blind insight

Tan and rested . . .

. . . though perhaps not quite ready to resume the hustle and bustle of normal life tomorrow morning.

Somehow, Steve and I survived February, March, and April. Those hectic months brought us doubled-up deadlines, a scary-ass exam and a number of work-related all-nighters (for Steve), an enormous and complex brief on a terrifyingly short turnaround (for me), and plenty of minor complications.

Our reward: Roatan. Eight days of pure, unadulterated relaxation in a Caribbean paradise. We snorkeled, often multiple times a day, through the extensive reef system that lay just a few flipper kicks off our beach. Among our marine life discoveries were a five-foot nurse shark, lazing in the sandy reef-bed maybe 20 feet offshore, a sea turtle winging gracefully through the deeper water, a shy eel poking its blue head out from the coral, several yellow stingrays, and countless varieties of fish. A huge school of stripey Sergeant Majors hung out in one particular spot, swarming around us each time we passed through, swimming within a hair's breadth of our masks before darting around us. On each excursion, we saw something new, and each time, we ventured further into the Blue. Alas, we never did manage to buy an underwater camera, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

When we weren't snorkeling, we were sipping frosty beverages (non-alcoholic, in my case) in one of the many open-air bars lining West Bay Beach, as the near-constant breeze took the edge off the Caribbean sun. The rest of the time, we lazed about, reading and dozing and wandering. Our single sea kayaking expedition ended badly, as Steve's boat sprung holes and sank. Fortunately, we were not far off shore at the time. Unfortunately, we were right over the reef.

We left our little West Bay paradise a few times, trying our dining luck in the more bustling town of West End and succumbing to the touristy offerings of Anthony's Key, with its dolphin encounters, zip-line, and wildlife park. But mostly, we stayed put, preferring to stroll down the beach just after sunset, freshly showered but still barefoot, to one of West Bay's shoreside dining establishments. The food, alas, was nothing to write home about (and was frustratingly expensive, particularly by Central American standards), with the exception of a couple of grilled seafood meals and some delicious homemade tortillas.

We returned home late last night, to freezing rain and lost suitcases. The baggage showed up this morning, though the sun did not. Long pants, outerwear, and shoes returned to our lives today, bringing reality into sharp focus.

Here are our photos, taken on the few occasions when we bothered to take the camera out of the room. Ah, Paradise.

Big Shoulders.

Later today, I'm heading for the Windy (and hopefully slightly warmer) City. Given my penchant for travel, it seems somewhat astounding that this will be the very first time I have ever set foot in Chicago, outside of O'Hare Airport. While I know well how to make the mad dash between concourses C and D with barely 15 minutes to spare between flights, I am eager to discover Chicago's other reputed pleasures.

I know Chicago isn't exactly the Number One January Travel Destination in the country, but I'm lucky enough to be serving on the faculty at an appellate defender training conference there. I'm expecting to learn as much as I teach, if not more, because my fellow faculty members are an impressively experienced bunch. Most of them not only have been handling criminal appeals for decades, but also have taught at this conference for many years.

The trip also gives me a welcome opportunity to see some dear friends, eat some tasty food, and hopefully sleep in a room heated above 55 degrees. (Our furnace is sort of functioning, but will not be repaired until next week.)

See you next week!

Brrr.....

Please excuse any typos in this post. They result from the fact that I'm writing with icy blue fingers, courtesy of subzero outside temperatures and a heating system that missed its old friends, the fridge and the water heater. What was it in my last post? Something about large, unforeseen expenses? Um, yeah.

Thinking positively, however, once the furnace is restored to proper working condition, there shouldn't be any major household appliances left to fail, at least for a while. Sure, there's the oven with its inconsistent heating, and the dishwasher that doesn't automatically move from the first cycle setting to the second, but those have existed, unchanged, since we bought this money pit two-plus years ago.

I suppose these are the inevitable joys of homeownership, but do they have to be quite so joyful, all at once?

Home sweet home.

