Apparently getting married makes me less of a liability

After getting married, not only did I change my name, but I also went about changing my marital status on any forms or accounts that I was already updating.

I knew that the change would come into play once we filed our 2012 taxes, but I didn’t figure on seeing any changes before that.

Enter Geico.

I’ve had car insurance with Geico for more than 2 years now, and I’ve always been happy enough with the monthly cost. I mean, sure, who doesn’t want to pay less? But my rates were comparable to those of friends, and it was certainly doable on my budget.

Then I changed my marital status, and Geico changed their rates. To $20 less a month!

Now, let me assure you that I recognize that $20 is not a huge amount of money. Even over the course of the year, it’s not the same type of savings that we’d get if we, say, cut out cable. But it’s not really the $20 that got me.

It’s the fact that the discount happened after I noted that I was married.

Does being married make me a more responsible driver? Does it make me less likely to speed or get into accidents?

Does it make other drivers less likely to hit me? I’m pretty sure there aren’t any drivers out there who start to gun it through a red light, see me in my Ford Focus, and think, “Shoot, I better be more careful. She looks married.”

I wonder, however, if they (Geico) are banking on a stereotype. Maybe they assume that because I’m married, I’m likely to drive less because my husband is likely to drive more. And if that’s the reasoning, they’re about 2 years behind schedule.

It’s true that I drive less, but I’ve been doing that since Husband was boyfriend, for one very simple reason: he doesn’t like my driving.

He doesn’t like my tendency to go with the flow of traffic, when traffic is flowing perhaps slightly faster than the posted limit.

He doesn’t like my tendency to take yellow lights for what they are – a warning that the light is about to change, so you better move quickly if you want to make it.

He doesn’t like my tendency to leave anything less than two car lengths between me and slowpoke in front of me.

And because I don’t like constant reminders of our different driving styles, I cede the driver’s seat.

I haven’t been keeping stats, but there are probably fewer disagreements in the car when he’s driving, as opposed to when I am. We probably also reach our destination anywhere from 30 to 45 minutes later.

So there you have it, Geico. If your plan was to reward me for driving less, then you’re a little behind the times.

But if you want to knock even more off that monthly rate, I’ll let Husband drive 100% of the time, instead of just 99%.

And I’ll make sure we leave at least a half hour earlier than planned.

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This is why I love racing in the fall

In the weeks leading up to the half-marathon (which was yesterday), I ran 9 times. Of those runs, only two were 6 miles or more – not even half of a half-marathon.

I basically did everything wrong when preparing for this race.

But still I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could beat my old time of 2:06:50. (Even though my pseudo-secret goal – before lack-of-training was obvious – was under 2 hours.)

So I suited up – complete with a pace band, to keep me on track – and thanked God for yesterday morning’s absolutely perfect running weather.

A recent injury kept Husband on the sidelines, but he biked around the course, looking for (and usually finding) me at certain mile markers. It became a game for me. I knew that the next time I saw him I’d be x% done with the course.

Nothing like a good math problem to distract from how tired your body is.

I was afraid that I’d started off too fast. Afraid that I hadn’t paced myself properly (even with the pace band on my wrist, spelling it out for me). I was afraid that I’d crash before hitting the finish line.

And I could have. Except for two things:

1. I knew that Husband was waiting at the finish line for me.
2. I could see from Guillermo that, if I could stay steady, I would achieve my secret goal – by a lot.

So I stayed steady and sprinted the last stretch.

And when I crossed the finish line – finding Husband immediately – Guillermo showed me that it was totally worth it, reading 1:53:58.

At the finish line – I really was happy, but the smile doesn’t quite make it to my eyes because I was about to fall over.

I beat my previous PR by more than 10 minutes, and I came in well under 2 hours.

As I wobbled over to the food and water, Husband was there to hold me up and tell me how proud he was. As well as (understandably) slightly surprised.

“You hardly trained for that! You really are a slave to the weather.“

He’s right. If there had been any humidity yesterday, I would have been a goner.

