70.3

M is a half-Ironwoman! 

And, dear God, did she earn that.  There were no small amount of prayers and swears involved because Napa is HILL-Y.  I mean, damn.  It reminds me of my Colorado-driving days.  We drove the bike course on our way home and man, 56 miles is LONG.  And, that is in a car.  I don't know how she did it.  And, I don't know how once she did it, she got herself off that bike and ran a half-marathon.  As we kept saying, thanks to the layout of the course, it was more like running four 5K's than 13.1 miles straight.  Regardless of that mental trick, she swam 1.2 miles, biked 56 miles, and ran 13.1 miles for a grand total of 70.3.  Impressive, no?

We got there early so we spent probably 9 hours at that lake.  I have absolutely no desire to ever go back there.  Which is unfortunate since my little sprint is tomorrow.  Oh well.

T minus One.

Tomorrow morning at this time, we will be on a plane to Napa. San Francisco technically but whatever. It is already shaping up to be quite a trip.

M got a call from the place we are staying for the race yesterday. Neither of us were thrilled about it as it was -- Troop Beverly Hills-style camping in cabins -- but we were told it was the closest place to stay near the race site with running water so we went with it. It is so important to be close since you have to get up so early anyway. But, yesterday we learned that they do not have linens, towels, or pillows for us. $159/night and we need to stop at Target to buy sleeping bags and stuff? That's just great.

So, this morning, we have divided and hope to conquer. M is trying to fight their 72 hour cancellation policy on the grounds of new and important information. I have found us an alternative place to stay that is also not ideal but has linens. Either way, we will make it work.

And, of course, this trip is about as poorly timed work-wise as possible. Not quite as poorly as possible as neither of us have to cancel but man. We couldn't know six months ago that both of us would both be probably at our busiest in the last year right now. I know I'm coming back to probably straight 12 hours days for the rest of the month. Which means that I am going to try to enjoy these few days off as much as possible.

I am really, really, really looking forward to Sunday at about 10:00 am, when I should hopefully be a triathlete, having run the whole four miles and everything, and getting to see my parents who are coming out to witness and join in the fun. And, even more so looking forward to Sunday at 2:00 pm when we have massages scheduled. And, even MORE looking forward to Monday when we go wine touring.

Bosue.

I probably jinxed myself with my prior post but when I was at the gym today, I was stepping off a bosu and totally sprained my ankle. My friend, KWW, suggested that I bosue them. Just my weak ankles and a poor step. I'm the only one to blame.

It turned blue and swollen almost immediately:

So, I found myself sitting on the floor in the locker room, with my leg up and ice on my ankle. M was nice enough to bring my laptop over so I could go home to continue my R.I.C.E.-ing. I decided to have a bowl of rice chex to be thematic in my eating:

As KWW said, the icing is BRRRutal but helpful. I hope that I am a fast heel-er.

Just Doing It.

As of today, it is 2.5 weeks until the triathlon. I really am not concerned about being able to finish it -- that is not a question, assuming no flat tires. I just really want to be able to do the run leg as a run (jog, trot, anything but an all-walk). I have been trying to run on the treadmill and got to about three miles, which felt pretty good.

But, I had not run outside yet. I told that to a girl I see probably four mornings a week. She offered to run with me. Prior to her, other people have offered but I have always turned them down because I am S-L-O-W and don't want to frustrate them or me by going together. But, this girl is only about 5'1". She is a much better runner than me but her short little legs means that my slow pace is palatable to her. Normally, she doesn't really push herself at the gym. But, when we go outside, she is the one telling me to kick it up for interval, telling me to run hills, etc. It surprised me but M diagnosed her as a chameleon, fitting the workout style of the person around her. And, she is normally around a pretty big personality who only comes to the gym for the coffee and stays to go through the motions in a class.

