Thank God That's Over

Another year has come and gone.  It feels like each year passes faster than the previous, and in 2014's case I'm glad that it's over.  There were many ups and downs, trials and travails to struggle through.  It was not all down, and the troughs definitely helped me appreciate the bright spots and fun times with cherished friends and loved ones. In the past 12 months, I lost a friend/lover, my aunt, dad's cousin, and three former coworkers.  Throwing my back and my neck out right before the marathon was a double whammy that wounded my confidence and added five pounds to my midsection.  My problems are not as bad as others', and I know I should not complain.  It was also hard for some of my friends, with bad breakups and divorces thrown in the mix.  I think the ball drop this morning was a sigh of relief for many who fought through the curveballs life threw at us.

For the life of my home search, it seemed like my dream of finding a "big-girl" house would never be realized.  A year ago, I still hadn't closed, and even the closing was a nailbiter until the bitter end.  That experience taught me that having a strong advocate are absolutely key.  After that, the daunting task of renovating and decorating seemed to drag on.  At first I thought that painting and sprucing up would bring me and TT back together.  Unfortunately, it often felt like the apartment was more important than our relationship.  As a result, our separation turned into a full breakup, and I had to find a painter on a moment's notice.  Getting the other work done went from "two weeks" to three months when my contractor took a three-week-turned-five-week vacation.  There are still a few items I need to take care of, like a living room light fixture (and according to my mother, blinds in the sun parlor should be my highest priority).  The waterbugs have also diminished, although I've had two waterbugs get trapped in my bathroom light fixture and die - yech.  It feels like the apartment will always be a work in progress, but it's finally at a point where I can sleep, eat, cook, watch TV, work, and have friends over.  It's my sanctuary, my nest, my little slice of peace.

That peace has been desperately needed when I found myself single again.  Living at home again became very stressful.  Downsizing from an already small studio apartment to my childhood bedroom was very stifling, as well as navigating through my family's stuff and cope with the house breaking down piece by piece.  Having somewhere else to live couldn't have come at a better time.  It also became apparent this year more than ever that my parents are aging, and instead of leaning on them for help I now have to give them that support.  This very much hit home during my aunt's declining health and at her funeral.  During that experience I had to have strength to support my parents during their grieving.  In other areas, I had to put my big girl pants on and take on more things alone.  Instances like that made me wish I had a partner just to hold my hand, and I missed TT a lot.  The training wheels are off, I have to ride the bike myself now.  After my fall in Croatia and the month of agony while my forearms recovered, that is terrifying for me.

I'm grateful to have come out the other side stronger and in a better place.  Through many of these tough situations, I sought the humor and the positive side as well as a lesson.  My goal to face life with equanimity helped me ride the rough surf this year.  If I could name a resolution for this year, it would be fearlessness to continue pushing myself out of my comfort zone and tackle things that scare me.

May 2015 bring you the realization of your wildest dreams.

Dobrodošli u Hrvatsku!!

Everyone has been asking about my trip to Croatia in July. It has taken me a long time to get all my thoughts down mainly because I may have an exciting opportunity related to my trip. More on that when the time is right. For now, here's the short-short version:

Go. To. Croatia.

It's friendly, safe, relaxing, delicious, stunning, and less expensive than other parts of Western Europe.

Traveling solo, which I was encouraged to do by everyone except my mother, was treated strangely over there. Sometimes it allowed me too much time to think about stuff from which I was trying to distract myself.It was especially hard when I fell off my bike. You don't appreciate how much you use your forearms until turning a key or getting dressed is excruciating.

Despite the pain and the loneliness, I loved it. Would do it again, in a heartbeat. Book your trip before it is overrun with Russians, hipsters, and other undesirable tourists.

Cold Shower, Warm Memories

While the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge was intended to drum up support for research to find a cure for amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS for short, commonly known in the United States as Lou Gehrig's Disease), it has generated a host of mixed reactions.  Many have posted videos of themselves enthusiastically dumping large buckets of ice water over their heads and challenging others to do the same.  There has been a smattering who are sick of these videos clogging their Facebook and Instagram feeds. Others think charitable giving should be a private matter.  Some have even cited the disparity between donations to research organizations, which have spiked for ALSA since the challenge went viral, versus the number of deaths in the US from various ailments.  Pamela Anderson even went as far as to withhold her donation and instead challenge those conducting ALS research to halt animal testing.