But there wasn’t.

So now I have a brand new PR, and one more thing to cross off my list.

*All photos courtesy of Husband. Thank you for finding me.

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Proof that first impressions can be overruled

A year ago today, I said yes. And it was exhilarating.

In the past year, that feeling has only amplified. I’m at the point where I want to sprint down the aisle, just so I get there faster.

(I won’t, though, because I don’t sprint well in heels.)

And it makes me laugh to think that if you had asked me four years ago whether or not I’d be marrying BNF, I would have responded: “Marry him? I don’t even like him!“

I first met BNF in 2008 while playing for my company softball team. He had missed the first couple games, but I’d heard about this supposedly amazing shortstop, so I was naturally curious.

During our first game together – him at short, me at second base – we had a chance early on to make a double play. The batter hit a grounder to BNF, and I quickly moved to cover second, prepared to then throw to first.

But the throw never came.

BNF decided to make the play himself, running over second and throwing to first.

(No one remembers, by the way, if the double play was made.)

I was furious. The shortstop I’d played with in BNF’s absence always threw the ball to me. In my mind, BNF must have thought that just because I’m a girl, I couldn’t handle it! The jerk!

Later on at the bar, I was sitting nearby when I heard him declare to the table, “The thing about women is…“

So I turned. “I have to hear this.“

“Hold on a second,” he told me. “How old are you?”

“22.”

“Okay. You don’t know anything.”

And just like that I thought, well, it’s a good thing I don’t have to hang out with him outside of softball!

Fast forward four years, and I can’t even imagine sprinting down the aisle to anyone else.

And it doesn’t hurt that he now throws the ball to me.

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Just a small weekend request

My dearest Phillies,

I have but one request for you this weekend, and it is simple: please do not get swept by the Nationals.

I understand that they’re looking pretty good so far. I can admit that Harper is fun to watch. And you’ll forgive me if I still have a soft spot for Jayson Werth and his beard.

I’ll use any excuse to put this photo in a post. Even if the facial hair isn’t current.

BUT you have to win this weekend – at least one game.

They’re trying to psych you out with this “Take Back the Park” campaign, but I think we all know that the fan ratio will still be in Philly’s favor.

And don’t you want to win for your traveling and transplant fans?

Now, I’ll be honest. It probably wouldn’t be my choice to have Kendrick facing off against Strasburg, but maybe you’ll surprise me. Maybe you’ll score the way you did against the Braves. Stranger things have happened. (See: Nationals in first place in the NL East.)

I also want to take a moment to apologize. I won’t be able to be at the games this weekend, because I’ll be back in the hometown (running Broad Street!) where you know that everyone will be rooting for you.

I will be cheering my little heart out, possibly with obscenities, depending on how everything unfolds.

So please, guys, please make me proud. I really only want to use obscenities in a happy way.

Love,

Elizabeth

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Only five days until summer

My semester is almost over.

In fact, I have just 13 pages left to write, for 2 papers, over the course of the next 4 days.

If you remember, last year I celebrated the end of fall semester finals with a trip to Puerto Rico. Admittedly, that would be hard to top. We left the morning after my last final, and spent just over a week relaxing on the beach.

This year, we’re leaving approximately seven hours after I turn my papers in and going to Argentina for two weeks!

Not only will it be warm – think low 80s – but I’ll also be able to check a few more things off my list: reading for pleasure, traveling abroad, and hablando español. Plus, I’ll get to meet more of BNF’s family!

When I went to Buenos Aires with Cla, we had a blast. We played tourist, shopped, ate, saw tango shows – and we did it all using my high school Spanish and a college friend we had down there.

We took a photo outside our favorite heladeria, so we'd remember where it was.

It was a learning experience.

This time, not only have I been practicing, but I also have BNF and his family to translate – or to at least repeat phrases a little bit slower.

If nothing else, I know that I can shop and order food on my own.

