I have a bad track record when it comes to international rendezvous of the amorous type.  Traveling can bring out the best and the worst in people, and despite my love for accumulating passport stamps, I have been less successful in returning home with BOTH the passport AND man in hand.  My 20s were rough, with highlights including a backpacking trip through Mexico turning into a solo adventure after about 4 days.  And then there was THE NOTE left in Puerto Rico.  I will not go into detail (to protect the innocent).

Louie, however, never let me down.  We have taken in the sights together, and even at fast speeds.  He was travel-durable and never complained when I suffocated him with foam piping and dismembered him in order to fit into my oh-so-beloved Aerus Biospeed Bike Case.  When the airlines lost him en route to Australia, he didn’t put up too much of a fuss (I did, though).

Here’s a pic of Louie and me in happier days. . .

But our love affair was doomed.  When a woman walks away from a relationship bloodied, bruised, and with a head injury, it’s just time to walk away.  You know what they say about abusers:  they will do it again.

I was not willing to take that risk, so it was time to part ways.  No second chances for Louie.  As painful as it was, I had to break it off, and figured that I had to do it in an extreme way: in Australia, to be sure he didn’t return as a “repeat offender.”  I hear he’s doing well, having recently entered the Australian Immigration and Refugee Program.  I’m happy for him; I really am.

The good news is that there is a hot new stallion in my life.  And he will make his appearance shortly.

Let this be a lesson to you, ladies.  Leave your abuser!  Don’t feel bad; he can find rehabilitation in a far away land, and he’ll never hurt you again!

Searching for daily glory in not one, but 3 sports, puts us at 3 x the risk of injury.  We really do have to be careful.

However, I actually incurred this injury as I attempted to broaden my horizons — to try something new.  I wanted to add another trick to my bag and expand my repertoire of skills and activities.  Become more of a well-rounded woman, of sorts.

Sometimes it’s risky when you take on a new challenge, and I have come to accept that great reward doesn’t come without great risk  . . . or something like that.

I should’ve known better than to try vacuuming.

I have friends who are fabulous swimmers. I so envy them.  Some are monsters on the bike, and others can run like the wind.  I am decent on two wheels, and I’m not a horrible runner (especially when chasing down a thief in Ecuador, but that’s a funny story for a different day…), but these are not my real strengths.

I am lucky to be equally blessed with strength in not one, but TWO disciplines:

The TAPER and the RECOVERY.

Yep, these are two very important elements in triathlon, and I take them on with nothing but utmost respect and seriousness.  In fact, my beloved coach, Matt Russ, who is not one to shower his athletes with praise, openly gushes about what a stud I am when it comes to the taper and recovery.  He brags to other athletes (rolling his eyes) about how GREAT I am at . . . doing pretty much nothing.

It’s not easy, people, but if you work really hard, you can get there, too.  hehehehehe….

Maybe because I trust my coach and I trust the process, but when he says REST, I rest– sometimes too much. I am not one to overdo it, ever.

However, I have recently risen to new ranks in my taper, achieving new levels of personal success that I had not previously thought were possible.  I’m one week out from my “A” race (Eagleman 70.3), and this past week has been a debacle of training (or tapering).  Due to the new job, travel, and getting sick twice in the past 10 days, I have accomplished a whole lot of nothing in the training front.   Yes, I’m a little nervous about it, but I also know that at this point there’s not much more we can do to prepare for a race anyway (but everything to screw it up, as Matt says).

It’s game time next weekend. And as a special treat, my Dad and Debra are coming to Maryland to support my race. I can’t think of a better way to spend Father’s Day than waking up at 5am to stand around all day!  (He’s so lucky to have me!)

And . . . a little birdie told me that my favorite Kiwi chick and Machu Picchu travel buddy, Bianca, will also be there.  She even plans to ride a mountain bike on the course while I’m running, but if she does that I may force her to give me the bike and make her run, since she’s faster anyway. 

Below is one of my favorite pictures of us on our trek through Peru last November. Can’t wait to see you, B!