Thanks to her, every Tuesday and Thursday, for the past couple weeks, I've run outside somewhere between 3 and 4 miles. I am so not a runner. I dread it and kind of hope she has a schedule conflict every time. I hate seeing all these people pass us, looking like they aren't even breaking a sweat. I spend probably half the run thinking that my knee hurts or that I want to quit but my pride won't let me. (Mind you, I have no pride on the treadmill. I will quit that so easily. But not when there is someone else out there with me.) Dumb pride. But, man, do I feel happy when I get back to the gym knowing that I did it. (That and my heart rate is so high when I run that I burn a zillion calories which means I always feel like a deserve a real breakfast afterwards which also makes me happy.)

Who knows, maybe I will even continue running after May 6 is over. Stranger things have happened.

20K.

I bought my car on December 27, 2003. To the endless irritation of my brother, I do not drive very often so my car is pretty much the same as a car owned by a little old lady who only drives to church on Sundays.

But, today, my car went from:

to:

Only eight and a quarter years. They say that once a car hits 100,000 miles you need to start being wary and consider replacing it. At this rate, that will be in
2045.

Update.

When I was talking to my mom about how it just has not been my week, she agreed and suggested that I stay home today. I have a deadline today and needed to come in to work so I ignored her (sage) advice. The week has not improved: I got to work only for my computer to be so totally dead that it would not turn on. That does not help me meet my deadline. Add to that the weather (rainy and cool aka perfect staying in bed weather), and I really should have taken my mom's advice.

Moral: as always, Mama knows best.

P.S. Universe? The MegaMills tonight would be nice.

Hey, Universe?

It hasn't really been my week so far. On Monday, I got a flat tire on my bike and had to walk it over a mile home. On Tuesday, I woke up at 3 am for no reason with no sleep in sight. On Wednesday, work took a turn for you've-got-to-be-kidding-me. And, today, I got stuck in a bathroom stall at the gym. Nothing awful, mind you, but just not my week.

However, I have thought of a spectacular way to redeem the week: winning the $290 million jackpot of MegaMillions. Just putting it out there, Universe, in case you're listening.

Don't Let The Terrorists Win.

Jerkfaces. Assholes.

Just a couple of the names I like to call my knees when they are misbehaving. A couple days ago, they were acting out for no obvious reason. KWW suggested that I place the blame on someone I hated. At a loss, I went for a category: terrorists.

Admittedly, it is a stretch of a metaphor but my rheumy knees do sometimes try lay siege and hold me hostage to their popping and pain. But, I like to remind myself that if I don't do anything, the terrorists win. When I was first diagnosed with RA years ago, I would check out the websites about the disease. I did not find them particularly helpful. Scary, yes. Depressing, for sure. A lot of the comments to various stories were just people complaining about their ailments. I do not intend to diminish their pain. Living with on-going pain can be exhausting and depressing. The constant ache that doesn't go away even when you're entirely still sucks. The sharp stabbing pains? Not fun. No doubt about it.

BUT.

And, this is an important but, the fact that you know you're going to be in pain means you can adjust your normal. A lot of life is mental. Once you adjust your perspective, accommodating the fact that you are going to have pain, it is up to you to accept it or wallow in it. I understand the impulse to wallow but it cannot be something you indulge in for long. The authors of the comments seem to think that they cannot do anything because doing something will hurt. Yes, but doing nothing will also hurt. Pain is a baseline. Yes, maybe your hands are gnarled and barely functional -- but there is nothing wrong with your legs, right? Go for a walk. Your knees hurt? Hop in the pool with a pull buoy and do some pull. You will feel better in that you did something and it will take your mind of your pain. In fact, by doing something, you will be doing more than the average healthy person does daily.

In short: We do not negotiate with terrorists -- take no prisoners and do not let them win.

Decisive.

It is rare for me to know with certainty about the correctness of my decision. Usually, it takes sometime and perspective with a view of the totality of the circumstances.

Not today.

I knew within 10 minutes that I had made the absolutely wrong decision. When I woke up this morning, I had some not insignificant leg pains going on so I had an internal debate as to whether I should ride my bike or drive this morning. On the one hand, riding usually makes my legs work better and the weather is still so nice. On the other hand, ouch. Since I had given myself a Day of Rest yesterday (aka been a bum and skipped almost any kind of physical activity in favor of laying around), I decided to ignore the other hand and ride my bike.

