Third Time's Almost the Charm

The NYC Triathlon is one of my favorite races.  It was my first tri back in 2009, and despite all the logistics involved from registration on still feels like a great local race.  It brings out most of the team, either to race or to spectate.  I've done it every other year since then and was the reason I discovered triathlon and AG.  Hitting 72 St on the run is one of my favorite moments.  For this year I set an ambitious goal of breaking 3 hours.  Given the training I had done and my numbers leading up to my half Ironman, I figured it could be done.  

Since early June I've gained at least 5 pounds and have felt significant periods of fatigue and/or lack of interest in doing much.  I have swum and run maybe four times after the debacle that was Cuse.  The lack of support I get on the home front really disappointed me.  I almost bagged the race and had to jump through a bunch of hoops to race back from my cousin's wedding in Binghamton to make packet pickup.  In the end I decided to go for it, sitting at home watching TV and eating bonbons doesn't appeal much.  Neither does quitting nor doing what someone else tells me to.  I figured I'd go out and have some fun, and hopefully finish the race and feel like I can do this.

The heat and humidity in transition were the most I've experienced in all three tries.  Too bad the overnight rain did not cool things down.  This time around I have been taking in as much salt pre-race as I can, and even got Hammer Electrolyte tabs at Expo.  I waited as long as possible to get my wetsuit on so I wouldn't dehydrate.  Got on the barge with AT, and off we go.  First my frigging new goggles leaked - my favorite pair snapped at Cuse.  It was disorienting for me while right breathing, so I periodically emptied them out.  Lesson learned - TYR special ops goggles are not for me.  As a result, I didn't sight that well, at first swimming too far to the right, then zigzagging a bit.  Other than that, I felt smooth in the water, dropping several people in previous waves.  Close to the stairs, I felt resistance, almost like a current pushing me back.  Maybe I was hallucinating.  

T1 usually takes me a while.  it's a long way back and I usually sit on a bench to pull my wetsuit off.  Off we go on the bike.  I kept coach's voice in my head - "Easy gear to start" Made it out of the park and onto the west side highway.  Felt reasonably well on the way out.  My lower back tightened up a couple of times, and my wheels felt like they might have gone flat.  I stopped a couple times to stretch, check the tires, and drink.  Felt great towards the end of the bike.  Once I got to the run, that's when the heat really got to me.  Lesson learned: need to eat and drink more on the bike.  Had to walk quite a bit, but saw my folks and JT along the way which lifted me up a lot.  I especially got pumped seeing my teammates at the homestretch.

In the end, it was not my best time, but it was not my worst.  In a way it was redemption for my horrible day a few weeks earlier.  Will I do it again?  Part of me thinks, never again in the Hudson.  However, there's a little voice inside of me that still wants to break three hours.  We shall see what the future holds.  Don't call it a comeback!

Pay the Piper

Syracuse 70.3 has come and gone. Five months ago registering had relit the spark for my enthusiasm to work out and train for a race.  I shook things up a bit with a new coach, albeit again with a small team, more intensity and willingness to let the workout bring the pain.  I had high hopes for today and did what I could to work toward that goal. Given the timing, a new PR would have been a birthday present to myself.

It's been another four and a half months of craziness, juggling training with health, family time, QT with TT, seeking real estate in a market with low inventory, work, and fun.  Once again it has been a struggle to get everything done. One thing I have learned, life never stops throwing me curveballs, I just have to stay on my toes fielding them.  Add to that a handful of health crises-cancer scare that took seven moths to rule out, parasite, hundred day cough, pulled gluteus medius, adenovirus and strep throat in a one-two punch two weeks before race day.
It's enough to make getting out of bed an achievement, which of course is not enough for me.  I missed a bit of training which made me a bit nervous but figured muscle memory from last year would kick in.

Leading up to race day, I have not felt my best. Even though I managed to hold off stomach issues while bedridden, they have lingered and popped up at the worst moments. Plus, I have felt really tired.  My weight fluctuated a bit, first it dropped (yes!) then felt like it came back. The lymph node near my jaw has not fully subsided either, but I shrugged it off.  Part of me wanted to drop this down to a relay with a friend biking, but the part of me that wants to push and get out of my comfort zone to conquer the bike won. I stuck with pre-race water glugging and cut out alcohol and caffeine for the week prior, doing my best to eat well too.