That has to count for something.

Now, just a few more days…

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Bang bang!

There’s always something satisfying about crossing an item off a to-do list. But there’s something especially satisfying when that item is #1.

On Saturday, we went Bang Bang. I’m pretty sure that’s what everyone at the shooting range was calling it. Or maybe it was just me, but that’s neither here nor there.

The short story is that I absolutely loved it.

The longer story starts with the observation that shooting ranges are surprisingly (to me) popular. We ended up waiting nearly two and a half hours for a lane to open up…then spent about an hour shooting once it was our turn. No wonder the line moves so slowly.

Between BNF and me, we shot 150 rounds using a 9mm. For a first-time user, I have to say the 9mm was pretty user friendly. I adjusted to the minor recoil fairly quickly and didn’t even mind when the casings bounced back and hit me in the head.

I realized, though, that this whole “aiming” thing is harder than it seems. For instance, take a look at this photo:

I felt like I was doing it right, but after I’d shot, we pulled the target back and BNF inspected it, then turned to me. “Wow! Almost all your shots landed right at the zombie’s head!“

“That’s great,” I told him. “But I was aiming for the girl!” (Not because I’m pro-zombie or anything, don’t be ridiculous. I just thought she was presenting a bigger target.)

Regardless, I did manage to get a few good shots off…

A combination of my shots and BNF's

…and I only knocked the target off once!

The blue guy on the ground was ours. Luckily, we had another blue guy to replace him with.

Next time – yes, there will be a next time – I’ll try something new. Maybe something a little bigger, with a little more boom. And maybe I’ll even aim for the zombie, though that doesn’t mean that his victim will come out unscathed.

Bottom line – I think the gun shop employee said it best, after seeing my reaction to initially being handed the weapon:

“Congratulations. It looks like you’ve just started an expensive new hobby.”

Indeed.

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Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father

When we were in Chicago, the day after the marathon, MJ and I got to chatting with a few other runners about past races they’d done and how they compared.

“Well,” one guy started, “I did the Marine Corps Marathon last year and Chicago’s spectators were way better. In DC all you get are bitchy Washingtonians sipping their lattes and cheering you on. It’s so annoying.“

“Really?” I responded. “Because we’re actually from DC* and did Marine Corps last year, too. And I have to tell you – Chicago’s spectators may have been more organized, but the signs in DC were far more creative. I loved the spectators at Marine Corps.”

It kind of took the wind out of his sails, which was part of the point. But the other, FAR more important part was that Marine Corps spectators are phenomenal. And this year – yesterday – they were even better.

I had a smile on my face nearly the entire time, thanks in part to signs like “You run better than Metro!” and, at Hains Point, “No sweat! It’s just the tip!” and also thanks to the Cheer Squad, consisting of Mama, Daddy (thank you both for coming down!), BNF, Vandy, and Nicstress.

BNF even managed to snap this photo as I ran by around mile 17.

Photo Credit: BNF

See that smile? I was having an amazing time. And I was feeling far better than I ever thought possible after running 17 miles.

That, plus seeing the Cheer Squad again at mile 20ish (sorry I missed your high five, Nicstress!), was enough to keep me motivated over the bridge, through Crystal City, and up to mile 25.

There I saw a sign that said “Accio finish line!” (a Harry Potter reference that thrilled me) and was able to push it just a little harder to meet BNF at 25.5. He finished the race with me, even doing the Iwo Jima hill again (even though he’d already done it once earlier in the 10K), pushing me the entire way.

And I’m so glad he did because now I have a brand new, shiny PR of 4:29:09! I took 5 minutes off my Chicago time, proving that temperature can make far more of a difference than elevation.

I might be shuffling today, and my knees are absolutely not happy with me, but it is so very worth it.

Everything about the race was amazing – especially the spectators. Truly, Chicago has nothing on you.

In three more weeks we’ll see how Philly stacks up. Two down, one to go!