I was about half way to the gym when I heard "POP. . . hssssss." Well, shit. My first ever flat tire. And, I, of course, (1) still haven't learned to change a flat and (2) do not carry a spare tube or the tools to do so.

So, I turned around and walked (limped, as my legs still aren't working quite right) my bike back home, got my keys, dumped my bike in my car and raced to the gym to try to make my spin class (because, again, riding usually helps my legs). Of course, I got there in time to learn that the instructor stood us up. This particular part of the story has a silver lining though -- even though I didn't get to try to fix my legs with a class, I did get a $50 "we're sorry" gift certificate that I plan on putting toward a massage.

Also, I like to think that the week can only go up from here. I will hate to be decisively wrong about that too. Fingers crossed, I'm not.

Spring Forward.

Today (March 11) is the beginning of Daylight Saving Time. It will last until we fall back on November 4th. As much as I dislike losing an hour of sleep, Mother Nature totally seems on board with the Spring part of the spring forward phrase that goes with this day. Today's high is 67. The whole week ahead is supposed to be in the 60s or low 70s. Today was the first day that I rode my bike down to the gym.

I don't want to jinx it and I know it is WAY too early for winter to be over in Chicago BUT I would really love it if today also marked the beginning of my regular bike commute to work. If my bike commuting was defined by Daylight Saving Time that would not be in a bad thing in my book.

CAbi Show.

Last night was the return of the CAbi party. Even though I have been to two of these parties previously, I never am quite prepared for the reality of stripping, and trying on clothes in front of your colleagues. On the plus side, at least I was more prepared that evening than I had been that morning. Note to new CAbi girls: (1) Wear a bra and underwear you don't mind strangers seeing a lot of; and, (2) The longer the shirt, the better. As M demonstrated, the CAbi tank is actually the perfect CAbi party base item since it can be pulled down long enough to be almost a dress. Almost. It has a Julia Roberts "I've got a run in my pantyhose . . . I'm not wearing any pantyhose" type vibe to it when you wear it for something other than its intended purpose.

My favorite part of the CAbi party is watching our rep, Meggan, put on the show. The woman manages to talk through probably 50 items of clothes (trying on about a quarter of them in the process) in less than an hour. I'm pretty sure that she never ends a show in any of the same clothes she started in other than her own cami. Every time, there is an item that I see on the rack and think it is ridiculous until she tries it on. Last year, it was the skirt-dress (long tube that could be worn as a maxi skirt or short dress). This year, it was a vaguely 40's-inspired multi-colored top whose straps could be removed, worn as a halter or crossed or worn as a basic tank.

I find the CAbi party reassuring in one strange way: it is always a good reminder to know that women you would assume have no body issues whatsoever are just as self-conscious and weird about certain things as you are. And, as a result, it was one of those special environments where strange women are totally complimentary and encouraging to each other. Good thing we have Meggan -- while she is the biggest CAbi cheerleader, she is not going to get so caught up in the fun and good feelings to let you buy a shirt in the wrong color or pants that makes your butt look bad.

M and I have been to enough CAbi parties now that we know the general script and like to participate in the show (for me, that means making jokes, for M that means serving as a model and stylist), although I'm sure that what we jokingly refer to as the two-drink minimum doesn't hurt. And, once again, we have been sucked in enough that we are going to host one in the fall. At least then we will be stripping in front of friends in the privacy of our own homes.

Filler.

Earlier this week, I attended a dinner that was honoring one of our clients. Normally, I pass on these types of events but I am working on one of this client's cases so when I was invited a few weeks ago, I was delighted to fill a seat at our firm's table. However, as it got closer, more facts became known about the dinner.

First, the institution's website described the dinner as a gala. To me, that is code for black tie. But, on a Tuesday? Surely not. As it turns out, it was business attire. Suits are not my favorite thing to wear but they are infinitely better than bringing a gown to work.

Next, the day before the dinner, we received an email informing us that in addition to our firm employees, we will have four Holocaust survivors sitting with us (the institution was the Illinois Holocaust Museum). Well, that sounds . . . sad. I talked to some people who said it would not be sad, so much as like having dinner with your grandparents and to be prepared to speak loudly.