Left later than expected and hit traffic almost the whole drive up to Cuse. Lesson learned- take the day off. The next day we took it easy in the morning and went to expo in the afternoon. The beach closed for swimming and all the medium size t-shirts were out. Why they don't order based on responses is beyond me -how many XL triathletes and runners do you know? Lesson learned- go to expo early, rest later.  Then anxiety hits on my mini-ride-argh! Pep talk with my coach takes me down. Wegman's for dinner and driving the course made it better.

Race day is here!!! I'm packed and ready. The walk to transition from parking is a good 10 minutes. The bike check tells us all floor pumps have to go back to the car, ugh!!! Ok no biggee. Take it back and put my wetsuit on outside of transition. Then my favorite pair of goggles break after transition was scheduled to close. Nooooo! Luckily I had a spare (learned from last weekend). Crisis averted. Take a gel and get to the water.

And here we go. The water was pretty crowded, and I found myself sighting a lot in the beginning to keep my bearings and bumping into people most of the way out to the first turn. Weeds were not so bad, Lake Sebago in Harriman State Park is worse. Feeling good, felt like a long time to the first turn, but we keep going. During the middle, my stomach felt a little off, but I ignored it and focused on getting to the second turn. The way back to shore seemed shorter, and then I was climbing out of the water. The wetsuit stripper was really handy, and even with the wetsuit removal I finished the swim portion faster than last year by 45 seconds, which probably comes to at least a 2 to 3 minute PR. Solid.

Out of T1 pretty quickly, onto the bike.  My CatEye pops off right as I start. Pull over, go get it, resume.  Feeling good, then come the climbs. Everyone seems to slow down up the hills so I take my  time.  Holding off to drink and eat and just get my bearings, remembering from the drive that the climbs are not that long. Feeling good. Stomach feels a little bloated again early on, stop take a break, get back on. no biggee, if i need to stop stop. Stop at first aid station for a Gu some chomps and more water. Big descent comes around mile 23 or so and I am squeezing my brakes for dear life.  That is where my quad first starts to seize. I tell it to shut up and help me get up the big climb after the descent. The climb is long and I end up dismounting 2/3 of the way up.  I have company so it's not so bad.  Get back on at the top and go. At mile 25 the cramps are overwhelming. A nice guy stopped to  give me two salt tablets so I can try again. I remount and take it slow, and the salt caps seems to work. This is not something I trained with given the weather so I want to see how I react. So far so good, hit some good stretches, roll back my time goal to a six-handle, just keep moving. I think I was so focused on going that I did not drink enough consistently, but started before I really felt the thirst.   cramps return at mile 45. I try to coast down some hills, and even granny gear to go up small inclines hurts. Stop, stretch flood myself with fluids and electrolytes, try again. I told my legs to STFU, almost there. Thought about my coach's voice, my team, everyone who emailed and texted good luck, a teammate struggling with cornea transplant issues, and pushed.  Anyone who saw me at the side of the road shrieking must have thought I was a banshee. It was excruciating and I was determined to make it back for the run. After a while of waiting for it to let up, I felt like i was losing control of the bike. Thinking of my mom and her receiving a phone call that I fell and got seriously hurt, I stopped. A cop found me and radioed the SAG wagon. A teammate who roomed with me stopped but I told her to keep going. I would never want to stop someone else from racing their best for me. It took 20 minutes to get a ride and another 15 to get to transition, and even there they had to figure out how to get me to the med tent. I was in a hot car with cramped legs and two Advil were not doing much. Finally the gurney mobile came by and whisked me away. I got hooked up to an IV, handed a water a chocolate milk and half a banana, and had my blood pressure and glucose checked- they were fine, especially considering all the shit I was stuffing in my gullet. Getting an IV was not bad, the tape holding it down that kept peeling off hurt more. I was miserable. All these other people with finisher medals and me just with a lot of  chain grease on my leg to show for. IV made me have to pee and feel a bit woozy as I discovered when I stood up to go to the port a John
, so they have me come back for a Gatorade.  While in there, thunder struck and the skies opened. With all the lightning they shut down the race. Everyone crowds into the med tent so that the people who actually need assistance can't get in. A golf cart almost hit a spectator yapping on her cell phone, and I don't think I would have felt too bad for her. All my stuff in transition was soaked. After leaving medical I packed my car and attempted to return merchandise to the ironman store. They closed up and told me everything is non-refundable. Lesson learned: never buy photos or clothing from Ironman until after the race. Getting out of the grass parking lot after the rain was a cluster f- since I had to shift the car into low gear to avoid getting stuck on an incline in mud. We got home with minimal traffic so I could lick my wounds in the comfort of my own bed.
I still feel crushed, the product of a drunk frat boy smashing his beverage container against his forehead in a drunken show of bravado. Part of me started to reconsider going for an Ironman or continuing to do tris in general. I feel like maybe I am not cut out for this or should at least lower my expectations. And I only have myself to hold accountable.  Long-course triathlon is a high-maintenance demanding significant other. If I wanted to do this race, I should have prioritized my training over what other people need from me. If I was having problems with anxiety on the bike, I should see a shrink or at least work more on it. If I wasn't ready, I should have assessed my limitations more honestly and backed off so the event would have been more fun. But I wanted to go all-out and reach a very lofty goal. I tried my hardest. And I paid the piper for not bringing my A game.  I didn't fully step toe to toe with my fear of failure and beat it in this instance. But maybe I had to fail now to see it's really not a big deal.

