More evidence as to how uncoordinated I am

I have seen other women do it. I know it can be done.

I just cannot figure out how to gracefully ride my bike while carrying my purse.

Now, I get it. That’s what backpacks are for. But sometimes a girl gets tired of lugging around a backpack, and on a day she doesn’t have class, she just wants the minimal amount of stuff with her.

I think I knew as soon as I got on the bike that I’d made a mistake. But I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to be stubborn enough to try it anyway.

The first few blocks were wobbly at best.

• I tried putting the bag on my shoulder. It slipped.

• I tried sitting up straighter. Still not helpful.

• I contemplated sitting the bag in front me, kind of on the handlebars. And I almost fell over just thinking about it.

Eventually, I thought I’d found a winner. I was holding the bag in my right hand, so that it was hanging parallel to the bike. Or so I thought.

But if it had been truly parallel, I wouldn’ t have heard sounds like chhhhhhshhhh. Eeeeieieieieie. Oh, yes. Those are the sounds you hear when your purse gets caught in your wheel. Or, more specifically, between the fork and the wheel.

And this is what happens:

It looked worse before I cleaned up all the dirt/grease/gunk. Kind of like when you get cut and there’s blood everywhere, but the cut itself isn’t so big. Exactly like that.

So, on the one hand, I know this doesn’t look awful, but on the other, this bag was a gift from the boyfriend’s mom, and I’d really like to get it fixed before I see her again.

I’d also like to figure out how other women manage this feat. Seriously, there must be some sort of balancing trick I can learn. I can’t afford to have all of my bags looking bike-chewed.

Maybe on the way home I’ll just try wearing it around my neck.

Classy.

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“Are these not my comfortable heels?”

I’ve been in the DC area for a few years now, and there’s one thing that I’d never managed to do – until last night. I’ve either been busy, or it’s been rainy (or both), but I finally made it out to the High Heel Drag Race.

And the costumes did not disappoint.

The duos posed:

As did Snooki:

And, of course, it wouldn’t be DC without a political statement:

But this was, by far, the most elaborate costume I saw:

You don’t run in a dress like this. You strut. All the way down 17th Street.

The race itself was awesome. Believe you me, I can appreciate how hard it is to run in heels.

But the strutting. Well, the strutting is what made it fantastic.

P.S. Four days ’til the marathon! Please keep sending any motivational songs that come to mind!

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Warrior Dash – Show and Tell

Well hello there.

To say that October has been a busy month would be an understatement. In the two and a half weeks since I last updated there has been marathon training (6 more days!), some disappointing baseball (go Rangers…), a couple birthdays, a couple races, and a whole lotta midterms. The stress levels shot through the roof and it looks as though they’ll hang out there until, oh, December or so.

That said, there’s something I’ve been wanting to share with you, and time is finally on my side. One of the races that we did earlier this month was the aptly titled Warrior Dash.

I thought it would be similar to Run Amuck, last year, but it surpassed all my expectations.

The course is little more than 3 miles, depending on which location you’re at, and filled with obstacles. There were hay bales to jump, cargo nets to climb, and a freezing lake in which to wade and roll over logs in order to cross. And that’s all before the mud pit and the fire.

Let me show you.

This is what we looked like when we started:

(Our outfits are tame compared to what some people came up with.)

This was the end result:

The next-to-last obstacle was a mud pit with barbed wire strung over the top, so you had to crawl. Or get snagged. Your choice. Spectators were hassling runners who were trying to stay “clean” and booing those who just waded into the pit. So there was only one thing do to – dive head first:

The boyfriend chose the bellyflop route, but either way, we were all all in:

And because the mud pit wasn’t enough of a challenge, there were two rows of fire to jump over before finally crossing the finish line:

Talk about earning your medal.

I’ve never been so happy while covered in mud:

And because of the festival-esque atmosphere, we actually hung out for a while after we finished – listening to the band, having a couple drinks, and scoping out the rest of the costumes – to help plan for next year.