Finally, the only non-Holocaust survivor and non-partner other than me would be a guy named Ravi Shankar. Not THE Ravi Shankar, which would have been cool, but just some kid that I had not met.

On the afternoon of the dinner, I was talking to my mom about the dinner ahead. I told her my current plan was to open with "can we see the tattoo" and follow that with "hey, did you bring your sitar" and close with, "I'm out!" successfully offending everyone and avoiding eating what was surely going to be rubbery chicken.

As it turned out, the dinner was not bad. The beauty of low expectations, I suppose. Even though I had googled it, I did not realize what a big deal the dinner was. The Mayor was there along with other local politicians. Funny enough, while our client is a billionaire, it turned out that he was not even the richest man in the room. (I haven't been able to decide if that must have been super-annoying to him or if it happens more often than I'd think given that rich people tend to stick together . . . and there are over 600 people per Forbes who are richer than him.) There were only two Holocaust survivors. The lady who sat nearest to me had written 12 books on genocide but was so old now that she did not speak much and when she did it was to complain to her grandson about the food (who helpfully reminded her, "I told you it wasn't going to be good. You can't make food for 1600 people and it be good"). The keynote speaker was former Secretary of Defense Robert Gates. I think probably 1600 people were surprised to learn that he is really quite funny (until he turned really quite scary when discussing the options with Iran).

The only thing I was not entirely wrong about was the food: it was not rubbery chicken. It was rubbery fillet.

Mishaps.

I get ready for the day at the gym. Which means that I pack my clothing for the next day, the night before. Occasionally, this leads to wardrobe mishaps. I have been known to forget minor parts of my outfit: a belt, tights, bra, or underwear. Usually, this can be worked around (go bare-legged, wear a sports bra instead, etc).

Of all the days to forget to pack underwear, today was perhaps one of the worst. Why? Because tonight I am attending a CAbi party, or in other words, I will be trying on clothes in front of colleagues. All the opaque tights in the world are not sufficient. Thankfully, Nordstrom is mere blocks away and came to my rescue so that I will be properly underclothed to try on clothes.

Riddler.

M is in Cancun this weekend. At the request of one of her friends, she got an international phone plan for this month so that she could send as many "Mexts" as necessary. This morning, she sent me this:

Kind mean considering my view this morning, a very grey day with a winter storm watch ahead of us today:

But, her trip and picture reminded me of my favorite Spanish riddle: What English word spells a Spanish phrase? Socks. S-O-C-K-S, or in Spanish, "eso si que es," which happens to translate to one of my more favorite ways to end a disagreeable discussion, "it is what it is."

Fun fact about me: I have a degree in Spanish but prior to going to Spain last summer, had never been to a Spanish-speaking country, including Mexico even though I lived in Texas for three years. Sad but true.

Leap Day Math.

February 29th. Every four years, except for years that end in zero, unless they are divisible by four.

On the minus:
1) It is an extra day of work for which salaried people are not paid.
2) The longer you look at the word leap, the less like an actual word it looks.

On the plus:
1) Mother Nature has decided to gift us a day with a temperatures near 60, taking away many people in this hemisphere's objection to adding an extra day to February rather than a warm-weather month.
2) Lots of fun discounts out there as a single day sales giving 29% off or free meals for the 29th patron, etc.
3) According to 30 Rock, anything that happens today, didn't.
4) Pictures of leaps or things that leap tend to be either amazing or cute.





By my math, that means the day is an overall win.*

*Setting aside the birthday issue because I do not feel equipped to place having a birthday every four years firmly in either the plus or minus column.

Pick 'Em.

I was in Colorado over the weekend, visiting my family. For the most part, it was All Quiet on the Western Front.