If I learned anything else, I still have a lot of fight. My friend told me I looked like a warrior on the bike course, so I am improving. It is not all for naught. My level of disappointment shows me that I want to still keep at it and keep trying. And I don't have to cross the finish line to be an athlete. (Thanks Galvan)

Next up? Get my shit together a little more. Gather strength to make some tough decisions. out myself first more. that could probably be a better gift than a finisher medal.  After that? NYC tri in three weeks, maybe another half in late September, who knows. My work here is not finished, time to get back in the ring.....

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times

At midnight we welcomed a new year.  The earth completed another revolution around the sun, and the Mayans and doomsday Jesus freaks whipped out calculators to check their math.  Seeing 2012 off is bittersweet for me, as there were many new beginnings and positive achievements.  However, in a way I'm glad to see it go.  It was definitely a year that felt like a ride on the Cyclone - lots of sudden ups and downs coupled with sharp turns, and at the end your brain is so rattled around in your skull you're not sure if you want to take advantage of the discount and go for another spin.  

At this time last year, I had a lot to look forward to: brand new job, Mom's new kidney, somewhat-new boyfriend, the Olympics, IMNY training, a clean fridge, friends' weddings and babies.  As time passed, I found myself struggling and fighting, seemingly more so than I have in a long time.  After all the work I put into clearing out the food stash mom assembled over years, everything was replenished two weeks after she returned home.  Mom is still alive, I'd laugh to myself, but then juggling work with assisting her left me frazzled.  The bike anxiety I tried so hard to conquer never fully went away.  Sometimes I felt great on a ride, while other times I could barely hold it together.  It's gotten to the point where I have not touched my road bike in three months.   Panic jumped out of the trees during the Escape to the Palisades half, but luckily a friend racing with me helped me push through it.  The anxiety started to elbow its way into other areas.  During crunch time on my first assignment, I almost burst into tears for no outwardly apparent reason.  In a cramped room full of men, that would have been devastating.  Lately I've noticed my heart race if someone drives too close to the cars parked on the passenger side of the road.  

I'm not 100% sure what I'm so afraid of - failure, injury, being alone - but it upsets me to experience it.  Perhaps it's lingering disappointment over missing some great opportunities.  Maybe trying to do too many things left me overwhelmed rather than engaged, or the time spent helping others has been at the expense of my individual goals and dreams.  Significant fatigue has started to ebb and flow, whether I'm over-scheduled or being lazy.  Getting out of bed for early workouts became more challenging, and in one case I blew off a race (I wasn't registered so no big loss, but still).  Since I moved out of my apartment, splitting between my parents' house and TT's apartment means multiple trips back and forth and the frustration of not having everything I need in one place.  Often I overbook or forget about plans and then get stressed when I'm sprinting between obligations.  TT and I fight a fair bit too, mostly over what I consider petty items, which only makes me feel worse. These all pale in comparison to a health scare that took over six months to get some reassuring news, and that's nothing compared to what friends and family encountered with deaths or storms.  

Maybe I'm being too hard on myself, as usual.  This year Mom had her first rebirthday and has been thriving since her transplant.  TT and I celebrated 18 months in October.  I bested my 10k, half marathon, and marathon times and completed my first half Ironman.  My new job is fantastic, and even though I did not add a new country to my passport stamps I got to visit a few new cities.  By collecting rent I have saved a fair bit of money for my next place.  Over the past twelve months I feel very connected to friends and family and have been able to reach out to people I haven't seen in a while.  I feel bad for feeling bad, but it's what I'm authentically feeling.