Photo Credit: BNF

 *It’s a whole other debate about when you can actually say that you’re from DC. But for the purposes of this conversation, I felt it appropriate.

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Mission: accomplished OR My “fuck, yeah!” moment

I could sit here and tell you all the things I loved about Chicago this weekend. And it would be a long list because the weekend was amazing, and MJ and I had a blast being tourists. But the best part of the weekend was the reason we were there in the first place.

The Marathon.

About 6:30am...

About an hour later, as we near the starting mat

In my last marathon I finished in 4:56:29 – a new personal record for me, beating my old time by more than two minutes. When I set my new goal of 4:45 to 4:50, I felt it was a stretch because I remembered what the previous marathons felt like; it was as if I’d been pushing myself as much as humanly possible.

Turns out, that may not have been entirely accurate.

When MJ and I lined up Sunday morning, I could feel the butterflies, and I knew I wanted the 4:45.

As we crossed the start line, I felt stronger than ever. We wound through the streets of Chicago, passing through neighborhoods full of spectators and supporters. There was cheering and singing and high fives. And I’ve never been more grateful for the signs reading, “Way to go, complete stranger! You look great!“

I checked Guillermo each time I passed a mile marker, just to make sure I was staying on pace, and before I knew it I was building up a time-cushion. First it was just a couple minutes, and then by the half mark I realized that I was roughly 10 minutes ahead of where I should have been.

That knowledge, coupled with the encouraging texts from Mama, BNF, LB, and RB, was what kept me pushing through the end.

When other people were walking, I was getting messages along the lines of, “Run like Tony DiNozzo is watching!” How could I not get a little kick in my step?

In a race like this you can feel the energy of the finish line before you see it. The crowds get thicker, the cheering gets louder, and you find the reserves you thought you’d already depleted. And when I felt that, I sprinted.

When I crossed the finish line, Guillermo was practically beaming back at me.

Official time: 4:34:25.

Official feeling: Fuck yeah! (Followed quickly by the thought of – dear God, how am I going to do this again in just three weeks?)

Who knows – maybe the runner’s high will last until Marine Corps.

But even if it doesn’t, Guillermo and I will always have Chicago.

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The opposite of a green thumb

At the Teeter, looking at the flowers:

BNF: You know, those roses I got you are holding up really well.

Me: I know! I’m surprised they’ve lasted so long.

BNF: Um…you know I’ve been changing the water, right?

Me: Oh! No, I had no idea. I was just really impressed that they still look so good!

BNF: Yeah, I know how women in your family take care of plants. As in…they don’t. They kill them.

That is unfortunately accurate.

Sorry, Mama. With the exception of the spider plant, you know he’s right.

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Being greedy

My dearest Phillies,

You know I love you, right? And you should know how proud I am of you for a) clinching the National League East, b) clinching the National League record, and c) currently having the best record in all of baseball. These are not small feats, and I understand that. But you’ve set the bar high for me these past few years, and now I need you to live up to it.

There is no question that 98 wins is an accomplishment, but think how awesome 100 would be! And even better than that? 102. I know you can eclipse the current franchise record. I know you can.

Honestly, I thought you’d at least be at 100 by now. No one counted on you getting swept by the Nationals. And I’m not happy about that, but maybe you just needed to get it out of your system. I’d rather it happen now than later.

There are six games left for you to show the Mets and the Braves why you’re going to the postseason and they’re not. (Well, at least one isn’t. But it’ll be two if St. Louis has anything to say about it.)

The point is this: please win. Please play like the team that I know you are. Play like the team that clinched its postseason spot before anyone else and has the best pitching rotation in the game. Play like the best team in the league.

I promise that I’ll love you no matter what.

You should know, though, that not living up to your full potential could earn you a spot on my shit list. Kendrick, you know what that’s like.

But I will still love you.

Your biggest fan,

Elizabeth

P.S. The next time you pop champagne in the clubhouse, can I please come? I’m really good at celebrations.

Just think about it.

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