But, Sunday was family dinner day. My parents host a family dinner every two weeks. Usually, it is my parents, brother and his partner, and cousin. Sometimes her boyfriend attends. But this Sunday, it was nine people: four couples (parents, brother and his partner, cousin and her boyfriend, and my faux brother -- my brother's best friend from high school who lived with us for a year or so -- and his wife) and me. Gotta love that. Nine people and four dogs (could have been six) and two cats. Delicious spaghetti and amazing cheesy bread, salad, wine, and cheesecake. Yum.

Coincidentally, Sunday was also the day that the Daytona 500 was supposed to run (delayed due to rain) and the Oscars aired. While none of us are NASCAR fans, some of us like the Oscars, or at least the red carpet. Because I like to add an element of fun to family events, e.g., holiday poppers at Christmas and making people wear the paper crown, I decided to print the Oscar ballot and come up with a fabulous prize for the person who guessed the most winners. I thought that it would make it more fun for everyone. It is kind of like bowl games or March Madness -- always more fun when you have a horse in the race, even if you care for totally artificial reasons. My friend, KWW, has taken the bowl game fun to a whole new level with his family: for the past ten years, he has run a bowl game picks contest with his family, with three different, engraved trophies in place: best year, best overall record, and, introduced this year, best of the decade. Compared to that, my fabulous prize is less impressive but who doesn't like candy and free movies?

Fabulous-ish?

I was pretty happy about the idea but by the time people arrived and the red carpet was on, it was clear that most people didn't care. My mom took over and forced people to play and wouldn't you know, people suddenly started to care when the awards began being announced. As it turned out, I easily won with 13 winners picked correctly but I decided to disqualify myself. After that, it was a three-way tie between my brother, my faux-brother's wife and my cousin's boyfriend. It had to go to a tie-break (who guessed the most of the big three awards) which ultimately meant that my brother won. I was happy about that since he was the person who was most excited about the contest, if only because he wanted the candy.

Mile-stones.

This morning I met two milestones in my just f-ing do it plan of running:

1) I ran three miles. That's a lifetime personal best. Yes, that's kind of sad but what can I say? I'm not a runner.

2) I ran for more than 30 minutes straight. As if there was ever any doubt, I'm slow. I'm more of a slow-and-steady finishes the race kind of girl than wins the race.

Just yesterday, one of my favorite trainers at my gym sent me this:

That's David Goggins. He is ridiculous. Absolutely an incredible athlete. He is a SEAL who has completed Ranger school (maybe just for fun, I'm not entirely clear). He does ultramarathons (and ultra races generally) to raise money for families of fallen soldiers. He claims that he hates to run (bike and swim, too). He says he does it because of that. He went from being a 290 pound power lifter to a 190 pound runner in less than three months. He ran his first ultramarathon without ever running a marathon, breaking bones in his feet and suffering kidney damage in the process. He sleeps less than fours per night.

Anyway, I sent a story about him to M yesterday in case she ever needed inspiration to finish a workout. It ended up guilting her into doing a swim workout she didn't want to do. This morning, even though it was a mere three miles, I invoked Goggins to keep on keepin'-on. It is definitely mind over matter. I hate running. It is awful. But I can do it.

Hurrumph Day.

As I was getting ready at the gym this morning, this older Pakistani woman who I see often, said to me, "Good morning, big butt." True as that is, it is not my favorite way to say hi. I told her that wasn't very nice and she tried to explain how she meant it as a compliment. But(t), as I told her, I'm white. I will never ever consider that a compliment.

When I told this story to KWW, his response was a simple "nice hump day greeting." More like rump day, if you ask me.

It's a (Birthday) Wrap.

Best flower card ever.


Flowers with which the card came.


I LOVE getting flowers. Thank you, KWW, M, Broseph & J.


The rare time a religious card was totally made appropriate -- Jesus year and all.


B-day card from Sunda, site of my actual B-day dinner with M. Super tasty.


Parents mailed a card a week in advance. They were so excited for me to get it. When it arrived, five days late, this is why. Totally inexplicable since it was a normal-size card.


Some people juice. Some people drink vodka. I almost never drink liquor anymore but when I did, vodka was my drink of choice. Still funny. Thanks, Mom and Dad!


Birthday dinner at Prosecco. Some people called it Valentine's day weekend, including the restaurant but whatever. Note the birthday cheesecake -- obviously, they were confused.