Coming into 2013, I feel a combination of things: exhausted, guardedly optimistic, hopeful.  This year, instead of setting a bunch of goals and twisting myself into a pretzel to complete them, I'd like to focus more on finding joy every day as much as I possibly can.  I sense the universe telling me to take a break, and it seems better to simplify, take better care of myself, and go with the flow rather than list out a bunch of goals and drive myself crazy to achieve them or feel disappointed when life throws a wrench in the works and it doesn't materialize.  This in and of itself will be incredibly difficult for results-oriented, overachieving, type-A-minus me.  Maybe it's a bit selfish to focus on my wellbeing and stop over-committing, but it's something I feel like I must do.  Here goes....

Still an Iron Maiden

When I signed up for the Ironman US Championship last year, I thought I had a much better idea of what I was in for.  The vision of racing in my hometown, like the NYC Tri but bigger, with my friends and family to cheer me on, was awe-inspiring.  While logging miles on the treadmill, I visualized running down the finisher chute.  In my planning, I changed things up a bit, joining a team of fellow Ironmaniacs in training, all of us dragging our tired and sore behinds out of bed when many people were getting home, all in the name of surviving seventeen hours of swimming, biking, and running.  I thought this would give me an extra boost of support in the shared suffering.  I thought that this year would be different, that I'd be ready or at least make myself ready, that I would be able to stick with the eight-month regimen and hear those six words all wannabe Ironmen and women want to hear.  What it boils down to is, I thought I'd be able to transcend my previous athletic mediocrity, to push myself, to prove to myself and others that I had the mettle and the skill to do this.  

Boy, was I dead effing wrong.

In all fairness, my situation was vastly different eighteen months ago.  It seems inconceivable that almost my entire life would be thrown up in the air and land in different circles on the Twister board.  New job, new man, new living situation, new kidney for mom have all added up to figuring out which end is up again and again.  It has been exhausting and confusing.  Why did I not anticipate any of this when I hit Submit and dropped more money than I care to admit on a single race?  How could I know that I would feel the tug of all these occasionally conflicting forces, almost like being emotionally pulled apart by four horsemen?  It came down to sheer physical exhaustion and being really honest that my travel schedule for my job would not allow me to log the miles on the bike that I need, especially since I'm still struggling with anxiety on training rides.  What made matters worse, WTC's ticket logging system does not work well at all, and it took escalation to the race director to get my refund.

Don't get me wrong, it was a fantastic experience to volunteer and spectate.  Also glad I did not have the pleasure of swimming in potentially sewage-contaminated water.  I was so pumped for trying again in 2013, even when standing on line to register and hearing about the price increase and the time cut.  After that punch in the gut, the final body blow came when they then suspended and cancelled the race.  

A huge sense of regret and disappointment has subsided but still lingers, as well as burnout.  I feel like I let myself down. In a way, it hurts worse than those thin college rejection letters because I don't think I fought hard enough for it. Maybe that's harsh, but it's what festers in me.  This quote from Ironman champ Chris Lieto gives me some comfort as I ponder what's next:

"There’s a point where you have to realize that Ironman is not your life, and that you have to look at what you want to do with the rest of your career and get healthy. When it’s all said and done, does it really matter if I go to Hawaii or not? Do I come back 100 percent next year versus having a lackluster performance like I did last year in Hawaii because of the same issue?" 

Here's to next year, ever upward (I hope).

How Many People Can I Inspire to Register as Organ Donors by November 4?

As many of you know, my mother experienced advanced renal impairment last year and was on dialysis for six months. In mid-December, she received a successful kidney transplant, one of the best Christmas gifts ever, and has recovered superbly. To celebrate her donation's first anniversary, I will run the 2012 New York City Marathon to benefit the National Kidney Foundation, my third marathon and first 26.2-mile trip through my hometown. This is one of the best marathons in the world, and I'm so excited to have the opportunity to experience it. Since 1950, NKF has been dedicated to preventing kidney and urinary tract diseases, improving the health and well-being of individuals and families affected by kidney disease and increasing the availability of all organs for transplantation.

