Blog X

The seed of this blog was planted by Susan Boyle.  Well, really Susan Boyle singing a Leonard Cohen song "Hallelujah".  I had heard k.d. lang's version which is of course, hauntingly beautiful. 
Anyway, I was out in Richmond visiting the in-laws for Thanksgiving and we were listening to Susan Boyle singing Hallelujah on her newest cover CD release, and discussing the lyrics.  My mother-in-law couldn't hear them all clearly except for the part about being tied to a chair, so we read the liner notes and my husband starting explaining the Biblical references to King David and Samson, but Mother-in-law already knew the stories and dismissed further explanation as the "tied to chair" reference made her uncomfortable.
I wanted more.  And I'll tell you why (has to do with the chair...).
Songs about love resonate somewhere deep in my being.  Especially songs about crazy, passionate, heated, can't think about anything else, helplessly devoted, devoid of logic and reason and control, obsessive love.  The kind of love you don't want to tell anyone else about because they will raise their eyebrows and shake their heads.  They're just jealous.
King David being so overcome with desire for Bathsheba: "you saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you" that he seduces her, impregnates her, baits her husband into coming back from war to trick him into thinking the child is his, then sends her husband back to the front lines to die after he refuses himself the pleasures his troops could not experience, is crazy love.
Samson sharing the secret source of his God-given gift of strength with Delilah so that she could betray him and weaken him for defeat from the Philistines: "she tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, and she cut your hair and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah" leaving him weak and vulnerable.  He's captured, eyes gouged out, imprisoned and forced to grind grain until his hair grows back and pleads with the Lord for his strength to return, then breaks the pillars of the building in which he is held captive, bringing it down on his enemies and himself.  That's helplessly devoted love.
*Sigh*
There are two other songs I heard this morning where the singers, so infatuated, that after sharing their feelings are reduced to wailing in their joyful misery.  Oh Bruce, I'm on fire too.  And Bono, I'd give myself away to you.
"Tell me now baby is he good to you, can he do to you the things that I do, I can take you higher, I'm on fire".  This woman keeps him up at night, makes him soak his sheets with sweat, nothing can put out this fire but her.  I won't even share where this song takes me.  Dark sticky happy places (sorry Dad). 
"My hands are tied, my body bruised, she got me with nothing to win and nothing left to lose."  He waits on a bed of nails for this woman.  This woman who tortures him, doesn't give him enough of herself, he can't stand it. 
Look at them (see videos below), they can't even control themselves.  They sing, they moan, they wail, beg and plead for that love.
THIS is the kind of love I love.  Drive me crazy, take me to the abyss, cry for me in your pleadingly beautiful tenor voice.  Be utterly devoted.  Let me tie you to a chair (or the other way around works for me too...), watch longingly as I bathe in the moonlight, give yourself up to me.  And be a strong enough man to break the ropes I tie you down with, if only then to rise and hold me down with your strength. 
Or at least, this is the intense desire these songs makes me feel is love.  And don't even get me started on Robert Plant.
Enjoy the videos.  :-)