Jesus Year.

Today I start my Jesus Year. Before you ask, it is a totally made-up thing. My friend K deemed her 33rd year, the Jesus Year. A way to put a positive spin on what is an otherwise kind of blah birthday. So long as you avoid crucifixion, it is a year to reinvent yourself, start a new chapter, mutatis mutandis.

My birthday fell on a Wednesday this year. My Wednesday mornings always start with a swim and today was no different. Appropriately enough for my Jesus year, I turned water into wine today -- because I went to swim, I was able to receive a gift from a friend at the gym of a bottle of Veuve.

Gospel Brunch.

The House of Blues hosts a Gospel Brunch every Sunday. When I lived in Austin, going to gospel brunch at Stubb's was always a good time. What's not to like about all-you-can-eat barbeque with some live music in the background? My friend, K, invited me to join her, her grandparents, cousin and a friend to join them at the House of Blues version last Sunday. With Stubb's in mind, I accepted without hesitation.

The HOB version is an entirely different type of gospel brunch. First, they start by warming up the crowd with some Hallelujahs and Amen's scattered among HOB trivia questions. Honestly, I'm not sure that this is the best plan. The crowd was hungry and we could smell the food awaiting us. After giving us detailed instructions, we were allowed to enter.

I had been at the gym prior to meeting K at HOB. I was STARVING. Priorities: mimosa first, then omelet. I got in the omelet line and almost snapped from the hunger. The people in front of me were tourists who kept bringing more people into line once they got to the front and ordered three omelets per person. The people behind me were new teachers and kept talking about topics that I have heard from years from my mom and her teacher friends. At this point, I had to stop myself from correcting them on theories and just telling them to shut up. I had to put my hands over ears at one point. But, once I got my omelet everything was better. The food was good -- standard brunch offerings with a slightly southern flare (the lunch offerings were of the fried chicken, potato salad, and mac and cheese ilk).

Unlike the Stubb's version, there was no live music as we ate. Instead, it was delineated into eating, then music. The music was fun. As it started, K's grandfather leaned over to me to ask if I had ever been to black people's church (I have) and said that "this is how we do it." Sister Eileen started the show in fine form, giant sparkly hat, pink satin suit with huge lapel pin and glittery shoes. A drag queen could take a note from this woman. The choir put on a good show, although occasionally got showed up by the audience participants that they called to the stage. I enjoyed it, but as I told K, if it wasn't in Sister Act, I did not know the song. Or, in other words, the only song I knew was "Oh Happy Day."

Elevator Edition.

I was talking to my parents this morning about a change to my 401K investment mix. They explained to me that Portugal is currently suffering larger debt problems than Greece. News to me. I immediately blamed the WSJ-Elevator Edition for failing to keep me up to date.

I like to think of myself as fairly well-informed. I tend to know a little about a lot of topics. Almost all of my news sources are non-traditional. For example, Twitter gives me a lot of my news and keeps me the most current.

But, I can't remember the last time I bought a paper version of a newspaper. There are some people in my office who like to walk around with the WSJ tucked under their arm. I assume it is solely to let everyone know they read they subscribe to the WSJ. I have nothing against the WSJ. I actually really enjoy their Friday style section and have a standing request with a friend that he send it to me whenever he remembers. But, beyond the WSJ-Elevator Edition, I don't read it.

When I mentioned the Elevator Edition, my mom burst out laughing, assuming I was making a joke that I got my news from the elevator. My dad assumed that I was using the elevator as a stand-in for a water cooler. But, for the record, I am not making it up. In most newer buildings (or at least rehabbed buildings) in cities, the elevators tend to have screens that display the weather, time, and news. In my office, we get the WSJ-Elevator Edition. Which is, by far, their most inferior edition since it tends to be 15 words or less. Hence, why I didn't know about Portugal. It takes a few more than 15 words to explain that situation in full. Although I think I can nutshell it in three letters, if my parents are right about its current fiscal standing: S.O.L.

2012: Mutatis Mutandis.