Note: ALL photo credits go to Memo who played photographer/mom/awesome spectator as we ran. And next year, she’ll be joining us.

Anyone else interested?

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Third time’s the charm

Turns out, I was lucky. In my third water skiing outing, not only did my bathing suit stay on, but I managed to get up and stay up for at least a minute. But it felt like MUCH longer.

As promised, here’s the proof:

I don’t know if you can tell, but that look on my face when I finally got up? That’s pure shock. Like when a baby takes its first steps and realizes he’s not falling. I was that surprised.

And, despite the helpful yells from the boat to bend my knees, my legs are still completely rigid. My thought process at the time wasn’t, Okay, nice and easy, bend your legs. It was more along the lines of, Holy shit! You got up! Don’t fall! Followed closely by, Stop pulling on the bar; just use it for balance. Balance, Liebchen-san.

I started to get a little more comfortable, and even contemplated waving at the camera, but almost immediately recognized that for the stupid idea it was. You can see, though, around the 0:57 and 1:05 marks that I’m still not quite at ease enough to go outside the wake. Every time my ski starts go over a crest, I pull back a little bit.

(Oooh, life metaphor. Deep.)

Anyway, I can’t wait to go again. And here’s hoping that if I bend my knees like I’m supposed to, I’ll be able to take the turns a little better, and not wipe out like I did at the end of this video.

Though, as far as wipeouts go, it’s not too shabby. I just could have used a little more flair.

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A past due (and future) apology to cyclists everywhere

As a driver who often saw (and, to be fair, will probably sometimes continue to see) cyclists as a nuisance on the road, I am so SO sorry. I got annoyed at you weaving in and out of traffic, and even more annoyed when I thought you weren’t going fast enough, thus causing me to go slower – especially uphill. I thought that helmets looked goofy and couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t just ride on the sidewalk. Roads were  for cars.

As a pedestrian, I wasn’t much better. When you flew down the sidewalk I was walking on, I wondered why you weren’t in the street. After all, sidewalks are for walking.

Well, I rode to work today, and tested out the route last night, and I have some new insight.

What I fear...

I’m now jealous of those of you who are comfortable enough to weave in between cars. I was far too scared this morning. And, because of that, I became a sidewalk-biker (just for a couple blocks!). I’m sorry. I just couldn’t see how [yet-to-be-named] and I were going to fit on 16th Street amidst all that morning traffic. I’ll get better.

I also know that I wasn’t going fast enough. If I had been the car behind me, I would have been sighing loudly (to no one), and possibly cursing (myself, I guess) – particularly last night, when I was chugging up 16th and my legs were burning. I have a new found respect for that hill – and the bikers who climb it regularly.

And I still think the helmet looks goofy. But after feeling so vulnerable next to all those cars on the road who I’m sure are feeling the same things that I felt as a driver, there’s no way in hell I wouldn’t wear it.

So, bikers, I really am sorry. I can’t promise that I won’t revert back to my old ways, but I really do get it now. Drivers – please be patient and try not to hit me. And pedestrians, also please be patient if I take up a slight portion of the sidewalk.

There’s a learning curve on this thing, and I really am doing my best.

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Psyching myself up, not out

You know what tomorrow is. And let me repeat, you’re more than invited to participate – in any way you choose. Support is key.

I am currently spending my morning trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach and reminding myself that I can do this – that I’ve prepared for it as much as I can.

• I’ve done the training runs.

I know for a fact that my body can go up to 20 miles and still function. At least minimally.

• I’ve got the fuel.

I’ve been carbing up and hydrating all week, and I’m prepared for a delicious pasta dinner tonight.

• I’ve got the tunes.

Thanks to your contributions the other day, I have more than enough music to power me through 26.2. And some that I’ll be playing on repeat.

• I’ve got a support system.

When we signed up for this race, one of the required sections asks, “Will you be met by someone on-site post-race?” And if you answer “yes,” the response fills in with “YES – I will have a support group.” When I registered, I didn’t realize why this was a necessary field. Now, even after just training runs, I completely understand why it’s so important.