The Blog that Comes 9th in Sequence

It was another absurdly cold morning.  I am now questioning why I choose to exercise outdoors in the mornings.  In the summer it makes perfect sense - it's the only time of day that isn't burning hot.  This time of year, not so much.  I think it's just something I like to do first thing.  Well, coffee first thing, then exercise. 
This morning was foggy, which happens maybe once or twice a year in Colorado.  It's cool and mysterious and I was anxious to get out on my bike and ride "in the clouds".  Convinced the same ensemble that kept me reasonably warm on Tuesday would keep me warm today, I headed out towards the Reservoir with high hopes and good intentions.  But it was so so cold!  The humidity from the fog seeped through all my layers (fleecy vest, warmer hat, and glove liners included) and didn't stop until it hit my bones.  There it proceeded to freeze me slowly from the inside out.
Since I can't say I enjoyed many parts of this ride and it was cut short due to fear of frostbite, I'll briefly summarize and then move on to something I found entertaining.  The fog was neat.  It misted in and out of the trees.  My stronger legs, more gears, and lighter bike made the uphill to the Reservoir less horrible (not a fan of hills.  Maybe that gene skipped me.).  I rode a little path to the swim beach.  Bikes don't like to ride on sand.  Turned around, went further down the trail, not knowing at all where I was headed.  Kept hearing gunshots from what sounded like all around me.  There is a shooting range somewhere near the reservoir, but I don't know where it is.  Stopped to eat.  All blood once circulating through my body went to my belly to digest the measly little bar I put in it.  No more blood in hands.  Only pain.  Pain and suffering.  Turned around and pedaled home in misery and defeat (weenie 21 miles today). 
Remembered something kind of funny from when I was in like, 1st grade.  I remembered hearing the song "Send me an Angel" by Real Life and thinking how the lyrics just spoke to me.  Like when I was 7 years old I could understand what it meant to be so desperately looking for love you don't know what to do.  "Don't tell a lie, don't be false or untrue, it all comes back to you" sunk in to my little girl's heart - I had lied to my best friend about something (I don't even remember what now) and was feeling regretful because I was caught.  "Open fire, on my burning heart, I've never been lucky in love" was like they knew my pain - my crush liked another girl better.  Oh Real Life, you understand!  Send me an Angel, come rescue me in my tragic suffering.
Then later when I started a new Hebrew school and fell in love with the teacher there, I was sure that Mister Mister knew exactly the words I needed to say to this guy for him to fall for me too.  "Take these broken wings and learn to fly again (my wings were broken from the aforementioned crush not liking me back), learn to live so free.  When we hear the voices sing, the book of love will open up and let us in".  What guy wouldn't understand that sound logic?  It made perfect sense.
In high school when Nirvana was so huge and I was dating a bass player (this was the second bass player I dated - I married the third), I attached to "Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be" because this meant he loved the person I was, the person I used to be, and the person I was becoming.  High school is all about change and finding yourself, right?  I didn't need to be embarrassed that I used to be a big nerd (I use the term "used to be" loosely here).  I was cool now.  I would soon be even cooler.  I mean, I liked Nirvana so I was awesome.
College found Tori Amos.  "Boys on my left side, boys on my right side, boys in the middle and you're not here" - had plenty of guys interested in me (I was pretty awesome) but not the one I wanted.  Then when I had him and he left me out of jealousy, "Building tumbling down, didn't know our love was so small, couldn't stand it out".
Anyway, I found it amusing that I have been finding (if not forcing) meaning into songs my whole life.  It's just one way I can channel my emotions when they seem overwhelming to me.  I am full of love, I am overflowing with girliness, I don't know what to do with my abundant passions, and when someone like Berlin can reach into my soul and pull out lyrics, who am I to argue?  I just accept it.  It's always been that way.