I have retroactively decided that my New Year's resolution is: Mutatis Mutandis. What's that you say? It is Latin for "changing those things that need to be changed."

Obviously, the first thing that needs to be changed is for me not to be the kind of asshole who unnecessarily sprinkles Latin phrases about to prove that they speak Latin and you don't. Actually, the phrase was in a proposed order that M received and the judge, prudently, red-lined it right out. Since neither of us actually speak Latin, we both had to look it up when she told the story.

But, I think that Mutatis Mutandis is a good theme for your Jesus year. Termed by K, the year of your 33rd birthday is your Jesus year. A year to make some changes, re-invent yourself, turn a new chapter, hopefully all without that whole crucifixion thing. I think it is always helpful to have a theme, for attire, parties and now, birthdays.

Sisyphus Day.

For the record, this day -- not specifically January 3rd, but whatever day happens to be the first official work day of the new year -- is always my least favorite day of the year. I always feel like Sisyphus staring at that damn rock, once again at the bottom of the hill.

As Mary Poppins said, in every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. Of course, the trick is finding it, so that "poof! the job is a game." I'm not sure what Mary Poppins would have told old Sisyphus though.

Here's to hoping and finding the fun for 2012 at work.

Holiday Dinner.

Last night was the Third Annual Trump Girl Holiday Dinner. This dinner is always a logistical nightmare (trying to find both a date that works for six schedules and a place that has reservations during the holidays) but always so so worth it. No matter what else is going on during what is always a super busy time of the year, this is the one event that no one has ever bailed on.

Our first year, we celebrated at Bistro 110. The next year, we moved across the square to RL. This year, I think we found our holiday home for years to come at NoMi. LS is an "ambassador" for NoMi. As a result, she was able to get us a table with the most fantastic view of Michigan Avenue. When we arrived, there were gifts awaiting us, including a gift certificate to the Spa, hand and hair oil and a bottle of bubbly to toast the holidays. We fancy, huh?

This year's dinner was just fantastic. As we sat down, I put the holiday poppers around the table. They are my annual contribution to the table -- I just love the little extra dose of fun they add. Our server took one look at the festive, gift-filled table and us and said "this is going to be a fun table, I can tell." Obviously. The view was incredible. The food was delicious. And, the girls are awesome.

Everyone is soon to be off for their Christmas travels but I always feel like Christmas officially starts with our holiday dinner.

Blackhawks Down.

Last night I attended my first ever Blackhawks game, courtesy of H. She couldn't believe that neither M nor I had ever been to a Blackhawks game and decided to make it her mission to rectify it. The game had been on our calendars for probably two months and we were all super excited to go.

We arrived about 45 minutes early so we headed to the club, to have a snack and a drink. Once we got there, we realized we were some of the only (1) people not wearing Blackhawks gear and (2) women in the room. Add to those two facts that we were drinking wine and eating calamari (not good) and crabcakes (apparently, awesome) and suffice to say that we stuck out a bit. However, that worked to our benefit as we quickly made some new friends. New friends who had on-ice seats. While the seats that H got us were great -- tenth row, behind the net -- one does not pass up the opportunity to sit on the glass.

Each of us got to sit on the glass for a period. One of the guys served as our "coach" while we were there, explaining a few of the intricacies of the game and mostly, encouraging us to bang on the glass whenever the players got anywhere near us. In the third period, it was M's turn and she was following his direction. As it turns out, his direction was wrong and they threatened to kick her out if she didn't stop. Whoopsy. Putting that aside, sitting that close is just awesome -- the puck whizzing by, the players hitting the glass, and the fans cheering. I was disappointed that there wasn't much fighting though. The one "fight" was more like two guys in a hug headlock than anything.

A couple photos from last night, although you will need to be eagle eyes to see us. First, there is me sitting behind the net at the glass:

And here you can see M, with the coach behind her in the red:

The only bad thing about last night was that it was the first game I've been to in Chicago that resulted in a loss, 4-1, to what was called a mediocre Phoenix team. I might be losing my touch. Despite that, I'd happily go to more games. Go Blackhawks!

Dammit, Lulu.

Cyber Monday is supposedly the best day for online deals of the year. Before 7:00 am, I had about 15 emails telling me retailers' great deals for the day, ranging from 30-75% off.

But not Lulu, oh no. Only they would take Cyber Monday as the perfect day to introduce their "special edition" items. Rather than presenting a great deal today, they offer already expensive items with teeny tiny extra details for 30-75% more.

Maybe it is a cultural barrier. . . they are Canadian after all.

Apologies to Nike.

I have never been a runner. I think the runner's high is a lie. My favorite thing about having arthritis is that it gave me a reason not to do something I've always hated.

And yet, I recently decided that I want to run. It is only because I want to get to cross an actual finish line at a triathlon rather than having the anticlimactic just stopping in the transition area while doing the 2/3rds aquabike. My knees are pretty under control these days -- except when the weather is bad -- so I decided to start running. While cardiovascularly I'm pretty sure I can handle it, I know my joints need more time (a thought confirmed by my favorite Ironwoman). So, I googled it and found a running training plan that would have me running for 30 minutes in seven weeks:

Week 1 - run 2, walk 3, repeat six times

Week 2 - run 3, walk 2, repeat five times

Week 3 - run 5, walk 2, repeat four times

Week 4 - run 7, walk 3, repeat three times

Week 5 - run 8, walk 2, repeat three times

Week 6 - run 9, walk 1, repeat three times

Week 7 - run 30!

Seems totally doable. And, until week 4, it was. However, I seem to have confronted a case of body-willing, mind-weak or mind-willing, body-weak, depending on the day. I have been on the run seven minutes for the past two weeks now because I just can't seem to make myself do the full 30. Sometimes my knees legitimately hurt. Sometimes, I just think they do because I don't wanna.

But as of today, no more. I am telling myself: "Just f-ing do it." And, if it takes telling myself to just f-ing do it three times or thirty times over the course of 30 minutes, that is what is going to happen. Because I know I can do it even if I don't like it.

Wimp.

I am a self-admitted fair-weather bike rider. I think I am kind of a wimp when it comes to riding in bad weather. I define bad to involve rain, snow, ice, strong wind, and cold. Yet, there are lots of sites dedicated to telling you how great it is to ride through the winter. They use a lot of words like "brisk" and "bracing" and "layers." I really do enjoy riding my bike but I also enjoy feeling in my fingers and toes.

I did not start riding my bike regularly until late May despite having it for six weeks or so prior. I kept wanting to but the highs were not breaking 60 and M reminded me that I would have lots of time to ride so why do it when I'd dislike it. As the fall entered, I said that my goal was to ride through October. Thanks to a mild November, I rode my bike to work probably half of the time. (It helped that I spent a week in Colorado though.)

Today was not ideal riding weather, definitely falling into my definition of bad as it was around 40, light rain and wind. But, I rode anyway. I had let M borrow my car so I was faced with walking, taking a cab, riding, or skipping the gym. I think walking takes too long and I'm cheap but I'm not lazy, so I got on my bike. Surprisingly, it was not as bad as I thought it would be. It was brisk, bracing, and I did wear layers. I do not think I will be a year-round rider but maybe I am slightly less of a wimp than I thought.

In ConText.

It has been about two weeks since my mom entered the brave new world of texting. And, speaking solely for myself, I love it. When she is not frustrated by her phone, I think she likes it too.

For me, having her send and receive texts is fantastic. Given that she is still recovering from surgery, I like to hear from her and know that she is doing okay. It makes me anxious when I don't hear an all quiet on the Western front, since the last time around, she did some wacky, not-good, needing-more-surgery things while recovering. Now, instead of me bugging her with a call, she will send me a text in the morning and let me know that all is well, more or less. Of course, when I have something real to talk to her about, I still call her and talk her ear off.

And, incredibly, on Thanksgiving, I received my first -- and probably last, knowing him -- text from my dad. He can be a bit of a Luddite sometimes but read some story about people only being able to get help in some emergency situation via text so he was convinced that he too needed to enter the 21st century when it came to texting.