I can see all sides of this scenario, although it baffles me why people would discourage any form of charitable activity or awareness building.  A few weeks ago I posted my own video, which I have since taken down because I didn't like how I looked and sounded.  My motivation to participate was not for recognition or trendfollowing but heartfelt.  

Just over six months ago, I lost someone very dear to me from ALS.  We first met at a training class for newly promoted Consultants and clicked instantly.  Yes, we were dipping quills in company ink, but our home offices were separated by the Atlantic Ocean and we were on assignments across the country from each other.  He was more than a colleague and occasional romantic interest, over time he became a good friend, confidante, and fellow funseeker.  

In September 2009 he was diagnosed, a month after the last time we were together in New York.  During the past four years I kept up with him on Facebook and Google Talk, sending pictures of travels and marathon medals.  When I knew I would be in Europe I would reach out to try to coordinate a visit, but between doctors vists, trips to Ayurvedic clinics in India, and bucket list vacations, we were not able to connect.  

The avid surfer, globetrekker, and guitar player I knew and loved became confined to a wheelchair, then lost the ability to speak, eat, and move.  Towards the end he would sleep with a ventilator and "type" with a special keyboard using his eyes.  He never lost his sense of humor.  Sometimes I wonder if he hesitated from seeing me because he wanted me to remember him before his diagnosis.  

Sadly, I did not get to see him before he left the earth.  His personality shone through at his funeral, where he asked close friends to "pimp his coffin" with photos of happier times. He had selected music as diverse as "Redemption Song", "Purple Rain", All Along the Watchtower", and "Lose Yourself to Dance".  I often found myself smiling through tears and thinking of that mischievous smile.  It blew my mind that he came to terms with his imminent mortality and was able to plan every detail of the memorial.  Now, when I hear a song that reminds me of him, or look at photos from one of our adventures, I laugh and feel a little wistful because I know his spirit is with me at that moment.

I wore a "patriotic" bikini top in my video in his honor.  Why did I do this, if not to give you lovers of the female figure something to ogle? When we first met, he asked me if American girls wear flag bikinis on spring break, to which I responded that I had never even seen one.  Sure enough, weeks later I texted him a photo of a mannequin in said bathing suit at a local boutique.   So I embarassed myself on Facebook to celebrate his thirty-eight-year life, keep the happy and playful memories alive, and tell a story of how ALS can impact not just the afflicted but also those around them.  

This is not meant to spur you to open your wallets or fill a bucket and ruin your clothes and your hair with it.  If anything, I hope you have learned a little bit more about this disease, gained a little more compassion for those who slowly and agonizingly slip away from their bodies as a result, and are inspired to reach out to your loved ones and make some happy memories of your own before it's too late. 