I should be en route to Aurora for a remapping session. From there, Steve and I should be continuing eastward to Nebraska, and eventually Wisconsin. Instead, I'm curled up at home wearing sweatpants and down booties, with the Pasta Cat lounging under my computer screen.

Which, should you wonder, is far more pleasant than the way I spent yesterday.

When I left the house around 7:30 a.m., there was snow on the ground and falling lightly from the sky. I've walked to the bus in much worse conditions, and the roads seemed pretty clear, so I didn't think much of it. The bus came promptly, sparing me a long and chilly wait. I turned on the iPod and opened my book, wondering briefly why my newspaper hadn't arrived. Then I heard the driver say something to my seatmate about two feet of snow.

I turned off the iPod and listened to the conversation. Apparently, we were in for a blizzard. Steve had mentioned that we might have to rework our midwestern driving plans, and that we'd be following a storm, but I hadn't fully processed that this meant BLIZZARD, and HERE.

Nevertheless, the bus ride was fairly routine, and we reached Denver only a few minutes slower than usual. I emerged from the station into a frenetic snowglobe, and realized that it might have been wise to stay home.

Most of my office-mates had made the same mistake. Around 10:30 a.m., the boss called us to the front and said he was shutting things down. A colleague, who deserves a gold medal for his effort, offered me a ride home, since the busses were sure to be running slowly and having lots of problems.

We got in the car just after 11. It took us over 90 minutes to get from 18th & California to I-25 and Market Street, which is maaaybe a mile. Astonishingly, the HOV lane at the Market Street exit was closed. As a result, it took us another three hours to get to US-36 (after we spent 45 minutes on the exit ramp, from which we escaped only after extricating a woman with Texas plates and a baby in the car from a snowbank). Much of this time was spent directly behind a line of six enormous snowplows, moving no faster than we were. As we sat in the immobile traffic, we could see a steady stream of cars moving - not fast, but moving - in the stinkin' HOV lane from which we'd been barred.

Some time after 4:30, we reached the Turnpike. From the exit until Sheridan, we were sort of moving. Then we reached another parking lot. It took us several more hours to get past the Church Ranch exit. We had only 2.5 miles to go to reach our goal, Highway 287. But there we sat, 2.5 miles from hope, for two solid hours.

Happily, the person with whom I was trapped would make my Top 5 list for People I'd Want To Be Stuck With In A Blizzard. He's funny, calm, and has a fascinating lifetime's worth of great stories. We had a full tank of gas in his trusty Subaru, and were warm and safe and fairly relaxed about the whole thing. Unhappily, we did not have a drop of water in the car, and our only food was a handful of gingerbread crackers. Oh, and the ginger Altoids I keep in my purse.

Around 7 p.m., even without water, my bladder was protesting mightily. And so, with no alternative in sight, I hopped out of the car (which had not moved for hours), dropped trou on the side of US-36, and peed in a snowbank. Which was up to my thighs, making it nearly impossible to squat and resulting in one chilled behind. Much relieved, I climbed back in the Subaru and resumed the wait.

We were in frequent cell phone contact with our families, who were able to provide slightly more information than the radio. Despite the fact that we could just about see the end of the line ahead of us, all we managed to learn was that a bus was rolled somewhere ahead of us, and our stretch of 36 was closed. Kicking ourselves for not getting off at Church Ranch, we waited, and waited.

At approximately 9:00 p.m., when we'd been in the car for ten hours, a National Guardsman knocked on our window. He told us to turn around and drive the wrong way, back to Church Ranch. This maneuver was much easier than you might expect, and soon we were moving! Actually moving!

From that point, we had clear, if slow sailing. We made it to Sheridan, and then North to 120th. We eventually reached 287, our long ago destination, and I waved as we rolled past my wedding site. Finally, just after 10, we reached a King Soopers parking lot, in which Steve and the Volvo were awaiting me.

