Memorial Day.

Today is Memorial Day and it seems like Chicago suddenly decided it is summer. After yesterday's ride, both M and I were chilled for hours. Today could not be more different. It is sunny, hot and humid. It is fantastic.

I rode to the gym, lifted and swam, rode home. M and I walked toward the beach, with a pitstop to buy sunglasses. We got there around 11, securing some lounge chairs at the place formerly known as the Beachstro. It is under new management and that new management foolishly changed the name to something bland and unpunny. On the plus side, they serve prosecco. On the minus side, its in a plastic cup of a size to make the price insulting. We switched to -- gasp -- beer. A beer was actually perfect in the weather. By the time we left at 2, people were stalking our chairs. Early birds get the lounge chairs.

We headed home, to shower and change. We strolled down to Lulu (they FINALLY are selling biking gear with reflective strips on the back. It seems like an idea they should have had a long time ago. It's Lulu so it is, of course, expensive perfection. The shirt I wanted was sold out in my size at both stores in the area AND online. It just got into stores on Thursday if that tells you anything but what an obvious but brilliant idea it is) and Anthropologie. I found a lovely new dress to come home with me. There are so many biting flies out that I almost gave up on the dress because the line to check out was so long and the flies were so bad. But I preservered. Later, we headed back out with Scout to have dinner at Bistro Margot. While sitting on their patio, we noticed people walking by with ice cream cones. We headed in that direction to track down the ideal ending to our day. Not to state the obvious, but ice cream is so good. We both made a bit of a mess of ourselves with dripping cones as we walked home but it was perfect.

It's now Monday night and I have a belated case of the Sunday blues. Good thing today was really a low key but wonderful day. As M said, I think tonight we will both sleep like little kids in summer: tired from playing, too much sun, and with ice cream in our bellies.

Bike the Drive.*

Thanks to the seasonally inappropriate weather we've had this spring, I have not been riding my bike as much as I anticipated. I'm kind of a wimp. And, although she is not a wimp like me, I don't think M has been either. Putting that aside, we both signed up to Bike the Drive. As we don't do anything half way, this time literally, we decided we were going to ride the whole thirty miles. The ride kicks off from Grant Park on Jackson. You can ride south on Lake Shore Drive to 57th and return (total of 15 miles), or, ride north to Hollywood (also 15) or you can do the whole loop. We figured that if we started at 7, we'd be able to do the thirty by 9:30 when riders needed to be off the road, before it opened again for car traffic.

This morning dawned on the cool side (my phone told me it was 57) and with heavy fog. We needed to make a pit stop at the gym to get bike shoes so we actually left at 6:35. M saw people at the gym who had already completed their ride by then (I have to assume they only did 15, since the ride didn't start until 5:30)! We were ready to roll.

We head south first. The fog was so heavy that as we rode past Soldier Field, you could barely tell it was there. Once we made the turn to head north, the fog actually got worse. For the most part, you could not even tell there was a lake, right beside you. Despite that, it was a fun ride. M and I rode pretty much together the whole time -- we're optimistic that we'll be pictured together by the photographers stationed on the course. There was a real variety of riders out: the serious-looking triathlfreak types (including one dude who had his racing helmet on), kids pedaling hard with their little legs on their little bikes, people riding with their dogs in a trailer behind, lots of bicycles-built-for-two, and even one built for three. The ride volunteers yelled out all sorts of obvious advice --"Keep pedaling your bike" was my favorite -- and cheered people on like it was a race. It was a really fun ride.

That said, I think both of us were starting to feel the pain by the end. Who knew your seat would end up so hard? We didn't really time ourselves but we think we did the thirty in an hour and forty minutes, which I think is relatively fast (which we weren't trying to be, we just don't do things slowly generally, I guess). I was really happy to have a nice warm shower. And, despite the chill and mist, we were actually lucky. The weather got significantly worse during the course of the morning, as a big thunderstorm moved in.