King Blog the 8th

Tuesday morning I had the opportunity to ride my bike before a doctor's appointment.
It wasn't yet windy, and it was a little warmer than it was on Friday.  With those two advantages, my glove liners, my fleecy vest, and a better hat, (alas no hot tub), I set off.  I only had about an hour so I couldn't go too far.  And after that ice patch I hit Friday I was a bit nervous of all the frozen piles of leaves and black-ice looking spots on the path, so I only made it about 12.5 miles. 
There is a stretch of trail that I know my Dad used to ride when he visited Denver.  It's the part of the Cherry Creek bike path that starts to head east towards the Reservoir.  I haven't made it up and around the Reservoir yet, but I intend to.  I feel kind of like I'm channeling Dad a bit on this stretch.  Maybe at like, half his speed and intensity, but it's still cool to think of the connection.
One thing I was impressed with (in a sort of grossly fascinating kind of way) was the amount of snot that my head was able to produce in such a short time.  I was convinced every time I blew it would be the last, but somehow there was always more.  Like, an absurd amount.  My water bottle bounced out of it's cage 1.25 miles into the ride, shooting off like a torpedo into the bushes never to be seen again.  So I was certain I would maybe dehydrate enough to turn off this crazy nose faucet.  Not so.
*Side note - I am still practicing how to successfully execute a "farmer's blow" on a bicycle.  I'm fine when upright, but somehow being bent over throws me off.  It's getting a little better - I more often avoid hitting myself with the snot than not, but occasionally still get a few nasty mistakes.  Once it even blew up and covered my sunglasses.  Not even sure how that happened, but it got me.  I think this time I did hit my shoe once, but hey, practice will make perfect.*
I even have some fantastic prescription nose spray designed specifically to stop runny noses.  In fact, I have been diagnosed with "exercise-induced rhinorrhea".  Hilarious-sounding term for "my nose runs like crazy whenever I am outside doing anything active".  This includes activities like: running, biking, walking, standing, driving my car, etc.  Basically if it is cold and/or involves movement of some kind, my nose activates.  The volume seems to be determined by how quickly I am moving and how cold it is.  So on cold, fast moving bike rides - garden hose.  It's disgusting.  More than you wanted to know?
However, this particularly runny ride was apparently a head cold just waiting to kick my ass.  I had a sore throat since riding on Friday, but ignored it with the help of my good friend Tylenol.  It was just waiting for a couple nights of restless sleep and one more nice cold morning to tear me down.  Which it did, sitting in my cube yesterday afternoon, slowly slumping further and further into my chair unable to breathe until I slugged myself home and onto my couch.  Wah.
So, thank you, prescription rhinorrhea nose spray, NETI pot, 12-hour Extra-Moisturizing Afrin, Allegra, Tylenol (and close cousin Tylenol PM), anti-seizure meds, and Xanax for helping me sleep through the night (9.5 hours god save the queen) and feel almost human today.

7th Blog

Took off this morning for my run and felt so free.

I remember when I first started running it was impossible.  Everything hurt, I'd get side cramps, my lungs would burn, and I couldn't make it anywhere without grabbing at my side and limping along.  And then, it just happened to get easier.  I kept going!  I entered a 5k race, then a 10k.  The Bolder Boulder - super fun.  And finally, the Carlsbad Half-Marathon, January 16, 2005.  

 

Pic taken by Carlsbad Half-marathon crew.

My mom and second cousin also entered the race.  We separated early, but I loved the experience.  It was a there-and-back course, with the first half being all uphill (making the second half a little easier).  I had two advantages - I had trained at 5280' and this race was at sea level.  I also had trained in the winter, and this race was 60 degrees.  And I was glowing after 10 miles - the farthest I had run until this race.
I didn't finish in any remarkable time, but I finished.  And haven't done it since.
But still, running now isn't such a chore.  I've run with the flu, with hangovers, in the bitter cold, in the rain, in the snow, with chest colds, with head colds, with fevers, with sore muscles, and all because I CAN.  I couldn't before, and now I can. 

The only time I didn't run was after my foot surgery - bunionectomy back in 2006.  But while I wasn't running (I started swimming instead) I dreamed of running.



Pic courtesy of Steve Cram



Today, realizing in general I don't feel very passionately about much (*shoulder shrug - meh*), I feel passionately about exercise.  And equal and civil rights.  I can't even put it into words how strongly I feel about this.  Which is weird, because like I said before, usually, "meh".  Whatever. 

But it's good to have these realizations I suppose.  Things I would consider picketing for, or something.  Personal passions.  Strong emotions.

So let me emote a bit about exercise.  I love it.  I love how when I find a new activity, or find a new strength within myself, I fall in love with it all over again.  I make it mix tapes (in the form of playlists on my iPods).  I dream about it.  I miss it when I don't get to see (do) it.  It brings out in me the urge to write poems about it.  I associate songs with it, it's like "our song".  It makes me stronger, it makes me feel good about myself, it makes me want to be around it more.  I buy it presents (new running shoes, bike accessories, etc.).  I write it little love notes (by logging data on mapmyrun.com).  I relish in the endorphins.  I even relish in the pain (lactic acid) it causes me, knowing it's just part of the love game. 