The rest of our ride home was beautiful. The roads were nearly empty, the snow was still falling softly, the wind had died down, my seat was heated, and my husband was by my side. We weren't sure what to expect on our street, but it had seen enough traffic to be passable. Our driveway was another matter, buried under three-foot snowdrifts. We pushed our way in, and I immediately set water to boiling for some desperately needed homemade mac 'n cheese. Meanwhile, Steve spent a solid hour digging out the driveway, so that we could put the car in the garage.

Today, we woke to about two feet of powder, in which Steve is now skiing. I'm going to try to write the rest of my damn holiday cards, then snowshoe over to my friend J's house (J, incidentally, was ON the bus that was blocking our stretch of the Turnpike, but somehow managed to get home two hours before I did). We'll leave for Wisconsin eventually, but for now, the highway's closed to the Nebraska border.

I have never been so happy to be home. Over eleven hours to go 35 miles. Whew.

A head start on the remodel.

Steve and I spend a lot of time whining about our tiny kitchen. We constantly concoct new and different remodeling ideas, most of which quickly are scuttled by the reality of our annoying space and budget constraints. The house is a tri-level, so expanding into our enormous backyard would require foundation work and multi-level design issues that send our anticipated costs well into the realm of "when we win the lottery."  The realistic alternatives mostly involve sacrifices of both dining room space and living room walls that currently house important furniture, like the chock-full china cabinet.

Lucky for me, I married a structural engineer, and after months - years even - of thinking and scribbling, he eventually came up with a design concept that will open up our itty-bitty kitchen space, provide more counter, better cabinets, and superior style and organization, without leaving the house dining-roomless or china-storage-free. The downside: we can't afford to do it with a contractor, and we can't afford for Steve to take the time off to do it himself. Thus, kitchen remodeling remains the stuff of dreams, or at least of Five Year Plans.

This week, it comes a little bit true. We woke up on  Saturday to an eerie quiet. Further investigation revealed the silence to be caused by the refrigerator, which was decidedly not humming along. Worse still, we'd clearly missed its demise by many hours, as things long-frozen were nearly thawed.

Most of what we salvaged is either packed into coolers in the garage (making the impending arctic chill here a huge relief, after the weekend's balmy days), or stashed in my parents' basement freezer. We've thrown ourselves at my parents' mercy for a couple of dinners, and will be going the pizza route tonight. Hopefully, the new fridge will arrive on Thursday, as promised.

But the upside, of course, is that we're getting a brand-new refrigerator! While it won't be a Subzero, it'll be pretty close to the Dream Fridge we'd planned to put in the hypothetical future remodeled kitchen. It's going to be gorgeous - all shiny and new and clean and efficient. A big freezer on the bottom! French doors on top! Adjustable shelves! Antibacterial glass! And even an ice maker!

My glee at this prospect has been so apparent that Steve accused me of sabotaging the old fridge. I swear, I didn't. But at least there's a very shiny silver (actually, titanium-finished) lining to this large and extremely unexpected expense.

Speaking of unexpected expenses with potentially positive consequences, we also discovered last week that a pipe below our upstairs toilet has been leaking into the drywall in the downstairs bathroom. Fearing four-digit repair costs and massive water damage, Steve called the handyman we've used for stuff at our rental property. He ripped open the wall today, found and fixed the leak, and repaired the mold-riddled drywall, for a total cost of $180. Seriously. 

Steve got to chatting with the handyman about our kitchen fantasies. Turns out, he can do most of the stuff we'd need for the remodel. At a fraction of the typical contractor costs. And fast, too - he and Steve figured it would take them about two weeks, working together.

We're thinking early '08 might actually be within the realm of reason . . . .

Our new baby.

Steve and I drove home yesterday in our brand new 2007 Volvo V50-T. It's a stylin' ride, one we've coveted for many months as we sorted our finances and came to terms with the foolhardiness of new-car buying.