*Picture not representative of our weather.

Commemorative.

One of the partners I work with always brings small gifts for people he works with from his travels. And, he travels A LOT. Thanks to him, I have little souvenirs from places like Nepal, Singapore, Japan, and most recently, London. He had a case over the past couple years that sent him to London relatively frequently so I have received a variety of London souvenirs. They tend to be my favorites. Prior to his most recent trip, my favorite was a chocolate bar with the "Keep Calm and Carry On" slogan on it. First, I love candy. Second, I really enjoy that slogan. So British.

But, his most recent souvenirs are the clear winners. I walked into work this morning to find two things sitting on my desk. One was a very cool set of coasters from the British Museum that show London Icons, including Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, the Eye, London Bridge, and City Hall. The second was my new favorite:

Update.

After a light circuit workout this morning, I decided to time myself on a 1500. As I said, I wasn't going to do it if I was going to be last based on the previous year's results. That meant all I had to do was swim under 27 minutes. Even with my not-always-reliable counting, I think I can do that. Based on what I believe was 1500 and with two equipment-fix breaks (like 5 seconds max), I came in under 24:30. Hopefully, by June 26, I will be even faster but that's good enough for me to enter my first swim meet since I was 13.

Spring Ritual.

One of the fantastic -- but incredible, in the true sense of the word -- aspects of my street is that there is either an actual or de facto covenant that requires people to plant the street with flowers. Even the USPS mailboxes have flower boxes on them. While I don't have a place that falls into that covenant, I do have a small amount of outdoor space on my balcony. M and I both feel some sort of obligation to make it pretty . . . that, and we both really like having flowers. So, for the second year, we did what is becoming our spring ritual.

Yesterday was one of those absolutely beautiful, this is why we suffer through Chicago weather, kind of days. It was a planting kind of day. (And, it seemed like half the city agreed with us on that one.) We got in the car and trekked up to Gethsemane Garden Center, which is a three block flower and plant extravaganza in Andersonville. I like to joke with my mom, telling her that she failed me as a mother because she knows a lot about flora and I do not (clearly, its her fault, not mine for not paying attention), so a garden center can be overwhelming to me. This year, though, I came prepared with a suggested list straight from my mom. We had some tricky cart-driving and trying to fit all of our flowers into the car without crushing them too badly but we were successful. I think I ended up with double begonias and impatiens, although I really don't know.

My favorite part of the ritual is our pit stop at McDonald's for a vanilla cone on the way home. My least favorite part of the ritual is the carrying the flowers in once we get home. At least this year, the soil was purchased earlier so it wasn't quite as bad. One huge, dirty mess later, I have flowers on my balcony looking pretty and happy. Sitting out on my balcony once it was complete, I felt like summer was here. (Mother Nature does not seem to share the sentiment, seeing as how our predicted high for tomorrow is 57.)

Sweet Victory.

I like to swim. If you believe my mom, I always have. Dove right in the deep end at age two and just dog-paddled around, happy as can be, while causing a mini-panic attack on deck based on the belief that I would drown. For a portion of my youth, I was a synchronized swimmer, spending something like 20 hours a week in the water. After I quit that, I didn't get in a pool for probably five years -- it took me that long to dry out from being water-logged.

These days though, I swim two or three times per week. I am a decent swimmer. No frills -- I rarely flip turn -- but I get it done. More importantly, I like it. I really enjoy swimming when the sun streams in the windows and hits the water. It just makes me happy. However, I have no idea what kind of swimmer I am compared to others -- speed, endurance, no idea. Compared to the other people that tend to swim at the same time as me, I'm Michael Phelps but they just learned to swim a year ago. Not really a great comparison.