So Coach Matt was excited to share the news that The Sport Factory is now an official VASA Demo Center.

I had to work to contain my excitement.

Not sure what a Vasa Trainer is? It’s some medieval torture device for those of use who aren’t big fans of chlorine-related activities.

OK, so if it’s not a medieval torture device, it’s supposed to help build the sport-specific muscles used in swimming . . . all without getting wet.  Brilliant, right?!  WRONG.

I am crying like a little baby. My arms are screaming. Matt stood over me twice this week and made sure I pulled those little torture paddles ALL the way back.

“Hang on! I think I see a tricep!” He taunted.

I like my arms just the way they are, thank you very much.  I just wouldn’t mind them helping me out in the water a little more.

That’s where the Vasa Trainer comes in. And that’s why swimming REALLY hurts this week.

If you’re in town and ESPECIALLY if you’re a Sport Factory athlete, be sure to stop in and share the love (or pain) with the Vasa (to kick your ass-a). There’s also another contraption that’s good for you Adventure Racing athletes as well– really simulates the rowing.

With the help of the Vasa, I look forward to discovering my inner tricep at some point in the near future.  Stay tuned as I document the (not so) exciting developments! 

Gangsta-love on the eve of Baja 70.3, Circa 2007.  This will be the BEFORE shot.

(at least nobody else is there to dispute the results!)

Race Day Simulation… I love it.   Nerves flying high, coffee brewing, and Kanye crankin’. Kanye still fires me up.

In my own race day simulation, I race against myself. I am the only competitor, the only judge (ok my coach has a few things to say, too), and conveniently, the only winner!

Tom Petty would agree:  It’s good to be King. . . if just for a while!

It’s good to be king, if just for a while
To be there in velvet, yeah, to give ‘em a smile
It’s good to get high and never come down
It’s good to be king of your own little town

My “own little town” is gonna get a lot bigger in two weeks, and I may be just a pauper on race day, but one thing is certain to happen, and always does:  racing against really strong competitors always brings out a little more in each of us.  Race day simulation is great . . . but the real thing is so much better.   Even if I’m not king anymore!

I immediately called BS, and then looked a little closer, and had to dislodge my foot from my mouth.  

(For the record, that’s me on the LEFT, not in the middle.)

This was taken just before the swim start at Lake Stevens 70.3.  Although it LOOKS like I was praying, I was really just cold. 

Funny Confession #5:  Had I known what kind of train wreck swim I was in store for, I would have been praying for real.  On my knees.  Begging for mercy. 

Fun race, though.  I’m REALLY excited to head down to N’orleans in April for another one of PEM’s races.  This time around, I think I might just say something sweet to the big guy upstairs before I jump in the water.  Can’t hurt.

On a sorta-unrelated note . . . big week for us here at Pfizer.  At some point on Friday, my sales colleagues and I will all find out whether we will stay on with the company through this new reorganization, or join the ranks of the growing “displaced” in this fab economy.  Kinda like at Lake Stevens, it’s business as usual, despite the uncertainty.  Stay focused, and control what you can control– PERIOD.    Just like a cat, I’ll land on my feet.  Either we’ll continue here, or do great things somewhere else. 

Besides, there’s always my new modeling career to fall back on.  I mean, with an ad like this one, Tyra and all her supermodel cronies will not be sleeping well at night.  Watch out, ladies.

Actually there is.  I noticed that you get treated differently with a stroller. Especially an obnoxiously pink one!  It’s kinda funny– cars/walkers totally defer to you.  THEN they look a little closer and see that the “baby” is really quite hairy.   And then they just think you’re a total lunatic!

In my defense (listen up, Tina and Alicia!!), this won’t be used for running, really. Just long walks when her legs get tired.  She’s good for about a mile, and then Little Miss Short Legs just wants to be along for the ride.   I feel guilty not spending enough time with her, and I like to get out and walk with my mom as much as possible, and I don’t want her stuck in the house.   The stroller/jogger makes sense for small dogs.  It’s just the pink part that is a little, um, what’s the word?  I think it’s hilarious.  I’m not even a pink lover. 