Finding Common Ground: SCOTUS Hobby Lobby Decision

There's been a whole swirl about the SCOTUS Hobby Lobby decision that compelled me to put some slightly disjointed thoughts down on the keyboard. I originally posted this on Facebook and got a bajillion comments, all very well-thought out and civil.  That gave me some hope.  As stable as we are politically that controversial occurrences like these do not devolve into rioting and senseless death, we seem to have lost our mutual respect and ability to debate an issue without resorting to personal attack and bloviating.  At least, I'm sure that's what space aliens must think from watching the plethora of news discussion shows that bombard us.  For whatever reason, the ability of Americans to find common ground.  I generally steer clear from wading into the cesspool of politically charged arguments and try to avoid wearing my politics on my sleeve/Facebook wall.  My preference is to deliberately consider all sides and have an intelligent discussion rather than get into shouting matches with people who refuse to listen to a carefully considered argument.  A good friend of mine whose writing I highly regard encouraged me to publish these thoughts as an op-ed.  Without ranting or being overtly partisan, here's some food for thought for those of you on both sides of the aisle:
1. Many women are prescribed oral contraceptives for medical reasons like severe cramps, ovarian cysts, endometriosis, premenstrual dysmorphia, etc. Many of these are serious conditions that are alleviated by the pill, allowing those afflicted to improve their health and potentially prevent losing their reproductive organs and therefore their fertility. I would hope that someone who is truly Christian would not jump to a conclusion that a woman on the pill does so simply for "recreational behavior" as Sen Lee from Utah stated, and would have compassion for someone's suffering.
2. Many married people use birth control, not just singles. Face facts, being able to plan a family by more reliable means than "the rhythm method" can be beneficial for both spouses. It's one of the factors that has allowed developed nations to achieve the prosperity they currently enjoy.
3. If you don't like Hobby Lobby's business practices, vote with your wallet and your feet. It is a for-profit company. Hit it where it hurts: don't work, shop nor invest there. There are many companies out there that have different policies. That's the beauty of living in one of the largest economies in the world. Do your homework. And if you agree, you are free to patronize them. Let the free markets sort it out.
4. Hobby Lobby invests in pharma companies that produce oral contraception. So it's ok to make money off of them, but not to allow employees to make a private decision with their doctor to use them. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone....
5. The four contraceptives in question are not proven scientifically to prevent implantation and work to prevent fertilization instead. Therefore they are not technically abortifacients. There is still the potential for implantation after taking these drugs if conception has occurred.  Yes, many people (including myself) believe that a life begins at the moment of conception.  Ask anyone struggling with IVF or other infertility treatment, and they will tell you that a fertiilized egg still has a difficult journey ahead between implantation and gestation to become truly "viable" 
6. Yes, the decision is structurally correct in the spirit of the interpretation of the law.  Judge Alito states that “it seems unlikely” that publicly held “corporate giants” would make religious liberty claims. However, his majority decision has kicked open the floodgates ifor a potential deluge of claims of religious freedom and violation of the RFRA by corporations on any number of hot button issues-vaccines, domestic partnerships, blood transfusion, organ transplantation, etc. It's a slippery slope. It's potentially good business for the appellate lawyers who argue these cases, but it could lead to a huge waste in taxpayer dollars for these cases to be heard.  It also raises concerns on where a corporate body's religious liberties end and an individual employee's begin.  Will we as a society become one where only Catholics work for Catholics, evangelicals for evangelicals, etc.?  It frightens me that we may self-segregate the way some neighborhoods in cities like Mumbai have.  One of the things I am proudest of living here is that people here are free to pray (or not) in whatever way they please, and we are all jumbled together.  

FInding the Wave

> You are lost.

The past few months have felt as if I'm stuck in one of those MS-DOS-era computer games, where no matter where you go you don't get very far.  After the stress of closing, TT and I attempted to repair our relationship while painting my new place - his Christmas gift to me.  It was a nice gesture that started off great but soon devolved into our complete breakup.  I ended up scrambling to find a painter, scouring Houzz for paint color inspiration, and hiring a contractor for a two-week job that dragged out over almost three months.  It's been challenging to juggle work, renovations, eating, sleeping, and having a semblance of a life.  That plus the horrendous winter that wouldn't go away and feeling meh meant that I have not been working out as much or eating as well as I should.  It has been a struggle to motivate, even though I have registered for races and surprisingly pulled out some good numbers relative to past performance. Sometimes I imagine how well I could have done if I had hit training harder, but it is what it is. While some people struggle to get out of bed, I have found it difficult to do more than veg in front of the TV until I pass out in the evening, contact lenses desiccating against my eyeballs in the morning.  

It seems now, two weeks before I hit a milestone birthday, things are turning a corner.  Renovation is complete, furniture is arriving (and breaking and getting repaired), and the bedroom, guestroom with small bathroom, and kitchen are open for business.  Finally I have peace and quiet, besides the sound of the 1920's elevator.  In May I completed the New York Cycle Club C SIG, which was a big achievement for me.  There have been some other things going on that have been rough (not sharing), but I'm doing my best to provide others the support they need to move through it.  There are so many things for which I feel grateful, and even though it feels like something is missing without a lover and companion, I'm doing my best to make the best out of my newfound freedom and enjoy experiences.  My philosophy has been evolving, in that I'm trying to treat life like waiting for a good wave and riding it out when it hits.  

Which reminds me, I am due for another surfing lesson......

Пусть начнутся игры

The torch has been lit in Sochi, kicking off another sixteen days of competition and nationalistic pride.  Athletes are realizing their dreams and are challenged to transcend what was assumed impossible, give their all, and rise above the rest.  It is a sad consequence of our current geopolitical state that they also must overcome living conditions less comfortable then they may be accustomed, threats of terrorist violence, and conflicting feelings on whether they should be participating.

