 miles in the scorching 10 a.m. sun. I know it does not sound like the sun would be scorching at 10 a.m., but it was. I rode with a distinct lack of the fear that has plagued me on earlier rides. I was basically like, "Out of my way, joggers in the wrong lane! Coming through!" I am turning and slowing down with more skill and confidence. I am certainly no speedster, but it's so beautiful along the route, and I am starting to let it inspire me instead of worrying every minute that I am going to be colliding with certain death.

I guess that's about it for tonight. I watched In Bruges again and loved it all over again. I am enjoying Dragon Spear. I loved The Wednesday Wars and reviewed it over at Melissa's site, Kidliterate. My brain is shutting down now. Good night.

Triathlon report

Not sure my fingers have the energy to type this post, but I am willing them to. Last night my friend and I drove about 2.5 hours away to spend the night before our triathlon this morning. (Designed mostly for beginners, it was a 250m swim, 10mi bike ride, and 2mi run.) Even though we got rather lost, heading to Texas instead of the central part of the state by accident, we had an enjoyable road trip. We have basically exactly the same taste in music, so we sang until our voices hurt. We calmed ourselves in the frenzy of getting lost by listening to Hairspray. It's just soothing. "He's Corny!" Anyway, we went out for pasta and French bread in the attempt to carb it up bigtime and turned in at about 10:30. BBQ shrimp pasta is very good. So is The Wednesday Wars, which I didn't want to stop reading, but we decided it was best to turn out the lights for our 6 a.m. wake-up call. At about 1 a.m., the peaceful sound of the waterfall on my noise machine turned inexplicably to morning birdsong, which of course woke up up instantly. "WHAT THE ___?" I moaned, cursing and slapping the buttons until the waterfall came back. Somehow my friend slept through this, luckily.

We were up and out the door by 6:15 to head to our destination. We picked up our packets and got our numbers drawn on our arms and legs with big black markers and set up our bikes. Since I only did the swimming leg last time, the whole set up was new to me. I didn't even know how to hook the bike onto the little rack. Great. But I lay out my towel and shoes and helmet and all that jazz and soon it was time to head to the pool area. The 250 meter swim meant up and back in five lanes. We predicted this would cause major traffic jams -- swimming counter-intuitively on the left and passing on the right, where someone would inevitably be coming at you because she was swimming on her left -- if it sounds confusing, it was, but luckily no one had to pass me, and I was able to pass a couple of people by ending up at the wall at the same time and having them graciously tell me to go ahead. So I really enjoyed the swim other than the fact that I could feel the velcro on my ankle bracelet chip loosening with every kick and I think it caused me to kick a little less ferociously than I would have otherwise.

I lost a little time getting out of the pool because I'd left my Tevas near the pool steps. Many people left their sandals or flip-flops there because the asphalt in the parking lot where the bikes were was really really rocky and hurt to walk on gingerly -- I was afraid it would tear my feet up if hauling ass across it. I never go barefoot, even in my own home, so my feet are not exactly toughened up. Anyway, that took me a second, as did changing into padded biking shorts once I got to the transition area, but I know my nether regions, and there was no way they could survive the bike ride without padding. I pulled my bike down and realized I'd forgotten to put my shirt on, but when I reached down the bike started falling over, so I just left my shirt on the ground -- remembering that the race leader guy had said we only needed to wear our numbers for the run, not the ride -- and rode in my swimsuit and biking shorts. I "ran" with my bike to the mounting area and wobbled my way on, apologizing to the volunteers, "It's my first time." They were very encouraging.