Photo by Jim Morehouse



The Sixth Blog

Yesterday while driving home from Glenwood Springs I stopped at the Pearl Izumi outlet in Silverthorne to pick up some cold weather riding gear.  This included (only) tights and a jacket.  I had already bought a hat, but had not needed to use it yet.
Let me give you some background so when I explain what turned out to be a miserable failure it will make a little more sense.
First, I have run in the cold.  I have run in CRAZY cold, and been all right.  I ran once when it was 5 degrees outside and survived.  Second, I put a lot of faith in Pearl Izumi's description of "thermal" and "cold weather essential".  And third, I just wanted to get on my bike today because I had the day off and before it snowed.
So when I attempted to open the garage door and it was frozen shut, I ignored this omen and repeatedly hit the opener until it gave way.
I would say the inadequacy of my gear was revealed within 10 minutes.  I kept telling myself, oh, you'll warm up with the exercise, just like when you run in the cold.  What I did not consider was that I was making my own wind chill factor.  So the fact that it was 24, and I was riding about 18 miles an hour, created a wind chill factor (courtesy of the National Weather Service's chart) of approximately 11 degrees. 
I am not certain in which order the coldest parts of my body revealed themselves (it may have even been simultaneously), but I am certain it was my chin, my ear lobes, my hands, and my toes.  After about 25 minutes my earlobes and chin must have frozen because I stopped noticing them.  Or I was too distracted by what was now agony in my toes and fingers.  SO COLD.  Couldn't shift.  Didn't want to.  Couldn't brake.  Didn't want to.  Couldn't turn around to go home because I just bought these stupid tights and jacket and should be warming up by now and didn't want to. 
Then I hit a patch of ice on the trail and have what I would like to picture as "a moment of natural grace and balance where my innate athleticism and core strength revealed themselves".  My bike slides to the left, my right leg unclips and in an almost ballet-like movement slides across the path until I quickly regain balance, re-clip, all while operatically singing "Fuuuuuck" in a beautiful soprano vibrato.
Decision made - continue riding to the end of the Cherry Creek trail where miraculously an enormous REI is located.  They'll have warm things!  I brought my credit card!  I'll be fine!  Only thing on my mind - keep pedaling.  Ignore all else.  I keep my fingers balled up on the handlebars trying to keep my thumbs from getting frostbite.
I am almost at the REI when another cyclist (one of five others I saw on the entire 30 mile ride) catches up to me and asks, "what kind of gloves are you wearing"? 
Me: "Inadequate ones.  My hands are freezing".
Him: "Me too!"
Me: "My fingers and toes are so cold, I'm just trying to get to REI to buy shoe covers and warmer gloves.  All my cold weather stuff is for running and it doesn't seem to work as well for cycling at all".
Him: Pause.  "So, are you on a recovery ride today?"
Me: Pause - is this a compliment (as in I look like I am in good enough shape to do such intensive rides that I occasionally need to take a 'recovery ride') or an insult (as in I'm riding really pretty slowly right now so I must be just 'taking it easy')..."I have the day off so I'm just tooling around since it will snow tomorrow".
Him: "Cool.  Do you do triathalons and stuff?"
Me: What?  "No, I don't do tris."
There is some other small talk here, something about how great the vents are in cycling shoes when it's hot out but not so much now and how he's ridden other days this week and it hasn't been as cold.  I'm not really paying attention.  Too cold.
Him: "Well, here's my exit.  Stay warm!" He exits the trail.
Strange encounter.  No one has ever talked to me on the bike path before.  Maybe I am riding really slow and therefore more approachable for conversation.  Anyway, I make it to REI.  The guy at the front kindly offers to watch my bike as I cleat my way to the cycling department to get some shoe covers.  Located, donned, purchased, and pause to warm up. 
So as I am stalling before heading out again into the Arctic, the front counter guy says "Maybe you wouldn't be so cold if you weren't riding so fast, Speed Demon".  He must've peeked at my Garmin data on my handlebars while watching my bike.  I laugh, thinking, what a weird counter-opinion to the other guy on the trail.
Later I come to the only logical conclusion (and really the only deep insight I had this ride): Guys like to talk to girls in tights.
No other real insights or found meaning on this ride.  No song lyrics sink in below the surface.  I hardly even see the trail or the sights on the way home.  All I can think is Cold.  Cold cold cold cold.  At least now my toes aren't cold.  But my ears and my fingers are still cold.  I come up with a list of things I wished I had brought with me:
1) glove liners
2) fleecy vest
3) a hot tub
Cold cold wind chill brr.  Cold.  Hungry.  I'm hungry.  I'm cold, it's windy, I'm hungry.  No, I'm starving.  Then for some final bit of cruelty, a head wind.  Uphill.  Really? 
But I bang it out, slowly, on my apparent 'recovery ride', just in time for the temperature to rise above freezing.  And for me to have a whole new "wish list" for my next cold ride adventure.