After studying Russian language and visiting almost six years ago, I have an appreciation for their contributions to humanity's collective culture.  Besides the literature and music, one can draw much inspiration for the sheer grit and strong will it must have taken to survive all-out siege during World War II. Would I return right now?  Nope.  Putin has not warmed to me in his many years of influence or direct rule over the nation, and it baffles me why he would select a city better suited as a summer resort for a winter games site.  It seems that the billions spent manufacturing and storing snow would have been better spent improving the living conditions for the surrounding areas.  Russia was not the most traveler-friendly place on my original trip, and the crackdowns on personal freedoms seem to have made the country less welcoming.  This goes beyond the anti-homosexual propaganda law and the arrests of protestors.  Mikhail Khodorkovsky, who wrote a phenomenal editorial during his ten-year prison sentence, plainly stated that Russian society will stagnate and likely die if it fails to innovate and evolve with modern times.  Part of evolving is allowing freedom of thinking, even if the opinions are not always aligned.  Groupthink is a very dangerous and often fatal condition.

Does this mean we should disengage and not participate in the Games?  Hardly.  It's understandable not to outlay the cash for a visa, plane ticket, accommodations and sporting events.  However, I still want to watch.  The athletes representing my home as well as many other countries deserve the opportunity to set politics aside and go for gold.  We should not punish individuals for the sins of governmental bodies.  Moreover, the strategy of many nations to subtly protest - the US cadre of openly gay athletes and sports commentators, Alexei Sobelev's Pussy Riot-inspired snowboard deck, Greek athletes wearing gloves with rainbow fingers during the opening ceremony - can keep the conversation going and have more of an impact than turning off the television set.   It is my sincere hope that the gathering of people from across the globe in the spirit of sportsmanship and goodwill may nudge the Russian Federation and perhaps other nations towards more openness, tolerance for diversity, and peace.

Closing Time

After much drama, I am now the proud owner of a two-bedroom, two-bathroom pre-war apartment in Queens.  This was my second go-around in the real estate market and was markedly much more stressful than buying my studio.  Part of it could probably be attributed to the stricter rules on financing coupled with cooperative quirkiness, and some of it had to do with the incompetence and ridiculousness of some of the players involved.  Since I don't have anything nice to say about many of those involved, I will give a shout-out to my phenomenal real estate agent Zhanna.  She goes above and beyond the call of duty for her clients and has talked me off the ledge a couple of times with this transaction.  She's rented out my first apartment and is also my accountant.  I don't think I would have gotten through this without her.

Over the past weekend TT and I started renovations.  It feels very overwhelming at first, but we are doing it bit by bit.  We have been getting along really well too, so that is making the process less traumatic for me.  Definitely better than when he's tried to help me clean my room.

More details and pictures soon, I need to decompress a bit from the experience.  Email me for the new mailing address!!

This video brings back memories of last call out at the bars while at college.  Sigh, simpler times....

Laughing at Myself

It does not feel like ten years has passed since I first started blogging about my adventures in far-flung places. This blog started as a response to a friend who jokingly told me I should have a website keeping everyone up to date on where I am at any given time.  It has evolved into more than just a vacation log, and it now includes race reports, random stuff I find, relationship venting, and the occasional profound musing.  

In many ways my life has felt not so much like a stream but more like a class-III rapids.  There have been ups and downs, definitely over the past few years, and this year has been no different.  We always try to plan, maneuver, change, tweak, and hope that if we just do this one thing life will be better, it will be different, it will be amazing.  This year it truly hit me, like the anvil in the Wil E. Coyote cartoons, that no matter what you set out to do, shit is going to happen.  There was very clear evidence of this in the delays to close on my new apartment.  No matter how many hoops I jumped through to keep the process moving, regardless of how accommodating I was to deliver, I have to pay a fairly fee to extend my mortgage interest rate because someone else did not deliver on time.  The seller refuses to reimburse me even though I feel this delay is a product of his broker's disorganization.  I have dropped more f-bombs in the past week than in the previous six months combined.  Now before you write me off as being defeatist, I have not thrown in the towel and eschewed all of my goals and ambitions out of frustration with other people's ridiculousness.  If I really wanted to, I could have found a way to get out of the contract.  Quite the contrary, I am pushing through.  If all goes well, I will own my second home within 7 days.  And I'm just getting started....