I proceeded to set out on the ten mile ride and fry somewhat like bacon, but that's okay. I was passed time and again by other bikers -- my friend finished the swim after me but passed me handily on the bike -- but I never passed anyone, no shock there. I pedaled as fast as I could, but I am still a beginner and there is only so fast my bike can go, especially compared to some of the road bikes whizzing past me every two seconds as if they had wings. Next time I will bring sunglasses because I squinted the entire time. I tried to sing to myself and enjoy the scenery. Truly, it was so pastoral I felt as if I were in a watercolor painting or something. There were horses behind fences. "Hi, horses!" I called, flashing back to when my dad was teaching me how to drive on River Road and he yelled at me for getting distracted by the cows on the levee. What can I say, I find large grazing farm animals a pleasure to behold. There were silos and red barns. Sprawling farmhouses with front porches and corn fields, which of course made me start thinking about The Omnivore's Dilemma. The course was luckily totally flat. I only ended up in the wrong lane once on a turn. It was strange to try to give myself pep talks. Usually, such as in the half-marathon, I would just say to myself over and over, "You can do this, it's what you've been training for!" This time, I just said, "You can do this, it's what you've ... not trained for at all. But that's okay, you can still do it!"

Some 45+ minutes (?) later, it was time to dismount and "run" the bike back to the transition area. My legs were total noodles by this point and I seriously thought I was going to fall over. I took my time pulling off the biking shorts and pulling on running shorts (way too much changing compared to other people but I just wanted to be comfortable and not feel like I was running in a diaper) and making sure to put my damn shirt on and grab a visor because it was really sunny and there was not a tree in sight. I took off and saw that many, many people had already finished the entire triathlon. I told myself it was only two miles. Unfortunately it was two miles on legs I could no longer feel with sizzling skin on black pavement roads. Holy crap. I didn't make it very far on the run before I had to start speed walking and calm down a little bit. I ran a little more, I walked a little more. I saw my friend up ahead of me and as a volunteer cheered me on, "Lookin' good!" (doubtful), I said to her, "I am going to catch my friend" (pant pant) "if it kills me!" "You go get her," she yelled. So I took off (and by that I mean I broke into a slow jog instead of walking) and eventually caught up to her. I didn't feel bad about having walked because a lot of people were walking. A lot. And a lot of them looked really fit. It was just ... really hot. People were really hot, it was obvious. Thank goodness for the volunteer cheerleaders -- they really did help so much. I ran through to the end and promptly dumped a bottle of cold water over my head because I was so hot I felt like I might burst into flames. My friend came through shortly thereafter and our final times ended up being within less than a minute of each other. (I was a faster swimmer, she was a faster biker, and we ran probably around the same. So it was all good.)

We got our medals and stretched and ate some jambalaya and headed home, but not before stopping on our way out of town at the DQ. I wanted a banana pudding blizzard probably more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I hadn't been to the DQ since the summer of '95 in Boulder, when I ate a blizzard every day and I'm not joking. If you see pictures of me from that summer, this will come as no surprise. I hadn't even been to a DQ since I first saw Waiting for Guffman. So it had an even deeper meaning. We enjoyed our blizzards. Every bite of vanilla wafers and bananas and ice cream tasted like Libby Mae Brown singing Teacher's Pet and like that beautiful Colorado summer.

So. That was that. My sister reminded me that she's always thought I should be a triathlete. She has said this over the years but I effectively ignored her because it seemed impossible to contemplate. Now as of today I actually am. I still can't really believe it.

One of my favorite parts of one of my favorite books, Taking Care of Terrific by Lois Lowry (who has an excellent blog), is when Cynthia looks back on organizing the bag lady root beer popsicle protest and reflects upon how good it feels to win a war, thinking it might be fun to start another one.

In that spirit, I feel like I must now look for another war. So I've registered for a slightly longer triathlon in August (350m swim, 12mi bike, and 2mi run) and am considering an even longer triathlon (500m swim, 15mi bike, 5k run) where I'd have to swim in a lake. Reports are that you come out of the lake totally brown and covered in goo. If that's not immersion therapy for a germophobe, I don't know what is. I feel good about this. I think that Cynthia, Hawk, Seth Sandroff, and Tom Terrific would be proud.