Originally, we were planning to take advantage of Volvo's Overseas Delivery Program, a sweet deal in which Volvo flies you to Sweden and feeds you swedish meatballs before handing you the keys to your brand new, custom-designed Volvo. As appealing as this offer sounded, the timing just wasn't working for us, and we decided that Sweden was so far from the top of our Places We're Dying To Go list that it wasn't worth using the vacation time. So we'll take a trip elsewhere, later.

Next, we thought we might land a good deal on a 2006 closeout. There are a few such deals to be found, but only if you're willing to settle for an automatic transmission. While only one of us drives, both of us are gear-shift purists, particularly when we were buying such a sporty vehicle.

That put us back in the terrifying new-car market. But with the help of a savvy broker, we landed a pretty sweet deal, very close to the factory price we'd have paid for a 2007 in Sweden. It's still a hell of a lot more money than either of us ever imagined spending on a car, which means we won't even be thinking about buying anything else with four wheels and an engine until 2022.

Yesterday, it was ours. The weather cooperated by being wet and chilly, allowing us to take full advantage of the heated front seats, as well as the extremely versatile front and back wipers. And late last night, we experienced the first snow of the season from the Volvo's cozy confines, as we drove up the steep and windy Flagstaff Mountain road, just for kicks.

The Volvo is  loaded with snazzy-cool electronic features, including such unfamiliar luxuries as power windows and air conditioning. Hopefully, my arm strength won't suffer, now that I no longer have to crank the windows up and down.

But all this luxury is not without its downside. In addition to being fully paid-for and practically maintenance-free, the trusty Civic averages 41 miles per gallon. It's been known to get 47 MPG on the highway, even at eleven years old. The Volvo? Maybe 30, if we're lucky.

Barely an hour after we'd inked the deal last night, we watched An Inconvenient Truth. As the credits rolled, the audience sat in stunned silence, contemplating our collective guilt and weighing Al Gore's call to action. I leaned over and whispered to Steve: maybe we should exchange it for a Prius?

Race Report - Tri For The Cure

In celebration of Michelle, Barb, Fish, and all the other amazing women who've survived breast cancer, a whole group of us took on the Denver Tri for the Cure on August 6. Buoyed by blissfully cool and the erev-race-day Guinness and onion rings I shared with Barb, I managed a personal record (for this course, at least). Though my time won't exactly put me in the Big Leagues, I was pretty darn pleased to finish in under 90 minutes.

To recap briefly. The swim: fast-ish, despite the tangle of bodies from which I could never quite break free, my completely fogged goggles, and the nearly invisible dark-green caps assigned to my wave. The bike: fast and fun, punctuated by the game of leapfrog I played with KC. The run: speedy (for me) and strong, made all the better because I spotted Steve beaming at me, just as I headed out of the transition area. The upshot: awesome! In fact, everyone in our little posse of tri-buddies finished this race considerably faster than they had at Danskin, with a lot less pain and suffering in the process.

I seem to have had a bit of a breakthrough in the midst of doing three races in four weeks. Somewhere along the line, I finally learned how to push myself harder. I suppose it sounds silly, but because I am not much of a natural athlete, and do triathlons and similar events mostly to stay fit and to finish, I've never learned quite how to pace myself so that I can maximize my effort without bonking. Instead, I plod along at my only-slightly-better-than-average pace, usually enjoying myself but feeling a bit disappointed in my only-slightly-better-than-average results. Back when I was running a lot, I finished 10Ks, half-marathons, and a marathon all at approximately the same pace.

But with so many races, so close together (plus the Stroke & Strides every Thursday evening, as well), I started to find a rhythm and a focus that I'd been lacking over the past few seasons. At least in the shorter swims, I managed to pick up the tempo and shave significant seconds off my times. And in the run, I did a bit of speed work, started concentrating on my pace and my stride, and willed myself to make my sluggish legs move faster, faster.

In the end, my times are still solidly unspectacular, but they're improving. For example, I finished in the top 17% overall at Boston, but the top 10% at Tri for the Cure, with a one-minute faster pace at the latter race, though its swim and run courses both were longer (its transitions, on the other hand, were slightly shorter). Probably more important, I feel stronger, faster, more competent, and more motivated.