I have decided to practice equanimity through humor in 2014.  Rather than get all wound up, stressed, and pissed off at the various curveballs thrown my way, I resolved to stare BS in the face, blink a couple times, and then bust out laughing.  Why the heck should I raise my blood pressure and decrease my life expectancy because someone else sucks?!  No way.  Now, I know this may not be the easiest task, and there are some people whom I won't be able to guffaw in their face.  I also acknowledge that my nerves may get the best of me and I won't find much to laugh about.  The key is, I will practice flexing this humor muscle until it is much stronger and becomes a more habitual part of my life.  I'd also like to finally kick my bike anxiety once and for all, but maybe part of that will be to laugh when I feel afraid instead of bursting into tears or dry heaving. If I can stay good-humored when the fit hits the shan, I hope it will help me stay focused and consistent on the things I truly care about.

Thanks for keeping me company over these ten years.  I have appreciated having those of you out there share my journey, especially those of you I have met along the way who found your way to this page and chose to email me.  Have a wonderful 2014, may you have many good times as well as a few good laughs from the blips along the way.  Go have some Champagne and celebrate!

Xoxov

A Tale of Two Marathons

A marathon is a marathon, right?  No way!  The 26.2-mile distance is not one size fits all.  The experience varies depending on so many factors - course scenery, race organization, weather, you name it.  The same race can be awesome or a death march depending on the year.  With that in mind, imagine running two marathons within three weeks of each other.  Not exactly the wisest race planning on my part, but the point was not necessarily beating my personal best, although I did in one race.  I ended up learning a lot about myself in the process.

Buenos Aires was meant to be a fun race.  It was supposed to allow me to eat and drink whatever I wanted while in Argentina.  Having run outside the US, I was prepared for a more no-frills experience, and the expo definitely had less swag than others.  The custom t-shirt printing and photo booths were really nice touches tho.  We all have some nice memories from the day.  There is also minimal pomp and circumstance on race morning.  We were able to take pictures on the winner's podium, which probably would have gotten us arrested in New York, but otherwise you are on your own for refreshments,

If you're going to run a race in South America, it really helps to speak and read Spanish.  The website is not translated well, and it helps to compare with the Spanish pages.  Moreover, there are some English speakers, but it is so much easier to get around in the native tongue.  We also warmed up with a bunch of Chileans, and those of us who understand Spanish were able to follow along with the coach's affirmations - "You all have earned the right to be here!"

First half of Buenos Aires is pretty cool.  Big boulevards, nice neighborhoods, some spectating.  It helped that a fellow English-speaker ran with me for the first half of the race.  He was an Aussie who used to live in New York, so we had much to discuss that helped the first 21.1k pass quickly.  This all changes around the halfway mark.  There was a fire off to the right as we hung a left through La Boca that we later found out was a Molotov cocktail that destroyed someone's house.  Running under a highway through illegal squats was pretty depressing.  Children waved at us, but the adults did not seem pleased we were running through their backyard.  Otherwise there were no spectators, which is expected near a marsh and next to the commercial shipyard.  Those spectators that were there only seemed to care about their friends, though our USA t-shirts probably didn't help.  At some point there was no shade either, and for the last 10k the sun came out.  Add to that no more water and refreshments at the later kilometers for my compatriots, which is pretty poor.  I managed to squeak out a 9-minute PR, but then trying to find a bus or a cab was sheer torture.  Between traffic and crowding, I'm lucky I located my friends and made it back to the hotel intact.  Lesson learned: arrange post-race transportation ahead of time.  The consomme they prepared for us back at the hotel hit the spot, and post-race steak and Cabernet filled us all up.