Don’t be a hater.    Shaina wants some fresh air, too!

I recently introduced my neighbor Dave to my friend Tracy.  Now I understand why nobody wants to play cupid anymore.  I was all stressed out.  Would they like each other? What if they each thought I was crazy for thinking they would? What if they behave poorly?  What if what if what if?

What if I just shut up and let them decide for themselves?   That would’ve been too easy.

Every time I saw them I would ask, “Have you called her?!”  “Did you email him back?!”  My god, it’s almost as if I expected to be invited on the first date.  I saw Tracy last week, and after pulling a Judge Judy style interrogation for why they hadn’t met yet, she calmly and quietly responded that they actually went to dinner the night before.

I squealed with delight . . .  and then pounced on her.  What did you think?! Did you like him? Was he cool? Are you gonna go out again? Can I be the Maid of Honor?  Oops, jumping the gun a bit on that one.

She didn’t give me much, but said that he was cool and the conversation was good. I couldn’t really get a read and it was frustrating me.  Was I about to put Dr. Neil Clark Warren out of business?  Then, she casually and calmly added, “Well, he WAS about 30min late.  And he seemed like he had been drinking… I don’t know.  Oh, and then when we left, he just sorta smacked my ass.”  

As if these were just teeny weeney details that she just recalled.

I went ballistic!  WHAT?!  He showed up drunk?  He smacked your ass?!    Was this man raised by apes?  I was pissed, embarrassed, and felt horrible for Tracey.  I had no explanation for his brutish behavior, but I was determined to get to the bottom of it.

I got home and fired off an email to my neighbor raised by apes, and not so kindly welcomed him to dating in the 21st century.  Grab ass on the first date isn’t part of the game! And what was he thinking showing up toasted?  I ripped into him, reminded him that I put my stamp of approval on his butt, and that if he doesn’t redeem himself, all future leads would dry up.   

It didn’t take long for an email to come back, explaining that I was totally busted:  he and Tracy orchestrated the whole thing, mainly to get back at me for not leaving them alone.  There was no grab ass and no drunk first meetings.   I was thoroughly impressed with the Academy-Award winning performance that Tracy put on that day. 

Cupid got busted. Bad.     Nice work you guys!   I’m done for a while… leaving the match-making to the professionals. 

——

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a beautiful fairy princess (let’s just call her SMOKIN’ HOT, shall we?) who made the treacherous decision to dive head-first and all alone into the dark, scary world of modern-day match-making.  Knighted princes (with creative screen names) abounded, offering rides on their white horses and meals fit for the royalty that this brunette Rapunzel only deserved. 

The fairy princess was briefly courted by one such dashing prince, and while his armor was shiny and and his followers loyal, there were chinks in the armor that were not initially visible to the lovely damsel.  The prince could’ve penned the modern-day version of Men Behaving Badly.  The fairy princess quickly took her tiara and found her way out of that dark and scary forest, unscathed and disinterested in further expeditions.

Many moons passed and the fairy princess all but forgot about the dashing, debauched, and unruly prince.  Then serendipity occurred:  she encountered the prince in a most unexpected meeting– at the gym where she teaches spinning class.  With twinkling eyes and the sweetest of smiles, the fairy princess pleaded with the long-lost prince to join her class, and promised the lovely prince an enjoyable hour of exercise, fun, and of course, forgiveness.

The trusting prince accepted the summons, and hesitantly embarked on a challenge which represented uncharted waters for him. 

Less than 60 minutes later, the beautiful fairy princess had him gagging for air, begging for mercy, and stripped of his armor.

And the fairy princess lived happily ever ever!!

Funny Confession #1:  My dog, Shaina, gets her hair done (did) more than I do, much to Momma Naj’s dismay.  Here’s the diva with her latest ‘du from the beauty shop.  I couldn’t tell you the last time I got MY hair cut.  Pathetic, I know.