I have one race left this season, the low-key Louisville tri at the end of August (my only triathlon of the season with Steve). But the wetsuit is retired for the winter, the bike's going back on the trainer, now that it's too dark out in the mornings to ride outside, and I'm starting to think about getting my skis waxed. Hm. Maybe I can translate this new push-myself thing into a stronger, faster Kortelopet in February!

Race Report - New England Danskin 2006.

Despite including an insane flight schedule, more heat and humidity than I should ever have to suffer outside of Southeast Asia, and utter exhaustion on the back end, this weekend's triathlon excursion was a resounding success. It went sort of like this:

Redeye flight on JetBlue: $360.00

Single at the LaQuinta Inn, Auburn, MA: $80.00

Boisterous carb-loading pre-race dinner at Dino's: $20.00

Seeing 7 of your favorite Imaginary Internet Friends cross the finish line of their first triathlon, grinning from ear to ear: TOTALLY EFFING PRICELESS.

My own race went fine, with satisfyingly above-average times aided by swim and run courses that were undeniably short of their posted lengths. (Oh! And, how could I forget? By the incredible wowicanbreatheness of racing at sea level!) My rented bike was a far cry from my beloved Serotta, but it carried me speedily and caused me no problems. The bike course was gorgeous, very New England Pastoral, and highly enjoyable, aside from a terrifying downhill stretch that was far more pothole than pavement. It even crossed into Connecticut, making this my first triathlon ever to cover two different states.

I wasn't particularly impressed with the organization - even Denver Danskin rated better in this respect. The transition area was crawling with spectators before and after the race, the utter idiocy of the TA layout cost me several minutes at either end of the bike leg, the serious dearth of porta-potties had me fearing I would miss my swim start, and there was no food in sight at the finish. But none of these logistical annoyances detracted much from my very happy overall experience.

And, seriously, seeing my friends' glowing, happy, exhilarated faces as we passed each other on the bike and run courses, swapping war stories with them over post-race beers, and hearing them all planning, already, for next year, made every second of the trip worthwhile. THIS is what the Danskin spirit is all about, and this is what I'd somehow lost sight of during my personal hell at the Denver race.

Also, Aurora Reservoir doesn't have nearly the panache of Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg.*

*Yep, this is really its name, although it is also known as Lake Webster. Supposedly, it means "you fish on your side, I fish on my side, and no one fishes in the middle." As far as I'm concerned, it means "clear, warm, and totally excellent for racing."

I mean it this time.

Two years ago, I wrote that I was done with Danskin. I meant it, I did, but then Michelle, Barb, KC, and Fish decided to give this year's race a shot, and I'd heard rumors of better organization and logistics. There were, indeed, some improvements over the 2004 race, but overall, I had a pretty rough day. Here's my race report:

Saturday pre-race

Michelle, Fish, KC, and I left Boulder much too early so that we could attend the Survivors’ Breakfast at the packet pick-up site (Michelle, Fish, and Barb are all breast cancer survivors). I was very glad we went to that, though, because it was truly moving and inspiring to hear all of the survivors’ stories and to see how much the race means to them. Also, being at the breakfast meant that we got to get our race stuff and check out the expo before the crowds arrived, which was awesome - no lines!

I bought a new tri outfit from Danskin (the same one that about 50% of the other racers bought, but it’s cute and comfortable and supportive, so whatever), snagged race belts for KC and for the friends I'm racing with in Boston in two weeks (continuing my longstanding tradition of buying race belts for my friends before their first triathlon), attended the pre-race talk, and then headed back to Boulder.