Where do you come in? For starters, please consider becoming an organ donor if you have not done so already. My goal is to convince at least 26 people to register as organ donors, one for every full mile. Need some motivation? Every month, more than 2,000 new names are added to the national waiting list for organ transplants, and about 18 people die every day while waiting for an organ transplant in the United States. Organ and tissue donation helps others by giving them a second chance at life. It's as simple as signing the back of your driver's license in most states.  For more information on how to register, visit NKF's Organ Donor information page.

Please let me know when you have registered so I can track it on the counter below. More to come. Love your kidneys!!!!

 

It's Been a While

Today I received an email from a college friend who mentioned that I haven't written anything recently. That nudged me into action. I'm sorry I have neglected you, blog. I know I promised you more before. We've been together for over 8 years now, you deserve better.

Well, I do have quite a bit to write about, although I don't want to expound too much and bore you to tears. Here is the short-short version:

• I have a new Significant Other. It's been almost 14 months now. He's tall dark and handsome, good with his hands, likes my cooking (what's not to like? my mom would chime in), and makes me smile and laugh. I think I'll keep him around :). 
• I left the old job in September. What a long, strange trip it had been. I learned a lot, and met some cool people. After five years, a nice pen just wasn't enough to motivate me to stick around for another five, it was time to move on. 
• I got a new job, but it was not all I hoped and dreamed of. Enough on that... 
• I got a new-new job, and it so far is all I hoped and dreamed of. After a good chunk of time on the beach, I spent a few months working outside Philly. Recently, I have been commuting to Silicon Valley Sundays and coming home Thursday. More on this later... 
• Mom got a second chance, but you knew that already. 
• I have aspirations to become a real estate tycoon. With my previous apartment sublet, I'm now starting to look for more property. If I had my way, it would be a swanky two-bedroom with a view. We'll see how this shakes out. 
• Since starting Ironman training in December, I've bested my indoor tri and marathon finish times (the latter in Paris, which also deserves a writeup of its own), improved my cycling, and completed my first half IM (barely). April through June have been tough for training with the out-of-town work and long hours. Plus, getting over what has become full-blown anxiety of biking has taken longer than I thought. It wasn't until the Patriot Half that I felt really good in the saddle, and there are still some technical skills to relearn. Even though it's looking like a long shot at this point I'm still holding out hope of hearing Mike Reilly lauding my finish. Appreciate everyone's support in the journey so far. My offer for baked goods in exchange for accompaniment on a ride still stands. 

So there you have it, the last nine months in just under 350 words.

A Light at the End of the Tunnel

After almost two years of waiting and poking and prodding, six months of dialyzing, and about four weeks of nailbiting, a small Christmas miracle occurred. Mom got a kidney transplant. Granted thousands of these operations happen every year, it still seems surreal and amazing. The organ starting functioning almost immediately, and thus far there have been no complications. I didn't think the day would arrive so soon or wash over us all so smoothly. Best of all, Mom sounds great. It's literally like she has her life back. There's a different note of hope in her voice now. For the time being she needs a lot of sleep and a few more weeks of monitoring, and she cannot be in crowds for a while. What a small price to pay for another shot.

We don't know the exact identity of the donor. I want to send my thanks to her and her family, a 26-year-old schizophrenic who had a seizure while in an institution. The tribulations this young woman experienced must have been so painful for her loved ones to witness. Having to make a decision to give others the gift of life in the midst of such grief and anguish is so selfless and courageous.

[public service announcement] Don't know what to gift for the holidays? Please sign the back of your license and become an organ donor. Yes, it's hard to look mortality in the face and prepare for the worst. This small act will allow your family the peace to not have to make a decision for you, and will give a number of people a second chance on health and happiness. Those two things are priceless.

Fear of Falling

Many of you have asked me why I have not posted anything in a couple months. There are several reasons for this. One big one is, I had a very bad bike accident on August 30 and needed 20 stitches just below my knee. This happened two weeks before my very first half Ironman race and was a huge blow to my confidence, not to mention very painful and disruptive to my normal routine. For two weeks, I could not straighten my leg, and because I was given incorrect care instructions, it took a long time to heal. Now I have a gnarly scar, and it is slowly fading.

Ironically, the reason why I fell and got hurt was because I was afraid. The bike has been the weakest part of my triathlon mainly because I find riding with clip-in shoes really intimidating. Flying over the handlebars of my brother's BMX and tearing all the soft tissue in my rib cage two weeks before my Sweet 16 didn't help either. More fundamentally, I have often been afraid to fail, to f*ck up, to fall down. What I realize now is that, falling from time to time is inevitable. The key is picking yourself up to keep going. While I was recovering, I read "It's Not About the Bike" by Lance Armstrong. For a professional elite cyclist, he has fallen a lot, and look where he is. I also read "The Long Run" by Matt Long - thanks Frevin. If his recovery doesn't inspire you, I don't know what will.