Blog No. 5

Coincidentally (in reference to yesterday's blog about challenges in finding one's Zion) I received my usual inspirational quote of the day via email.

This afternoon's apropos quote of the day:
"Our grand business is not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand."
- Thomas Carlyle


Now I couldn't claim to know anything about this gentleman, so I wiki'ed him (as is apropos of my generation).  They list some of his definitions now collected in the "Nuttall Encyclopedia".  One that stood out to me is how he defined Centre of Immensities. By itself that is an intense sounding few words.  Say it out loud.

Centre of Immensities, an expression of Carlyle's to signify that wherever any one is, he is in touch with the whole universe of being, and is, if he knew it, as near the heart of it there as anywhere else he can be. 
Wow.

I am taking this to mean I don't have to even know what my Zion is to be on my way there.  I just need to do what needs to be done that moment (and doesn't life always seem to make it fairly clear what needs to be done ASAP??).  And that while I am doing that thing in that moment, I am exactly as close to the center of everything as I can ever be.  How special and meaningful is THAT?  (Add generational expression here:) OMG.

As I was thinking about Zion today, it occurred to me that it may be something like when there is a storm coming in.  You see the clouds in the distance, they thicken and then blot out the sun.  Then you can hear the wind in the trees in the distance, maybe even see them stir from afar, then see the leaves it's picking up with it on it's way to you (but all this time you actually don't feel anything), then BOOM it hits you.  You heard it coming, you saw it coming, but you didn't know what it felt like until you're caught in the gust of wind and swirl of leaves.  Once you're there, maybe you know.



Me contemplating the Centre of Immensities



Blog IV

I went for a run this morning before my trip up to Glenwood Springs for work this week.
Since daylight savings ended, it was actually pretty light out.  When I first headed out, the sun had not yet completely risen over the horizon - it was up just high enough to shine on a seagull that flew overhead but not shine on me.  The tops of the yellow-leaved trees were lit up, but not their trunks.  It was pretty cool.
Damian Marley & Nas were telling me "I got to keep on walking on the road to Zion".  I can relate to the metaphorical interpretation of Zion as the Promised Land, or some other distant but much wanted goal.  Who doesn't have their own Zion?  What's mine?  Do I even need to know, or do I just need to keep on the path to the highest good?  Maybe my Zion is figuring out my distant but much wanted goal...
I can think of a few short-term goals:
1) Finish dinner
2) Eat delicious piece of cake purchased at the Wal-Mart bakery in Rifle
3) Successfully complete required number of inspections while working in Garfield County for the State of Colorado this week
4) Successfully negiote expected winter storm while driving home over two mountain passes on Thursday
Slightly longer term goals:
1) Ride 50 miles
2) Go roller skating again, even if it's cold out
3) Attempt to enjoy and not resent the winter in Colorado
4) Build and maintain meaningful relationships
Long term goals:
1) ???
2) Come up with long term goals
But whatever my Zion ends up being, "Instead of broken dreams and tragedy, by any plan and any means and any strategy, ay say, I got to keep on walking..."