New York is a whole other story.  Weekly emails, multilingual support, advertising, massive spectating, the New York Marathon is an Event, capital E, like no other.  It spoils you for most other races.  Plus it's my hometown so I was guaranteed to know racers and spectators.  Having already had a good marathon, and having slacked off in my training after Argentina, I wanted to focus on having fun and just taking it all in.  The Javits Center is about 20 times the size of the BA expo, and NYRR really outdid themselves to make this year even more fantastic.  Getting there is an easy subway ride, and you don't have to speak English.  My aunt even let me crash at her place the night before which saved me so much time.  Getting to Staten Island was a bit stressful as I just missed getting on my ferry, but there was another.  I ended up having plenty of time to get ready on the other side and was able to hang with friends and take pictures.  The energy is palpable in the waiting areas, especially as prior waves take off.  And then in the blink of an eye, you peel off your old clothes and make your way over the Verrazano.  The wind ripped the electrical tape right off my chest within a mile.  Plus you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a police helicopter.  No one was getting away with any funny business.  Brooklynites had a lot of spirit, and I gave out my first hugs about an hour and a half into the race.  It was so awesome to see old friends out there, really kept me going.  Having my phone and texting spectators made a big difference and didn't slow me down.  I made sure to give out big hugs.  Even Hasidic Williamsburg, thought modestly silent, had a decent amount of spectators.  I also had phenomenal splits heading to the 59th St Bridge (sorry Ed Koch, I refuse to change).  My joints started to creak once I hit First Avenue from the headwinds and the cold.  No more PR.  Though I was still excited to see friends, I slowed down a lot and had to stop and stretch very frequently.  I think I even cried a few times from the pain.  At one point I ran into an acquaintance alongside Central Park, and his response to my lamentation was, "Of course it's going to hurt, you're running a marathon!"  My parents were waiting for me at mile 25, which gave me another boost to keep going.  Somehow, I made it across the finish line.  While the Hospital for Special Surgery swag bags were great, the death march to the exit was awful.  The moaning and groaning on the way out of the park corroborated how I felt.  My early exit couldn't have come soon enough!  How my parents thought I'd be able to get to the east side, I have no idea, and it took them forever to get to the west side.  I was really upset to find out once I moved west that I did not get an early exit poncho.  Grrrrr!  Despite all that, the New York Marathon was an awesome experience, and I'm proud to have taken part.

Having my friends and family along the way was awesome, which only reinforced what I know I need in my own life.  Also, it really hit me that I do need to work a bit harder to make my goals a reality, plan better and be more consistent.  It's OK for me to prioritize training and relaxation, and it's not something I should shunt to the side for a deadline or someone else's change of plans.  Most of all, it's OK to not have a solid measurable goal and to just enjoy the moment.  I would like to run faster, but to just be able to run this year and have the race happen, was enough in the end for me.

No llorer por mi, Argentina

If Spain and Italy were to have a lovechild and stash it far away from the Continent, Argentina would be the fruit of their loins.  It's very Euro-feeling, with the buildings and the wide boulevards, even the Spanish has the cadence and expressiveness of Italian.  For my first trip to South America, I thought another foreign marathon would be appropriate.  Maybe not the best idea leading up to NYC, but I threw race planning prudence to the wind and went for it.  Four of us (was supposed to be five) set out to run Evita's streets and enjoy the sights, sounds, and flavors along the way.
Pro tip - do NOT exchange money through official means or use a credit card.  Rather, find someone who will trade you dollars for pesos at almost twice the posted rate.  It makes a huge difference and is so much more affordable.
Carb-loading before the race was not ideal.  For a country with so many Italian immigrants, there is hardly any produce to be found on a menu.  Our usual meals consisted of steak and some form of potatoes.  Boy was it fabulous.  Our first stop once settled into the hotel was La Cabrera.  Empanadas were out of this world, so good that one of my traveling companions took some to go for her red-eye flight back home.  As we would soon discover, requesting the steaks be cooked "a punto" cooks the steak much more than the American palate prefers.  We also had good steaks post-race (more on that later) at Lo De Jesus, although service could have been a bit friendlier and intestines (chinchulines) are not "tripe".  Hands-down, the best steak we had was at La Brigada in San Telmo.  When we finally discovered that ordering steaks "jugoso" was the way to go, the waiter was able to cut our order with a spoon.  Like buttah, I tell you....
Tango is a really sexy dance.  However, it's not pornographic sport-shtupping, there's a plot, and it's not always romantic and loving.  Rather, there is an undercurrent of angry passion, longing, sadness, melancholy.  This comes out in spades at Rojo Tango at the Hotel Faena.  Amazing stuff, made me want to learn how to tango.  As our luck would have it, Steven Tyler was also at the show while in town for a concert, and after the show he had the pleasure of meeting the cast and posing for pictures.  The Puerto Madero area is much newer and swankier (read: more expensive) than other parts of Buenos Aires, but the show and our pre-theater dinner at Osaka were definitely well worth it.
I could feel some of the sadness that oozes out of the tango while walking around town.  La Recoleta Cemetary felt a bit creepy, with coffins exposed within the mausoleums rather than being sealed behind concrete or stone.  Outside the burial site, the political graffiti and demonstrations near the Casa Rosada and the murals that decorate the otherwise bleak La Boca made you feel that the wounds from La Guerra Sucia and prior have not fully healed.  However, this does give the city some soul and prevents it from feeling like any other place. Having a lomo de cerdo sandwich from a sidewalk parrilla that cost the equivalent of $3 is incredible, especially for the quality.  I hope Buenos Aires does not get too trendy and overpriced.
Mendoza was a nice respite after the race and usual hustle and bustle of life.  Despite obnoxious ticket prices on Aerolineas Argentinas (nice work creating a state monopoly, Kirschner), Entre Cielos was the ideal place to relax in between wine tours.  Rest was definitely what we needed after a marathon, steak meals at least twice a day, and then three wineries per day, which the hotel graciously set up.  M and I took advantage of the hotel's hammam, which involved several Turkish bath treatments before a massage.  How heavenly t odo nothing but relax and be pampered.  We ended up visiting Achaval Ferrer, Finca Decero, Septima, Catena Zapata, Ruca Malen, and Vina Cobos.  The landscape is stunning, and while the surrounding areas are not posh like in some American winegrowing regions, it still had incredibly charm.  Brindillas is a phenomenal restaurant, serving a beautiful tasting menu with impeccable service.  While the food was equally as good at Francis Mallman 1884, the maitre'd was a bit rude (aparently our reservation was misbooked but he insisted that reservations cannot be changed) and the service was just OK.
Before our trek home, one of M's colleagues took us for a boat ride on Rio de la Plata, and we floated our way through El Tigre.  The spring weather was perfect for a day on the water and was a nice closing for our South American adventure.  I'm looking forward to exploring more....