Ultimately, this episode made me realize that falling down occasionally is nothing to be afraid of. Also, I need to make friends with my bike so I can get back to the joy I used to experience as a kid, riding around Bayside. Like many of my triathlete comrades, I've decided to name my bike Lucy (after the bossy character in Charlie Brown). Before the end of the year, my goal is to learn as much as I can about how Lucy works and get back on the bike outside. If any of you out there want to accompany me, I will reward you with home-cooked goodness.

This of course has been just one piece of my recent saga. More to come...

Breakfast of Champions

There's nothing like waking up with breakfast already made. It's even better when the apartment smells heavenly. My crockpot oatmeal is convenient and fragrant, plus it's healthy, easy, and can serve several people or be refrigerated for later in the week. Thanks to Mommy's Kitchen for the inspiration.

1 cup steel-cut oats

4 cups water

1/2 cup milk

cinnamon stick and ground cinnamon

nutmeg

2-3 cloves

Semi-Homemade

During my FMLA break, one of my biggest tasks has been cleaning the house. My parents have started referring to me as the White Tornado, and they definitely batten down the hatches once I get started, especially when trash bags are in tow. My mother refuses to part with most of her possessions, each one has a story around its origin. The typical shrieked response is, "You can't get rid of that! That belonged to Grandma/your Aunt Frances/Bisnonna Meme," or "so-and-so gave that to me for my bridal shower." I have to admit, some of the pieces are really nice, such as a kitschy orange flower-shaped fruit bowl, but come on, a horse-head creamer? Three basket steamers? A British pudding mold? The kitchen has taken the longest thus far due to the number of hiding spaces and sheer volume of stuff that needs inspection, dusting or full wash, and neat stacking and organization. It shocks me and my folks how good I am at it, since I'm not exactly the neatest person. My room still has not been tackled properly, although I have been purging clothes.

Besides housewares, my mother is afflicted with Italian Famine Syndrome. Scratch that, it seems that most ethnic mothers are utterly paranoid of having their mission to keep their families well-fed thwarted by famine, blackouts, or supermarket closing hours. As a result, we have overflow of canned goods and spices on industrial warehouse shelves in the TV room. Many of these cans are past their expiration date. I ignore this since I hate to throw away food, and most canned products are pumped full of preservatives anyway. Thus I restack and demonstrate to my mom that we do not need anymore canned tuna, coriander, or jalapeno jam. The second prong of this attack is to use as many of these products as possible. We have been having jello and instant pudding at least twice a week. For Dad who insisted on three Costco jars of Welch's grape jelly, there is brownbag peanut butter and jelly, and one empty jar. I've also continued to sift through recipes, almost like Iron Chef. Instead of buying ahi tuna, I mixed canned Italian albacore in with the mayo mixture and used up two open jars of capers instead of opening cornichons in this yummy open-facedsandwich. Mom loved it. When my Betty Crocker mood struck, I had all the ingredients for Nigella's coffee-walnut splodge cookies to take to a friend's.

So I admit, I tend to scoff at people who "cook" by opening cans or boxes. Besides the health benefits of eating minimally processed food, cooking loses its creative edge when the only task is to add water. However, good food is good food, and if one can save time in an already busy day, it's still better than fast food. Sandra Lee, I will never thumb my nose at you. Maybe giggle at your emphasis on cocktails, but I respect thee for liberating busy cooks from the guilt of not having enough time to make everything from scratch. Will save that for the weekends....

Pedestrian Voyeurism

I kinda doubt anyone cares about what happens on my block, because there's not much. When my neighbor across the street answers the door in a towel, even less so.

There's Something Wrong

Two years have gone by since the horrific "wrong-way" crash, and last night HBO debuted its documentary on the families involved. It's hard to watch. Besides the picture of Diane Schuler dead on the grass, the surveillance video is so eerie to watch. Besides the images, it made me wince to see the Schuler family grap at every straw they can to "clear Diane's name."

Sometimes it is hard to accept a painful event, especially if there is no closure. It seems that the Schuler family is struggling to come to terms with what happened or that she could have done something "bad". It struck me that the alcohol and marijuana in her system is being contested so vehemently, even though they admitted she smoked pot on occasion to help her sleep. They are insistent on a second autopsy and have latched onto a "medical" situation as the root cause, such as her abscess tooth.