Blog the Third

First of all, let me just say how amazing this Fall has been so far.  Yesterday was in the high 70s, in November, in Colorado!  (Thank you, global climate change?) So myself and half of the rest of Denver all decided, what a lovely day to go to the park!
I fit the bike in the back of my car, get my coat and gloves (it's still quite brisk in the mornings), spray on sunblock, and set off for the park.  
This particular park, Washington Park, where myself and 15,000 other people headed, is a long and narrow park with a gravel jogging path along the perimeter and a paved two-lane inner loop that is almost entirely without vehicle access. 
Just a side observation: everyone on the outer path had at least two dogs with them, making the person:dog ratio something like 1:3.8.  Strangely, people either had enormous dogs, or very tiny dogs.  No in-between reasonably sized dogs.  Naturally, all the very tiny dogs had on little sweaters.
Anyway, the two-lane inner path allowed me to set my own pace without having to slow down for joggers, road blocks, slow bikists (more to follow on that particular term later), or walkers.  Plenty of room to just go around.  Each loop is 2.25 miles, and encouragingly identified by the phrase "YAY YOU!" someone had spray painted on the asphalt.  I completed 31.61 miles in 2:12, increasing my average speed by at least 1mph over my rides on the bike paths.  I started off the ride with my jacket on, but after an hour or so it came off.  Then I realized, wow - arm warmers would be really convenient.  Then I wouldn't have to tie my coat around my waist and have it flop around behind me like some mini-cape.  Plus I remembered seeing some really cute arm warmers with stripes at the bike shop...
The soundtrack to this particular ride was Deadmou5, a house music DJ with very few lyrics.  The only ones that stood out were "It's been so long I feel out of my body with you"...which resonated with how I felt being so connected to my bike (my "mycycle") it wasn't exactly like an out-of-body-experience, but more like an at-one-with-my-body-experience.
But back to how the term "bikist" entered my vocabulary.  It's pretty much due to an entire bottle of Manischewitz kosher concord grape wine split between myself and my friend Julie several years ago.  I don't remember the entire conversation (not surprisingly), but somehow we started talking about my Dad and his cycling accomplishments.  Julie stated, just so the record was clear for everyone there, that my Dad was a "real bikist".  It was so hilarious and charmingly cute that it has stuck with me ever since.
So on this ride, loop after loop, (I ended up doing 14 loops in all), I felt like I was soaring out of my body/at one with my bike over this path, leaves pelting me in the face as I pedaled through this incredible Fall morning, feeling almost like a "real bikist". 
Passing "YAY YOU!" the 14th time, I unclipped, very deliberatly and carefully negotiated the steep downhill in cleats to where my car was parked, and realized several things.  First, I cannot attest to the actual sunblock properties of this spray-on stuff, but it certainly works well as a spray adhesive.  I ended up with a very fine (and some not so fine) coating of dirt, bugs, and other debris on all exposed body parts.  I also realized that I have not yet made peace with my saddle.  I felt a bit like the Princess and the Pea.  With the saddle being the pea and my tender parts being the Princess.  I would like to personally thank whatever brilliant German designer came up with the heated seats feature in my car.  Bless you, my friend.  And finally, I realized that although tired and saddle-sore, nothing else really hurt.  My knee which always bothered me on other rides was not hurting!  So, thank you, Bicycle Village in Aurora, for taking the time to fit me properly to my bike.  Yay me, indeed!