Sardegnaaaaah

Most people have never heard of Sardinia.  The majority of visitors are Italian, so it is somewhat off the beaten path from an American perspective.  Maybe when Anthony Bourdain visited with his wife did it get some attention, although I'd be willing to be most people couldn't find it on a map (it's west of Italy, just south of Corsica).  It's a place I've been dying to see, and it coincided well with TT's Eurotrip with two friends and his cousin.  Convincing them did not take much work, especially since I speak proficient Italian.

My cousin recommended renting a car and taking the auto-ferry.  While this was an interesting experience, I wouldn't do it again.  For starters, TT's choice to decline a GPS coinciding with his cousin's tablet not being able to get turn-by-turn directions delayed us an hour leaving Rome for Civitavecchia, and resulted in much strife. Lesson learned : 55 euros is worth every penny when reducing travel-induced stress.  If we had known that we could have camped out on the ferry, we wouldn't have booked a cabin.  However, seeing the stars over the Meditterranean was a beautiful sight.  It's not often you get to see that many twinkling bodies living in the city.

Olbia is about an hour drive to Santa Teresa Gallura.  While not as glitzy and overrun as Costa Smeralda, it still attracts a good number of tourists.  I stumbled across a cute B&B on Tripadvisor called Domus de Janas.  We had such a great time staying with them.  The proprietors both speak English and are very pleasant.  Our daily breakfast had a lovely assortment of fruit, pastries, homemade preserves, and espresso. Guests have access to two roof terraces, which adds to the experience.  I'm so glad I stumbled across it in my webtrolling.

The local beach is gorgeous - Rena Bianca is packed for a reason.  None of the other beaches really compared to it.  We drove within half an hour to find some of the others and had mixed experiences.  Rena di Matteu required a bit of a hike on some sandy hills, and on the way back to the car I stubbed my toe on a rock and had to hobble with a bloody foot.  Luckily it didn't get infected.  The previous day, when we tried to find the beach, we ended up further down at Cala Pischina, where we had made camp next to washed-up WWII ordnance.  This only became apparent to us when the carabinieri, the forest police, and the military all showed up to remove it.  After that, we stuck to Rena Bianca.

There were some decent restaurants in Santa Teresa Gallura.  I got to try horsemeat and wild boar cold cuts.  Fresh fruit was also quite good.  The real highlight was dining at the nearest agriturismo in Saltara.  We stuffed ourselves silly with pasta, homemade salumi and cheese, and the famous porcheddu.  The house red wine, served cold in pitchers, was awesome.  Our innkeeper couldn't recommend a good local winery, but this was good enough.

My only regret was not staying longer here.  We had such a pleasant time between the beach, local food, and just general relaxation.  Despite some of the logistical difficulties, it was worth the journey off the well-beaten tourist trap paths in Europe.  Buon viaggio!

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