Separating the person from the action, Diane is human, her friends and family loved her, and she made a choice to drink and smoke pot at some point that had tragic consequences. In addition, exhuming her body for an autopsy may revisit the physical state of her body, but there is no way to trace her mental and emotional well-being. Perhaps she had a psychotic break or a panic attack, either of which would not leave a trace in her system like BAC or THC. There may have been secrets she had, lingering pain, unspoken feelings. There is no black box for the mind.

A commenter on HBO's site said it best, there are no winners in this situation. One can only hope that the loved ones left behind can find peace with what transpired, accept what happened and her humanity, and forgive.

This P*sses Me Off

Food trucks rock. The crackdown is so ridiculous. Any shop that feels threatened by a food truck probably sucks. Get over it, it's called a free market. Thank godness for The Lot on Tap

Switching Gears

Peritoneal cavity...nephrology..catheter exit site...these are all words I'm using more often. Someone close to me has advanced kidney impairment and started peritoneal dialysis. It's a great treatment that can be done in the comfort and convenience of one's home. However, in the beginning, it needs to be done four times a day, and takes an hour for each cycle, not to mention the preparation and sterile conditions required. On top of everything else to do, this is quite disruptive.

Looking at the situation, I decided to move back in to my folks' house and take FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act of 1993) for nine weeks to help out. Some people may question this, how it would affect my career progression, if I would even have a job. FMLA guarantees a role upon return, so that wasn't really considered. Part of me wondered if I would even want to go back after a break or how my peers and superiors would view the break. In the end, I decided that family is more important right now that work, and that I would appreciate spending more time with my loved one down the track. People in our current society place so much emphasis on career focus before anything else can transpire, but life doesn't always work that linearly. Having worked straight through college and consistently afterward, what could be the harm in a break?

Not to say that I am sitting on the couch eating bonbons. There is driving to doctor's appointments, changing dressings, carrrying dialysate bags upstairs, schlepping used solution to the nurse practitioner for testing. Having more time at home and more people in the house allows me to cook more too, allowing me to go through my archive of Chow recipes of the day, such as beet greens and feta pasta and shells with arugula pesto, sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts.

In addition, I have taken it upon myself to clean my parents' house (read: get rid of junk). The living room is done, onto the kitchen. It pains my mother to part with Danish butter cookie tins and glass jars, but I'm warming her up to it. When the furniture gleams from orange-scented polish and the cabinets can be opened to well-organized, non-expired foodstuffs instead of an avalanche of plastic bags filled with God-knows-what. So far so good. Now if I could only tackle my room....

Just When You Thought I Could Not Do Anything Crazier...

Ironman NYC. August 12, 2012. I will be at my computer Wednesday at 11:55am to start the entry process.

Tutte le strade portano a Roma

If you've ever wanted to immerse yourself in a particular city, a marathon - itself a tradition stemming from classical Greek culture - is one of the best ways to do so. Now imagine yourself at the crossroads of the ancient and modern, where structures built centuries ago stand besides or are incorporated into modern buildings. Visualize running on paths trod for many centuries and observing these relics free from the fingerprint-muddled barrier of a tourbus window. What surrounds you are not only the sights, but also the sounds, feelings, scents, emotions even, of several millenia. This is what the Rome Marathon is like.

This was my first marathon, as it was three years ago for a friend who recommended the race. With four half marathons under my belt and a handful of road races and triathlons, I felt ready to take the next step. Truth be told, I could have used about a month more of training to feel more physically prepared, not to mention more therapy on a nagging left shoulder irritation. About a month ago, I almost pulled out. My good friend and ex-colleague fell on her chin and both knees during a training run the week prior and almost didn't go through with it either. Nonetheless, we charged ahead for what proved to be a seemingly epic adventure, the beginning of which started when my hotel, 800 meters from the starting line according to Google Maps, was located on the other side of town. What good fortune to have cousins located an hour away who were able to drive me around town!