Blog 2 - The electric bugaloo

Today marks several anniversaries.
Six years ago today, I ran 8 miles for the first time.  I was in training for a half marathon, and was increasing my distance each weekend by one mile.  This was the farthest I had run thus far.  I remember choosing to do my long run on a Friday because I was going out that night and knew I wouldn't be up for it on Saturday.  I lived in an apartment near Cheesman Park, and ran up to and around City Park.  I remember listening to a lot of Modest Mouse when I ran back then, and the song that stands out the most is "Float On".  I had just broken up with a boyfriend of almost 4 years just a few days before.  I wasn't exactly devastated, but not super chipper either.  I had my training goal, the half marathon was just a couple months away, and I stayed focused on that.  "We'll all float on, good news is on the way".
Anyway, then went to work and did my thing for the day.  I was going out with my friend Julie that night to see her friend's band play at Herman's Hideaway.  I wore a black skirt with all kinds of samba-like layers, and a tube top.  I'm not kidding about the tube top - I rocked it.
I was at Julie's apartment and she was on the phone when her friend Steve came to the door.  Julie's husband was out of town that weekend and she had asked Steve to be her escort to the bar.  She opened the door and there he was.  I was sitting on her couch across from the door and we made eye contact.  Then the strangest happened - it became clear to me that I would marry this man.  It was just an understanding that I had.  Not a fleeting thought, not just a moment of whimsy, it was a feeling of clarity.
The three of us went out to dinner, and this is where it all started to go downhill.  One would think after such a Cinderella-like moment that the rest of the night would be all clouds and sparkles, but not so.  I ate very little dinner (I was excited, and for some very unusual reason - not hungry) and there seemed to be a misunderstanding between myself and the bartender.  They thought I kept ordering drinks; I didn't think I did.  Regardless, drinks kept appearing before me and I kept finishing them off.  This continued when we go to the show.  Drinks just kept appearing in my hand with no recollection of how they got there.  Oh, how convenient!  Tra la la...
Then very suddenly I realize I should go to the bathroom.  Right away.  And miraculously, I made it there effortlessly in my 3.5" heels, tube top and all.  Once there, I lost my ability to communicate clearly.  Julie came in very concerned to check on me, and in my head I was telling her things like "I'm fine, this is just really embarrassing and I need a moment to recover", and "I'm more concerned about how filthy the floor is in this restroom stall than how I'm feeling right now", but what Julie insisted she heard sounded more like "Uuuuuuuh". 
And when the waitress also came in (not at all concerned about my welfare) and threatened to call an ambulance if we didn't leave immediately, I did manage to clearly communicate my thoughts on that subject.  I said something about my ridiculous co-pay for such an event, stood up, and left the bathroom with some dignity (at least that is how I am choosing to remember this moment).  Steve heroically picked me up (my 3.5" heels were slightly more difficult to navigate at this point) and carried me out of the bar sans ambulance with the cranky waitress watching our departure.
Ah, memories.  "Alright don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy we'll all float on, all right".

Blog 1

Hello.
So I decided to start blogging this morning on my run.  Mostly just to share what I think about while I'm running/biking/driving, whatever.
This morning my run went as follows:
It was dark when I left the house.  Just a hint of light on the horizon, and some pink.  Wispy clouds, and a fingernail crescent waning moon rising just ahead of the sun.  Soon to be new moon.  It's cold, and I can see my breath ahead of me.  I cross the intersection, run half a mile to the trail along the Highline Canal, and then Berlin comes on my iPod.  I'm pretty sure the run started with me listening to Ace of Base, and then a few songs alphabetically between Ace of Base and Berlin. 
Then somehow, listening to "Take my Breath Away", transformed my run into something much more romantic and profound.  I mean, come on.  It's starting to get lighter, the old growth trees on the trail are changing to yellow, the grinning cresent moon, "watching in slow motion as you turn around and say, take my breath away".  This romance blooms between me and the trail and the sunrise and those wispy pink clouds.  It's incredible, literally breathtaking.  Then I reach my yellow plastic road marker at my turn around point, and sequentially, the Black Eyed Peas come on.  Changes the whole mood again.
And the bass keeps runnin runnin, and I keep running.  "We got five minutes for us to disconnect, from all intellect collect the rhythm effect.  Obstacles are inefficient, follow your intuition, free your inner soul and break away from tradition."  So for the next five minutes, my mind goes somewhere other than Berlin.  I start thinking about what it means to be getting older.  Somehow time has snuck up and starting etching itself into my face, in the lines around my eyes, and in the hairs its turning gray.  How do I get back at time?  How do I make my mark, my etch in time?  And do I do it for myself - just keep running and cycling and going to work and doing my thing?  Or do I actually do something that leaves some kind of legacy behind?  And if so, what?? 
Then sequentially, Bob Marley chimes in.  "A-yin the darkness there must come out to light".  And with that, I see a fox on the trail.  He looks at me, then trots away as though seeing me means nothing to him.  But it means something to me.  Then I'm back on the street, crossing the intersection, the moon is lost in the wispy clouds, and I'm back home.
Shower and go to work.  Sit around and make my mark?  Somehow affect the lives of those I work with?  Provide good customer service to the public?  Fall in love with Fall, attempt to find meaning in my life and the things I do, watch the dawn transform into the day.