It’s so someone can catch you when your knees buckle.

Even though I know what a marathon does to your body, and it’s not good, I am so SO excited to do this. And to end this “psych up” on a truly motivational (cheesy?) note, I’ll leave you with a few of my favorite Runner’s World quotes, that will probably be running through my head as I, well, run:

• It should make us proud to know we are part of a running lineage that stretches back from the original Olympic Games in 776 BC to this very moment. ~Michael Sandrock

• I don’t train to beat another runner. We are out there together, competing with the marathon, and I train to run the marathon as fast as I can. ~Juma Ikangaa

And, if all else fails:

• Act like a horse. Be dumb. Just run. ~Jumbo Elliot

Thank you guys for all your support, have a great weekend, and I’ll see you post-26.2!

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What’s a bookcase without a little formaldehyde?

About a month ago, when I had the unfortunate leaky apartment and I asked you guys to help me find the bright side, some of you mentioned taking the opportunity to rearrange and maximize my space, organize, and whatnot. And so I did. Not only did I rearrange, but I’ve been ordering new pieces from Target left and right. The perk of the delivery option is, obviously, that I don’t have to lug the furniture from the store to my home. However, I still have get it from the lobby to the seventh floor. Thank god for elevators and dollies.

But, when the last piece arrived just the other day and the dolly was already signed out, I figured I’d waddle it upstairs on my own. Yes, waddle. I bought a bookcase that comes up to my shoulders and is about two feet wide. There’s really no graceful way to carry it down the hall.

The perk about it being so tall, though, was that I had no trouble seeing this safety sign printed on the top:

Let’s discuss.

1. TEAM LIFT (and the rest of the message) suggests that I shouldn’t have been lifting this on my own. And yet, somehow I managed. Either Target severely underestimates its employees or I really am Wonder Woman.
2. The typos. Ohhhhh, the typos. My inner geek was (not so) secretly thrilled and overwhelmed at seeing so many in one place. Not only do we have a couple extra letters in “either” (“edither”) and “bulky” (“bullky”), but apparently they’re talking about handling safety, itself, as opposed to safely handling something. Now I don’t know what I’m doing.

And the bonus? There was another sign on the edge of the box:

I’m going to assume that “complint” means “compliant,” but where does formaldehyde come in for a bookcase? I hear that word and think of the biology lesson where everyone tried to get out of dissecting the frog. And last time I checked, I didn’t see any frogs in the packaging.

Maybe there’s a follow up delivery?

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Over the river and through the woods

I wrote the other week about the Run Amuck race I was doing at Quantico. Part race, part obstacle course – all mud…and possibly manure. I don’t want to know. And I waited to write because, well, pictures make the post.

The first mile was easy enough, though it kind of felt like a trap. We ran by the mess hall and some residence halls (I think) without an obstacle in sight.

Pre-race smiles...and no mud

And then we entered the woods.

The paths were bad on their own, just from all the rain we’d been having. Straight mud. Which made it so much more entertaining while leaping over hay bales and hopping through tires. There’s nothing like unsure footing to spice things up. That was especially fun on the many hills, as well.

About a mile and a half in or so, we hit the first mud pit, but “mud pit” is kind of a misnomer. It was more a giant pool of filthy water (think pig sty) that was usually about three feet deep, but more if you caught an uneven surface area.

After more hills (one of which included a brief rappel down), crawling through mud, trying to stay below the faux barbed wire (caution tape), and one last pool, we hit the final challenge: crawl uphill, through the mud and rocks, underneath a tarp, and try not to let whoever’s in front of you kick mud into your mouth.

Win, win, win, FAIL. I was spitting consistently for the final quarter mile, trying to purge the mud from my system. And trying not to think about anything else that was in it.

But, regardless, as you can see, I was thrilled to be done.

And I will definitely be doing it next year, should anyone want to join. Honestly, it’d be worth it even just as a spectator.

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