For those of you accustomed to pre-race expositions that rival major conventions, set your expectations a bit lower. The Palazzo dei Congressi was built during the Mussolini era and reflects the rationalist architecture of the time, symmetric yet severe. Once inside, forget about queuing and make way through the hordes for the bib number and then the race packet. Navigating the different booths feels a bit like a labyrinthe of yore without mythical creatures to fight off. Most of the merchandise are similar to items that can be purchased at home for a third of the price, and there is a smattering of promotional items. My cousin was a fan of the McDonald's pavillion, where you could have your face painted with the Italian trecolore and receive a noisemaker. We spent maybe fifteen minutes inside. Onto more important things, like pre-race carboloading! Between pasta, risotto, and bread, there are so many options for all diets. Most restaurants are more than happy to accommodate special requests.

The racecourse is one of the best I have encountered to date. The starting corrals are located next to the Colisseum, one of the most iconic landmarks in the world. Approximately three-fourths of the course pass by the major sighseeing attractions and distinct neighborhoods that make up modern-day Rome as well as Vatican City. Coincidentally, the city is still decked out for the recent 150th anniversary of Italy's unification. It's hard to resist taking photos while stretching or slowing down for a spell. The flat layout and mild spring weather make it ideal for runners of all levels. Besides water and Gatorade, refreshments included sugar packets, blood oranges, apples, bananas, and cookies, as well stations in between the refreshment stations handing out wet sponges. I found the port-a-potties lacking toilet paper but equipped with cranks to "flush" nasty bits down a conveyor belt. How clever of Italians to think of the aesthetics of portable toilets! (Shout out to Plamen, who I ran into in his AG gear towards the beginning of the race.)

The stretch between the 20-30km mark is quite far-flung from the main drag, the main landmarks being the Foro Italico (the Olympic stadium also built by Il Duce), the Rome Mosque, and a bridge that is still under construction, with volunteers and cops scattered throughout. Those on the slower side may feel a bit deflated from the thin crowd support on the home stretch. Sidewalks were deserted of spectators, and pedestrians and cyclists kept crossing in front of runners (me included) struggling to reach the finish. With an irritated shoulder and leg muscles I didn't even know I had screaming from kilometer 30, this made it even more difficult. However, sheer will carried me over the finish line, as well as thoughts of my mother. My maternal lineage hails from the Roman region, and thoughts of relatives long-gone on the same roads kept me going. Also, mom's health is not the best as of late, making it difficult for her to walk up the block. I was determined to finish, if only because I am able. At the end, I was almost destroyed, but not enough to collapse in a heap. Veni, vidi, vici! To celebrate my achievement, I had an medium (enormous) three-scoop cone at Gelateria Della Palma, somehow still able to stand. Delizioso!

Would I recommend this race? Conditionally. For the scenery, the spectacular cuisine, and the experience of running through two foreign countries, absolutely. If you speak Italian and/or are in a group, even better. However, converting 26.2 miles to 42.2 kilometers may throw the metrically-challenged for a loop. Those of us accustomed to races in the States are spoiled by drinks every mile (1.6km), whereas in Rome the refreshments and sponge stops alternate every 2.5km (just over a mile and a half) starting at the 5km mark (3.1 miles). For those of you who prioritize efficiency and order or are just plain impatient, this may not be for you. Most southern Europeans have a "get there when you get there" attitude. You will encounter this everywhere from the expo to the corral lineup to post-race medal engraving. Advance planning and packing is required since most stores close early and are shuttered on weekends. If I hadn't been so spent, the woman removing my timing chip with a pocket knife while still pinned to my shirt would have put me into a panic, . However, if you can go with the flow and cope with the unexpected, focusing on the excitement of the journey itself, go for it. In bocca al lupo...

Grow Up

Is this for real? The problem is, men don't act politely and sincerely. They just expect women to put out and deal with all their immature nonsense, including festering diseases that cause cancer. I say, sack up, keep your fly closed most of the time, bring back romance, and maybe you'll reap the rewards.

Союз нерушимый республик свободных

Two years ago, Here is the City News reported that the Soviet national anthem had been played on Goldman Sachs' trading floor. Are we still headed in that direction, or does it seem like business as usual still?

How Not to Marry

As I was cleaning out my Gmail account, I found this article written by Maureen Dowd. In a nutshell, it's what to look for in a potential spouse. Three years later, we are now graced with the Divorce Pages.

I'm just holding out hope for a guy in the tri-state area who is a good boyfriend. Even that seems like a rare commodity. Oy.

About Time

The City is planning to name a street after a fellow high school alumna (and the sister of my trainer) who was killed in 9/11. Finally something that hasn't been politicized and polarized. Just hope City Council doesn't crush it.