This morning, my "swim coach" suggested that I consider participating in a swim meet in June. It would be a 1500, which is a distance I can swim without any problem other than counting it. My mind has a tendency to wander off when I swim -- I succumb to the rhythm of breathing, kicking and stroking, rather than remembering that I just swam 400 or whatever. I looked up the results from last year to see how fast I would have to be not to embarass myself. I don't think anyone but me cares about it but I just do not want to come in last. Aim high, right?

Considering participating in a swim meet brought me back to my very first meet as a synchronized swimmer at the age of nine. I took first place. My prize for winning was a one pound bag of M&Ms. There may have been a blue ribbon involved as well but I distinctly recall the M&Ms. Between winning and getting candy, it's no surprise I have spent so much time in the pool in my life.

Slightly.

At least among my lawyer girl friends, I've noticed a commonality: we are all readers. I don't mean that we are literate -- kind of a prerequisite for our jobs -- but that we all like to settle down with a good book sometimes. I'm not sure if it is a function of our profession's generally boring reading material, but most of us tend to read lighter books (e.g., chick lit) when we are reading for pleasure. We also all seem to enjoy a good Us Weekly too but that's neither here nor there. After talking to L, my friend who is currently living in Moscow (which is apparently, a sea of either men with entirely unacceptable behavior or ex pat's seeking 23 year old blonde supermodel russian women) I realized that our reading for pleasure has taken a slightly masochistic twist.

When you're over thirty and single, reading chick lit can be a little painful. The books tend to be pretty formulaic -- poor, sad, single, ugly duckling becomes a swan through the love of an unexpected man and lives happily ever after, only after surviving a few obstacles in the form of career, friends, or family -- but generally decently written. I can't decide if I like to read them for hope or out of masochism.

My friends, L and A, were on the host committee for the Chicago early screening of Something Borrowed. When they invited us to attend, the immediate response from two of them was "I LOVED the books." So, I decided to read the books (Something Borrowed and its sequel, Something Blue) last weekend so I could compare the movie to the book. Only three pages into the first one, I sent M a text complaining that it hit a little close to home. Main character reminiscing upon thirty about what she thought her life would be -- happily married and kidded with a job she loved -- compared to her single life toiling as a lawyer at a big firm "by definition, miserable." Now, I was not -- and am not -- miserable working at a big firm and I never was a dream about the future kind of kid. But, none the less, I can sympathize. That said, the books are really an enjoyable read. The movie screening was fun too, although I definitely preferred the book to the movie.

Change Is Good.

I'm a self-admitted creature of routine. Part of that routine for me is the gym. I joined my current gym about two and a half years ago and with that, became a morning worker-outer, something I never was previously. Because my gym routine means starting my mornings with a workout, I almost never shower at home. I haven't bought shampoo or conditioner in over two years. I almost never buy razors, shaving cream, or lotion (or water or apples, for that matter, since they too are provided by the gym).

I'm such a creature of routine that despite the fact that my Tuesday/Thursday morning class has become predictable, monotonous, and easy, even for me, I continue to go. I just don't know how to get ready in the morning at home anymore.

So you can understand that I was entirely mentally unprepared for an actual tough workout this morning. The usual instructor is apparently out of town and one of my favorite trainers is covering for her this week. It was an hour of sweaty, hard, work for once. Circuits of push ups/squats/sit-ups/lunges, shoulder presses/side steps/rows/bicep curls all with a band, push ups with a jump/hill climbers/bag push/jump lunges, and wood chops/sit-ups with a twist/reverse crunches/spiderman crunches all with a medicine ball. (I swear, it is a harder workout than it reads.) While I was tired, it was actually a really invigorating change from the routine. And, I will be mentally prepared for Thursday!

Inaugural Ride.

I took my bike for its inaugural ride this morning. It was fairly sunny, about 60, slightly windy, all around delightful. I rode it to the gym. It was such a nice day that my boxing class got moved outside.

Sadly, its maybe two hours later now and the temperature is dropping and the rain is moving in. I may not get to ride my bike again for a week at this rate but at least its inaugural ride was wonderful.