It was too hot in my house to do anything productive, and even hotter outside. Even with the swamp cooler on full-blast, the only bearable place to be was in the garden level TV room, so I sprawled on the couch, watched stupid TV, drank tons of water, and dozed. My stomach was giving me a lot of trouble, and had been for a couple of days, so I was feeling pretty lousy. Fortunately, Fish's house was just as hot, so she showed up a little earlier than planned for the return trip down South. We got totally lost driving around Suburban Hell, finally found our hotel, and then ended up eating dinner at a Bennigans because it was the closet place that seemed marginally appetizing. Yuck. But my stomach was still oogly and I couldn't eat much, so it didn’t really matter. We went to sleep early, and I slept fitfully until the alarm went off at 4:30. a.m.

Sunday - race day

Fish and I got up and out quickly, had only minor navigation issues, and reached the race site at 5:30. The parking lot was already pretty full, and it took us a while to get into the lot and parked. We then had over a mile to go from the lot to the race site, but were able to ride our bikes for most of the way - not a bad warm-up. It was already close to 80 degrees out when we reached the transition area around 6:00.

I hadn’t been able to eat anything when I woke up, so I’d brought some bread and peanut butter with me. After I finished setting up my transition area, I took a bite of food and totally gagged on it Then I realized that I had to go to the bathroom, and barely made it over to the porta-potties in time for the runs to hit me. (Sorry, TMI)

I decided not to try eating anything else at that point, and just concentrated on drinking as much energy drink and water as I could, to avoid getting dehydrated. I found my friends and gave the survivors a good send-off, since they were starting in the first non-elite wave. When I went back to my spot, I got scared that I wouldn’t be able to finish if I didn’t eat SOMETHING. I didn’t have any energy gel with me because I never bother with it for short races, but I did have a Powerbar. I took a few bites of that, and thought I was OK, but shortly thereafter I had to puke it up. Followed by another round in the porta-potty. Needless to say, I was contemplating dropping out of the race at that point. But after the last bout of sickness, I felt like everything was out of me and I could make it through the race as long as I hydrated adequately.

The Swim

I almost didn’t wear my wetsuit because it was so hot outside, but ended up being glad I did, because the water was only about 68 degrees. The water felt so good, and it was nice and clear (Aurora Reservoir has the nicest water in the area for racing). I was really feeling solid on the swim, aside from a little residual queasiness. I couldn’t see the buoys (still the same stupid blue buoys they used in 2004), but I could follow people’s heads and arms all around me, so I was able to swim pretty consistently.

Coming into the home stretch, there was a bit of glare, but I could see the arches at the finish and could still see some people around me. Then a kayak cut me off, which really freaked me out, and I got confused. In retrospect, I realize that the kayaker was trying to redirect me a bit to the right (it was a counter-clockwise triangular course). I kept swimming, and kept sighting on the white arches at the end. I was getting closer and closer, and then a swim angel bumped me, and I really got disoriented. I looked up and realized that I was, indeed, right near the finish, but had veered just far enough to the left that I was IN THE PATH OF THE ONCOMING SWIMMERS, and a wave had just started. The start and finish were right next to each other, on the same boat ramp, not even a few feet apart from one another, so by sighting on the arches without paying attention to the starting swimmers, I’d ended up smack-dab in the way of the starting waves.

This was the most terrifying moment I’ve experienced in ten years of triathlons. I dodged and ducked and managed to get out of the way of the crowd, but I’m sure I screwed up some people’s swims, and I scared the living crap out of myself. I was nearly sobbing when I finally got out of the water. I also realized that I had been swimming a personal-best time until the mishap, and it bummed me out to have blown that and ended up instead with a slow-average swim time.

As I was exiting the water, a volunteer tried to unzip my wetsuit for me. I couldn’t hear him, didn’t see him until he was on top of me, and was so upset by the swim incident, and so he freaked me out big-time. I screamed at him to get away from me. I’m sure all the racers and spectators standing there thought I was crazy.

T1

There was a LONG way to go from the swim to the bike, but the traffic patterns were pretty good and my transition was without incident. I decided not to put my CI processor on, remembering what happened to it at my last race, so I just popped in my left-ear hearing aid and sped off. My transition-area spot was really well-located for the bike and run, which was a small blessing.

Bike

The bike course was tougher than I had remembered, very rolling without any real flat areas. It was too crowded for me to go particularly fast on the flats and downhills, and my lack of calories left me without much power on the uphills. Still, I was able to clear my head and drink a lot of water, and I mostly enjoyed the bike ride. Someone nearly killed me (and several others) by passing very close on the inside of a very tight, crowded turn, but in general people were riding courteously.

T2

This transition is usually my speediest, but this time, it didn't go as fast as I’d have liked. I got distracted by trying to move my CI processor into a safer place, and wasted a couple of moments deciding whether or not to carry a water bottle with me. But it was otherwise uneventful, other than some confusion about which direction to enter the run-start gates. I did end up taking a bottle, dumped most of it over my clothing at the beginning, and abandoned it about a half-mile into the run because it sucked to carry it.

Run

The run was SO DAMN HOT and very, very crowded. The run course is along a sidewalk-width bike path, with runners going in both directions, and it really is too narrow for a Danskin-size crowd. Particularly when the majority of racers are walking, and walking two, three, or four abreast.

I ran the whole thing, but so slowly that it hardly qualified as "running." I also got stuck behind crowds several times. The first water station wasn’t until the halfway point, which was much too far out, given the record heat (over 100 by then). The second water station was ½ mile later, which meant that we had two long waterless stretches, punctuated by two close-together water stations in the middle. Also, there was only water on the run, and at that point I desperately needed some energy drink.

Somehow, I finished. None of my friends were waiting for me at the finish line, which was pretty disappointing. I found Michelle and Fish at the Team Survivor tent, and then I collapsed on the ground, sobbing - I guess I’d been holding in all my freak-outedness from the swim thing through the rest of the race, plus I was completely depleted, having done the whole race with nothing but liquid in my system.

Michelle got me a fruit smoothie from the survivor tent, which was heavenly and really saved me at that point. We went back to see KC and Deidre finish, and then we started the long, hot trek back to the cars.

Overall, not so fun. I was very happy that my friends had a great time, especially because it was the first tri for most of them, and a first race should always be a positive experience. But I just wasn’t able to get into it. I realized that I hate the Aurora Reservoir site, at least for a large race, because it’s SO far out in the boonies and requires so much schlepping and waiting around, and its only bike- and run-course options are unavoidably very congested. For whatever reason, I also wasn’t feeling any of the camaraderie and spirit that can make a Danskin race so inspiring and exciting, and between the puking and the diarrhea, I just felt AWFUL.

On Friday, I told Steve that I was thinking about skipping the race, and in retrospect I really should have. I was pretty depressed all afternoon and evening yesterday, feeling depleted by and disappointed in my race, and I’m still feeling sort of sad today.

In two weeks, I'm doing the New England Danskin with a whole posse of friends, mostly first-timers. I'm very excited about this race. I've heard pretty good things about the course, and I'm looking forward to racing in a brand-new venue. I'm also really, really hoping to regain some of my enthusiasm for the sport and my sense of accomplishment from racing. Right now, I just feel slow and mediocre and crappy.

But I'm never, never doing the Denver Danskin again, at least not at the A-Res location. I really do mean it this time.

All-star break.

I'm back, I'm back, I just haven't had the time or the brainpower to post. The CI survived the Rainy Lake trip just fine - perhaps even better than its wearer did.

On the plus side, we had perfect weather, the water and surrounding scenery were beautiful, and we ate, drank, swam, and played a lot of cards - all good fun. But spending a week on a small houseboat (with what was, for all intents and purposes, one bedroom and bathroom) with one's in-laws and a horde of mosquitos is inevitably trying, even when the in-laws are as delightful as mine.

I'll update more about the CI soon. Mostly, I'm still waiting for the electronic and hearing-aid sounds to blend with one another, although I'm definitely hearing and understanding quite a lot with the implant now.

Here's one of my favorite photos from the trip: