Here is a week I don't recommend you try to copy...
Run one 178 mile relay at altitude
Rest one day
Get up at 5:00 a.m. and fly to Wasau Wisconsin
Give a presentation in front of account big wigs
Get stuck in Chicago on the way home
Get up early the next morning, wait around the airport for four hours waiting to get a flight home
Spend one frantic day on your office trying to catch up on a week away
Fly to Denver, toss and turn all night
Get up early and go to all day outdoor sales event
If at all possible, try not to drink enough water and displace as many meals as possible while you bounce around from time zone to time zone.
If you do all of these, you too might have the pleasure of PASSING OUT IN THE BOOTH at your work event. Yep, that's right. I passed out cold this morning while getting a chair massage in our event booth. I pretty much remember thinking, "I really don't want to be rude to this massage therapist but I'm feeling really naseous..." and then I stood up and heard my co-worker Shane ask if I wanted to go back to the hotel. The next thing I knew I was seeing a bunch of worried faces and hearing someone say, "yeah, she's opening her eyes."
I was really embarrassed but the paramedics were already on their way so I just laid in the grass and and tried to figure out what happened. When the paramedics got there they took my blood pressure and blood sugar levels, both of which were normal. Then I started reviewing the last seven days and I really didn't need the nice guys to tell me that it might be a good idea to SLOW DOWN. I've been sleeping and watching TV and drinking Gatorade and water all afternoon. I feel a alot better, but there is nothing fun about fainting at work.
So all your crazy runners out there, remember! It's summer and it's hot, drink your fluids. Get your rest. Let someone else be Superman.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Run, Drive, Sleep. Repeat
Who's ready for some hyperbole? Here goes,
The Wasatch Back Relay was quite possibly the most fun thing I've ever done. I realize that spending 28 hours cramped in a car with five other people, getting out pretty much only to run up and down hills in the Wasatch Mountains might not seem particularly appealing to everyone. I'm not sure even I was totally sold on it until I actually got to Utah and all twelve of us met together for the first time. I had been so busy worrying about my training and the altitude and getting work stuff squared away that I forgot to get excited. Talking about exchange points and water stops and sleeping arrangements created a little buzz in my brain that still hasn't quite worn off even four days after we finished. Our team consisted of me, Corey, my brother Christopher, sister-in law Tasha, sister Emily, brother Logan, his girlfriend Kristen, my little sister Elizabeth's boyfriend Tom, my friend Riley, our family friends Katie and Mike Maahs and our last minute fill-in and now way rad friend Rick who is Katie's sister's boyfriend-and a ridiculously fast runner.
I won't get into a lot of the race logistics but basically, there are two cars of six and we leapfrog each other for 178 miles from Logan, Utah to Park City, Utah. Each person runs three legs of 3-8 miles and your car is responsible for all your care and feeding for the entire race. The organizers provide porta-potties, exchange places, and a finish line. You handle food, water, sleeping and driving. You pretty much end up driving one or two miles at a time, making sure your runner is hydrated, or pita chipped, or sunscreened or ibuprofened through the six legs in your car.
I've done plenty of road races in the years since I started running. I always enjoy the process of training, of pushing myself and seeing what I am capable of. I love the excitement of race day, of having your friends show up with Gatorade and yell your name. I love the crush of thousands of runners off the starting line. I am not a natural athlete and running is something I can do on my own pace, against myself, without worrying about letting a team down. The Wasatch Back is a completely new animal.
My first leg was at about 9:00 am on Friday. Corey and Riley had already made their legs look pretty effortless and I was all keyed up on Red Bull and adrenaline. I strapped on my little ipod, told the car I wanted to see them at mile 2 and headed off for 5.6 miles. It was HOT. I've been running by the beach at sea level so I could definitely feel the combo of heat and altitude. But I did in fact train so I was feeling good. There are about 300 teams in this thing but they start at all different times so for most of your legs, you only see two or three other runners. What you do see though are tons and tons of support cars. And everyone that passes honks or waves as they go by. There may not be spectators lining the streets for 178 miles, but the support cars start to feel like your own little fan club. You make friends with the ones that are stopping at the same miles you are, you trade salt water taffy and nutter butters, you flirt...it's a whole different experience than breezing past your friends at a marathon.
So I'm running, and I can't believe that I haven't hit two miles yet. A minivan stops and tosses me a water. I drink half and pour half on my head. Rick had told me that putting cold water on my wrists would cool me down quickly so I toss a little there too. I finally see the Mechanical Hounds Support Pilot up ahead. Corey tells me they lied and went a little further than two miles. The "Halfway Liars" club is born. This heat is killing me. I'm feeling tired and I have almost four miles to go. And that's when the team aspect of the race starts to kick in. I don't want to be the weak link here. I don't want to be the one who couldn't hack it. For the first time in my running life, this isn't just about personal bests and my own goals. I have to really and truly TAKE ONE FOR THE TEAM! So I keep running. And with about a half mile left to go, my iPod kicks in with a little Eye of the Tiger at the very moment some cute little kid, delighted to find a grown-up to say yes to his request, sprays my whole body with a garden hose. The water feels like little pin-pricks at first and of course there is no workout song more cliche then Eye of the Tiger but the combination feels perfect. I finish strong, pass the slap bracelet to Emily and we jump in the car, only 25 more hours to go.
The weather was perfect, I saw breathtaking parts of Utah I had never seen before and I swear I learned more about cooperation in those hours than I ever have at the millions of team building activities I've done over the years. I have so enjoyed all the individual races I've done and I will keep doing them, but the shared sense of accomplishment I got this weekend was far more satisfying than anything I could have done by myself. I'm already planning for next year...
4:30 came early. This was the last time I looked remotely cute for two days and even this is questionable.
Riley didn't really look excited to be awake either but I appreciated his efforts.
You know what I'm going to say right? Breakfast of Champions.
Rick and Tom did a good job of packing the back. A good job that lasted only until we dropped off the first runner and then was a complete mess for the rest of the time.
Emily prepped in case we had to defend ourselves on the way to Logan.
And here we are, Car 1 of the Mechanical Hounds at the start line.
My grandparents showed up to cheer us on!
Remember how I'm obsessesed with the Steep and Cheap emails??? They had a team! And we were near them the whole time! I *might* have embarrassed myself by being a little too enthusiastic around them.
The first exchange.
Cooper is a machine.
Sister to sister.
Our team mantra. And a really good way to spot the support car when your legs are dying.
Tom is also a little machine. "I'm running because I hate you guys!"
I'm afraid you probably can't tell but this entire race was spectacular. Utah is too pretty.
Rick=awesome
I don't have as many photos of the other car but aren't these boys adorable?
These two are pretty cute as well.
And here is the entire rock star crew of Car 2.
And all of us minus Rick who was blazing down a steep incline.
We all ended up running into folks we knew. Marc would later be sad not to be on OUR team.
We ate like the finely tuned athletes we are.
This was when we met up with Car 2 at the start of the second leg. Mike had just charged straight up a huge hill without passing out. Impressive.
You guys have no idea what you missed here.
Or here.
Mom and Greg met us out on the course. Isn't my mother adorable?
I wish I had a better camera. This was such a pretty place.
Poor Rick was always the last runner when we met Car 2 so he isn't here.
We carb loaded and then slept soundly for a couple of hours. Our bodies nearly revolted when my alarm went off at 1:30 a.m. and it was time to get up.
Poor Tom.
Sleepy Riley.
Logan and Christopher were totally loopy when we met them to start our third leg. Here is me laughing so hard I almost cried. If you ever meet these boys, ask them about Banadam and Eve.
Emily and Tom.
A cow.
There are several awesome things about this photo. But my favorite is the giant bag of M&M's Emily almost took into the porta pottie.
Post race massage is delightful.
And so are naps while you wait for your team.
And sisters who take good photos are pretty alright too.
These feet ran 178 miles in 28 hours.
GO MECHANICAL HOUNDS!
p.s. i'm adding this little clip from Park City TV in case anyone wants a little more info on the race...
The Wasatch Back Relay was quite possibly the most fun thing I've ever done. I realize that spending 28 hours cramped in a car with five other people, getting out pretty much only to run up and down hills in the Wasatch Mountains might not seem particularly appealing to everyone. I'm not sure even I was totally sold on it until I actually got to Utah and all twelve of us met together for the first time. I had been so busy worrying about my training and the altitude and getting work stuff squared away that I forgot to get excited. Talking about exchange points and water stops and sleeping arrangements created a little buzz in my brain that still hasn't quite worn off even four days after we finished. Our team consisted of me, Corey, my brother Christopher, sister-in law Tasha, sister Emily, brother Logan, his girlfriend Kristen, my little sister Elizabeth's boyfriend Tom, my friend Riley, our family friends Katie and Mike Maahs and our last minute fill-in and now way rad friend Rick who is Katie's sister's boyfriend-and a ridiculously fast runner.
I won't get into a lot of the race logistics but basically, there are two cars of six and we leapfrog each other for 178 miles from Logan, Utah to Park City, Utah. Each person runs three legs of 3-8 miles and your car is responsible for all your care and feeding for the entire race. The organizers provide porta-potties, exchange places, and a finish line. You handle food, water, sleeping and driving. You pretty much end up driving one or two miles at a time, making sure your runner is hydrated, or pita chipped, or sunscreened or ibuprofened through the six legs in your car.
I've done plenty of road races in the years since I started running. I always enjoy the process of training, of pushing myself and seeing what I am capable of. I love the excitement of race day, of having your friends show up with Gatorade and yell your name. I love the crush of thousands of runners off the starting line. I am not a natural athlete and running is something I can do on my own pace, against myself, without worrying about letting a team down. The Wasatch Back is a completely new animal.
My first leg was at about 9:00 am on Friday. Corey and Riley had already made their legs look pretty effortless and I was all keyed up on Red Bull and adrenaline. I strapped on my little ipod, told the car I wanted to see them at mile 2 and headed off for 5.6 miles. It was HOT. I've been running by the beach at sea level so I could definitely feel the combo of heat and altitude. But I did in fact train so I was feeling good. There are about 300 teams in this thing but they start at all different times so for most of your legs, you only see two or three other runners. What you do see though are tons and tons of support cars. And everyone that passes honks or waves as they go by. There may not be spectators lining the streets for 178 miles, but the support cars start to feel like your own little fan club. You make friends with the ones that are stopping at the same miles you are, you trade salt water taffy and nutter butters, you flirt...it's a whole different experience than breezing past your friends at a marathon.
So I'm running, and I can't believe that I haven't hit two miles yet. A minivan stops and tosses me a water. I drink half and pour half on my head. Rick had told me that putting cold water on my wrists would cool me down quickly so I toss a little there too. I finally see the Mechanical Hounds Support Pilot up ahead. Corey tells me they lied and went a little further than two miles. The "Halfway Liars" club is born. This heat is killing me. I'm feeling tired and I have almost four miles to go. And that's when the team aspect of the race starts to kick in. I don't want to be the weak link here. I don't want to be the one who couldn't hack it. For the first time in my running life, this isn't just about personal bests and my own goals. I have to really and truly TAKE ONE FOR THE TEAM! So I keep running. And with about a half mile left to go, my iPod kicks in with a little Eye of the Tiger at the very moment some cute little kid, delighted to find a grown-up to say yes to his request, sprays my whole body with a garden hose. The water feels like little pin-pricks at first and of course there is no workout song more cliche then Eye of the Tiger but the combination feels perfect. I finish strong, pass the slap bracelet to Emily and we jump in the car, only 25 more hours to go.
The weather was perfect, I saw breathtaking parts of Utah I had never seen before and I swear I learned more about cooperation in those hours than I ever have at the millions of team building activities I've done over the years. I have so enjoyed all the individual races I've done and I will keep doing them, but the shared sense of accomplishment I got this weekend was far more satisfying than anything I could have done by myself. I'm already planning for next year...
4:30 came early. This was the last time I looked remotely cute for two days and even this is questionable.
Riley didn't really look excited to be awake either but I appreciated his efforts.
You know what I'm going to say right? Breakfast of Champions.
Rick and Tom did a good job of packing the back. A good job that lasted only until we dropped off the first runner and then was a complete mess for the rest of the time.
Emily prepped in case we had to defend ourselves on the way to Logan.
And here we are, Car 1 of the Mechanical Hounds at the start line.
My grandparents showed up to cheer us on!
Remember how I'm obsessesed with the Steep and Cheap emails??? They had a team! And we were near them the whole time! I *might* have embarrassed myself by being a little too enthusiastic around them.
The first exchange.
Cooper is a machine.
Sister to sister.
Our team mantra. And a really good way to spot the support car when your legs are dying.
Tom is also a little machine. "I'm running because I hate you guys!"
I'm afraid you probably can't tell but this entire race was spectacular. Utah is too pretty.
Rick=awesome
I don't have as many photos of the other car but aren't these boys adorable?
These two are pretty cute as well.
And here is the entire rock star crew of Car 2.
And all of us minus Rick who was blazing down a steep incline.
We all ended up running into folks we knew. Marc would later be sad not to be on OUR team.
We ate like the finely tuned athletes we are.
This was when we met up with Car 2 at the start of the second leg. Mike had just charged straight up a huge hill without passing out. Impressive.
You guys have no idea what you missed here.
Or here.
Mom and Greg met us out on the course. Isn't my mother adorable?
I wish I had a better camera. This was such a pretty place.
Poor Rick was always the last runner when we met Car 2 so he isn't here.
We carb loaded and then slept soundly for a couple of hours. Our bodies nearly revolted when my alarm went off at 1:30 a.m. and it was time to get up.
Poor Tom.
Sleepy Riley.
Logan and Christopher were totally loopy when we met them to start our third leg. Here is me laughing so hard I almost cried. If you ever meet these boys, ask them about Banadam and Eve.
Emily and Tom.
A cow.
There are several awesome things about this photo. But my favorite is the giant bag of M&M's Emily almost took into the porta pottie.
Post race massage is delightful.
And so are naps while you wait for your team.
And sisters who take good photos are pretty alright too.
These feet ran 178 miles in 28 hours.
GO MECHANICAL HOUNDS!p.s. i'm adding this little clip from Park City TV in case anyone wants a little more info on the race...
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
The rest of the story
I heard recently that some old friends of mine had a major fight and are no longer speaking to each other. I had this very idealized view of their relationship and it made me sad that it had ended that way. I realize I should be over this by now but it's the reason I felt such genuine sadness for Kenny Loggins' second divorce. Sometimes when you hear the end of a story you find out that things weren't as they appeared to be. And it's disappointing.
But I'll tell you when the rest of the story is NOT disappointing. When after years of being an awkward teenager, I think Prince Harry is actually turning out to be hotter than Prince William. I watched that Dateline interview with both of them last night and I had two observations 1) a British accent will double a man's baseline attractiveness and 2) paparazzi are scum.
But I'll tell you when the rest of the story is NOT disappointing. When after years of being an awkward teenager, I think Prince Harry is actually turning out to be hotter than Prince William. I watched that Dateline interview with both of them last night and I had two observations 1) a British accent will double a man's baseline attractiveness and 2) paparazzi are scum.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
A friend in need...
So I have mentioned several times that although I am normally a very dependable person, I have a wildly irresponsible streak when it comes to anything related to driving. This week my inability to make it to the DMV finally had a chance to bite me.
Almost six months ago I lost my drivers license and had to get it replaced. The new one was supposed to arrive in two weeks but two weeks had stretched in five months and it has yet to arrive. I made one call to the DMV and they said it must have gotten lost and I should just go to my local office and get yet another one. But instead of doing that of course, I just worry occasionally that some underage kid with brown hair and brown eyes is out there having a far more fulfilling nightlife than I am with my ID and totally forget to get myself to the DMV until moments when there is no way I can go.
Moments like Thursday afternoon as I was driving to the airport to go to Atlanta. I have a passport and an interim license so flying has not been a problem for the last little while. But I haven’t need to rent a car on any of my work trips this year, a fact I didn’t really think about until I was about 10 minutes from being late for my flight. I dug out the temporary license and oddly enough, it isn’t good indefinitely. In fact, it was only good through April 8. So I made two panicked phone calls to the Enterprise car rental counter in Atlanta and the California DMV. Enterprise thought maybe the DMV could fax them some sort of proof of license and the DMV thought perhaps I could give them a call when I arrived and sort it all out. Neither option seemed particularly promising but since I had no time to stop at a local branch and no choice but to get on the plane, off I went. I rehearsed my story the whole way to Atlanta. I was convinced that when I was able to present my interim license I could get them to see that I that I was indeed a legal driver and that obviously, when you get a temporary card, it’s because yours is on the way and mine was just sitting at home. They could put my number in the computer and ta-dah, I could be on my way to my hotel 45 miles from the airport at 10:30 on a Thursday night.
Things looked good when I got to the ATL. There was a nice, young male at the counter. Nice young males are sort of my specialty so I turned up the charm, “I have a little problem and I’m just really hoping you can help me…” I have no problem using my flirting talents in such situations. The guy at the counter was sympathetic. But unfortunately, a little useless. So he sent me to the main operations center to talk to his manager. I crossed my fingers on the way over. Bingo, the manager was a late twenty something guy who seemed pleased to see that the problem customer was a young female. I presented my case. I walked him through the logic of an interim driver’s license and how clearly, CLEARLY, I was a legal driver. But he was adamant that he needed an actual card. I obviously spend too much time in cyberworld because it seems stupid to me that there isn’t a way for car rental agencies to look up a license. If computers can access my bank account in Utah to use my debit card in Switzerland, I just figured Georgia could ask California if I know how to drive. But I wisely decided that Mr. Enterprise was not the one to blame for this clear lack of technological prowess.
So there I was, at 10:45 on a Thursday night, in the Atlanta airport, with no rental car. What is a girl to do?
I’ll tell you. She calls Atlanta Bev the rock star who comes right to the airport and picks up her sad little illegal driver. She showed up, we went to grab her pajamas and then she drove me out to the hotel where we stayed up way too late laughing and catching up. There is very little in this world that is as comforting as a close friend. I travel all the time all by myself to places I’ve never been. And I am used to it, and I’m really OK with my own company so I rarely get bored or lonely. But I’m standing at that rental car office, waiting for Bev-who does not even hesitate to come when I call her-and I’m thinking about all the years we have been friends and all the times she has been there when I need her. From inspiring me to be brave and move to California to her calm influence at the event we worked the very day we met, to listening to way too many dumb boy stories and always having the right advice, she has been a completely unselfish and supportive friend for seven years. Seeing her face at that unfamiliar airport in an unfamiliar city and immediately slipping into the easiness of a friendship that is that old and dear filled up a little void I hadn’t even noticed was there. I went into work with her the next day and it was just like our old days on the 18th floor.
This was a good work trip and a nice intro to Atlanta, but mostly it was a nice refuel for my little soul before the big race this weekend!
Almost six months ago I lost my drivers license and had to get it replaced. The new one was supposed to arrive in two weeks but two weeks had stretched in five months and it has yet to arrive. I made one call to the DMV and they said it must have gotten lost and I should just go to my local office and get yet another one. But instead of doing that of course, I just worry occasionally that some underage kid with brown hair and brown eyes is out there having a far more fulfilling nightlife than I am with my ID and totally forget to get myself to the DMV until moments when there is no way I can go.
Moments like Thursday afternoon as I was driving to the airport to go to Atlanta. I have a passport and an interim license so flying has not been a problem for the last little while. But I haven’t need to rent a car on any of my work trips this year, a fact I didn’t really think about until I was about 10 minutes from being late for my flight. I dug out the temporary license and oddly enough, it isn’t good indefinitely. In fact, it was only good through April 8. So I made two panicked phone calls to the Enterprise car rental counter in Atlanta and the California DMV. Enterprise thought maybe the DMV could fax them some sort of proof of license and the DMV thought perhaps I could give them a call when I arrived and sort it all out. Neither option seemed particularly promising but since I had no time to stop at a local branch and no choice but to get on the plane, off I went. I rehearsed my story the whole way to Atlanta. I was convinced that when I was able to present my interim license I could get them to see that I that I was indeed a legal driver and that obviously, when you get a temporary card, it’s because yours is on the way and mine was just sitting at home. They could put my number in the computer and ta-dah, I could be on my way to my hotel 45 miles from the airport at 10:30 on a Thursday night.
Things looked good when I got to the ATL. There was a nice, young male at the counter. Nice young males are sort of my specialty so I turned up the charm, “I have a little problem and I’m just really hoping you can help me…” I have no problem using my flirting talents in such situations. The guy at the counter was sympathetic. But unfortunately, a little useless. So he sent me to the main operations center to talk to his manager. I crossed my fingers on the way over. Bingo, the manager was a late twenty something guy who seemed pleased to see that the problem customer was a young female. I presented my case. I walked him through the logic of an interim driver’s license and how clearly, CLEARLY, I was a legal driver. But he was adamant that he needed an actual card. I obviously spend too much time in cyberworld because it seems stupid to me that there isn’t a way for car rental agencies to look up a license. If computers can access my bank account in Utah to use my debit card in Switzerland, I just figured Georgia could ask California if I know how to drive. But I wisely decided that Mr. Enterprise was not the one to blame for this clear lack of technological prowess.
So there I was, at 10:45 on a Thursday night, in the Atlanta airport, with no rental car. What is a girl to do?
I’ll tell you. She calls Atlanta Bev the rock star who comes right to the airport and picks up her sad little illegal driver. She showed up, we went to grab her pajamas and then she drove me out to the hotel where we stayed up way too late laughing and catching up. There is very little in this world that is as comforting as a close friend. I travel all the time all by myself to places I’ve never been. And I am used to it, and I’m really OK with my own company so I rarely get bored or lonely. But I’m standing at that rental car office, waiting for Bev-who does not even hesitate to come when I call her-and I’m thinking about all the years we have been friends and all the times she has been there when I need her. From inspiring me to be brave and move to California to her calm influence at the event we worked the very day we met, to listening to way too many dumb boy stories and always having the right advice, she has been a completely unselfish and supportive friend for seven years. Seeing her face at that unfamiliar airport in an unfamiliar city and immediately slipping into the easiness of a friendship that is that old and dear filled up a little void I hadn’t even noticed was there. I went into work with her the next day and it was just like our old days on the 18th floor.
This was a good work trip and a nice intro to Atlanta, but mostly it was a nice refuel for my little soul before the big race this weekend!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Inspired
I have been crying myself sick watching this clip from "Britain's Got Talent" and so I feel like I really MUST make you watch it too.
This is pure joy folks.
This is pure joy folks.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
The Creek Drank the Cradle
A few years ago I was headed to Phoenix for a work trip. A fellow music buff recommended that I go to a little music store called Stinkweeds. He also mentioned that my next CD purchase really needed to be The Creek Drank the Cradle by Iron and Wine. He had proved himself trustworthy in the past so that week I made my way to Stinkweeds and discovered a store chock full of all the indie type stuff I'd been lusting after but couldn't always find at more mainstream stores. Now this was only about five years ago but I was still on dial-up internet and there was no such thing as iTunes so the instant gratification of getting a song RIGHT NOW was still a fantasy for me. I am embarrassed to admit but I rarely go to music stores anymore because I can get whatever I want with the click of the mouse. But I do miss reading a great review and then driving to the stor to root through the racks, picking up way more CD's than I would actually be able to buy, trying to decide which ones I really, really needed and which ones I might be able to live without. I am so spoiled now.
Anyway, back on topic, that day I decided I would go with both of my friend's suggestions and I bought the Iron & Wine CD. I got out to my rental car and popped it into the CD player. I had absolutely no idea what to expect, just that this guy was supposed to be good, but within about 30 seconds I knew Iron & Wine and I were going to be tight. I felt like this was the soundtrack for the girl I had always fantasized about becoming. And here I was, finally feeling settled in my new life in California, making good friends, being comfortable with myself without having to look around at everyone else. I hear this song and I am right back in my tiny little bedroom making big plans.
Bird Stealing Bread
I got to be sort of an Iron & Wine missionary. I had my whole circle addicted. My mom even took my little sister to see him play at Kilby Court in Salt Lake. I moved to Boston and kept spreading the word. I finally got to see him myself at the Middle East Downstairs in Cambridge with my roommate Linda who had also gotten hooked.
But my favorite Iron & Wine moment was a show a few years ago in Rhode Island. One of my best friends from elementary school was randomly in town one weekend and it worked out that she and six of my friends were all willing to drive from Boston to Providence to see him play in a little club. I had been such a brat about how not fun the people in Boston were going to be and who would ever like the things I liked...and here were eight of us, hours from home, doing one of my very favorite things together. I am sure this will sound really cheesy but I felt so much peace and love that night. I struggled a fair amount with the decision to make that move and there were many, many times that I prayed really hard to understand what I was doing there. That night things seemed really clear. And awesome.
All of this is to say that Iron & Wine has a new album coming out this fall and I happen to have some tracks. I feel like this is one of the rare artists that just keeps getting better with each album. Here is a little taste of The Shepherd's Dog, coming out Sept. 25.
Resurrection Fern
Anyway, back on topic, that day I decided I would go with both of my friend's suggestions and I bought the Iron & Wine CD. I got out to my rental car and popped it into the CD player. I had absolutely no idea what to expect, just that this guy was supposed to be good, but within about 30 seconds I knew Iron & Wine and I were going to be tight. I felt like this was the soundtrack for the girl I had always fantasized about becoming. And here I was, finally feeling settled in my new life in California, making good friends, being comfortable with myself without having to look around at everyone else. I hear this song and I am right back in my tiny little bedroom making big plans.
Bird Stealing Bread
I got to be sort of an Iron & Wine missionary. I had my whole circle addicted. My mom even took my little sister to see him play at Kilby Court in Salt Lake. I moved to Boston and kept spreading the word. I finally got to see him myself at the Middle East Downstairs in Cambridge with my roommate Linda who had also gotten hooked.
But my favorite Iron & Wine moment was a show a few years ago in Rhode Island. One of my best friends from elementary school was randomly in town one weekend and it worked out that she and six of my friends were all willing to drive from Boston to Providence to see him play in a little club. I had been such a brat about how not fun the people in Boston were going to be and who would ever like the things I liked...and here were eight of us, hours from home, doing one of my very favorite things together. I am sure this will sound really cheesy but I felt so much peace and love that night. I struggled a fair amount with the decision to make that move and there were many, many times that I prayed really hard to understand what I was doing there. That night things seemed really clear. And awesome.
All of this is to say that Iron & Wine has a new album coming out this fall and I happen to have some tracks. I feel like this is one of the rare artists that just keeps getting better with each album. Here is a little taste of The Shepherd's Dog, coming out Sept. 25.
Resurrection Fern
HAPPY 16th BIRTHDAY!!!
Once upon a time, the parents of five children announced they were having one more baby. The oldest daughter, who was 14 at the time, was aghast. "I will never love this baby," she said, "I will be an adult before she can read, we will never know each other."
But the baby came, and she was a good baby. A happy baby. A beautiful baby. And as soon as she was born, no one in the family could imagine why we thought our family was complete without her.
And even though that baby stole my face, and is smarter and more creative and has a better boyfriend at sixteen than I do at twice her age, I am so delighted to wish her a very, very Happy 16th Birthday!
p.s. if you live in Utah, breathe easy, the kid doesn't get her license for a couple more months. Thanks you Drivers Ed.
But the baby came, and she was a good baby. A happy baby. A beautiful baby. And as soon as she was born, no one in the family could imagine why we thought our family was complete without her.
And even though that baby stole my face, and is smarter and more creative and has a better boyfriend at sixteen than I do at twice her age, I am so delighted to wish her a very, very Happy 16th Birthday!
p.s. if you live in Utah, breathe easy, the kid doesn't get her license for a couple more months. Thanks you Drivers Ed.
Pam the Blogger
I'm hatching a few different blog topics right now but I can't decide which one I want to flesh out.
In the meantime...I'd like to present a couple of new blog friends for your enjoyment.
Beckie is claiming that she won't be very entertaining via the internet but if you read her first couple posts, I think you will disagree. I wouldn't normally condone her usage of a Dane Cook clip but again, check out the context and I think you'll see why I like this girl so much. Way more than the loser boy who introduced us (hi greg!).
Heidi is a friend from my Boston days. A talented writer, a great cook, and a fellow runner, don't expect her to make you CD mix anytime soon but DO check out her recent Fung Wah bus adventures.
I know, just what an addict needs-more drugs.
In the meantime...I'd like to present a couple of new blog friends for your enjoyment.
Beckie is claiming that she won't be very entertaining via the internet but if you read her first couple posts, I think you will disagree. I wouldn't normally condone her usage of a Dane Cook clip but again, check out the context and I think you'll see why I like this girl so much. Way more than the loser boy who introduced us (hi greg!).
Heidi is a friend from my Boston days. A talented writer, a great cook, and a fellow runner, don't expect her to make you CD mix anytime soon but DO check out her recent Fung Wah bus adventures.
I know, just what an addict needs-more drugs.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Illume
One awesome thing about living by the beach is that all kinds of fun things happen down there-street fairs, vollyball tournaments, surf competitions, paintball championships. You sort of just never know what you might find.
Yesterday I was out for a run and saw about 25 giant mirrored boxes in a circle on the sand. Turns out it wasa big action and adventure sport photography exhibit sponsored by Red Bull that is visiting our beach for the next week.
So tonight we got some folks together and went to check it out.
There were some truly amazing photos down there. All the images are on the website I linked if you want to see them. It is tough to pick a favorite because there were so many I loved but there is one of three kayakers at the top of Victoria Falls in Zambia that is one of the most breathtaking things I've ever seen. The photographer is Desre Pickers from South Africa and I think she's my new idol. From her bio:
I believe that if you want to get an image that no one else can get or has thought of, you need to be willing to do what no one else is willing to do; even if it means hanging off the back of a Jet Ski, swimming down rapids, or balancing on the top of Victoria Falls. The harder you work for an image, the more rewarding the result will be. Following this advice as best I can has given me my favorite shots.
The exhibit is only showing in three cities so far-Aspen, here and Portland. In Aspen it was set up in the snow, here it was obviously on the beach and in Portland they are setting up in the city. I love the idea of creating art space in unexpected places. And I'll admit, tonight I am fantasizing a little bit about being a sport photographer...what a killer way to pay the bills...
Yesterday I was out for a run and saw about 25 giant mirrored boxes in a circle on the sand. Turns out it wasa big action and adventure sport photography exhibit sponsored by Red Bull that is visiting our beach for the next week.
So tonight we got some folks together and went to check it out.
There were some truly amazing photos down there. All the images are on the website I linked if you want to see them. It is tough to pick a favorite because there were so many I loved but there is one of three kayakers at the top of Victoria Falls in Zambia that is one of the most breathtaking things I've ever seen. The photographer is Desre Pickers from South Africa and I think she's my new idol. From her bio:
I believe that if you want to get an image that no one else can get or has thought of, you need to be willing to do what no one else is willing to do; even if it means hanging off the back of a Jet Ski, swimming down rapids, or balancing on the top of Victoria Falls. The harder you work for an image, the more rewarding the result will be. Following this advice as best I can has given me my favorite shots.
The exhibit is only showing in three cities so far-Aspen, here and Portland. In Aspen it was set up in the snow, here it was obviously on the beach and in Portland they are setting up in the city. I love the idea of creating art space in unexpected places. And I'll admit, tonight I am fantasizing a little bit about being a sport photographer...what a killer way to pay the bills...
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Worst Case
I have often said that one of the nice things about being single is that you have the chance to identify and work on some of your major flaws before subjecting a spouse to their full force.
Ever since I was a tiny girl, I have been an Olympic Gold Medal worrier. I worried about earthquakes and house fires, my dad being on airplanes, salamanders in the swimming pool, being obedient enough, big black dogs, walking to school alone, being left out at recess, my grades, what other kids thought of me, pleasing teachers, if I would ever be able to live in an apartment by myself and not be scared at night, how I would tell a boy I had to ask my mom first when he asked if I would marry him. I can remember laying in bed on night in high school, staring at the ceiling and worrying that I only had time to take the ACT's once and if I didn't get a good enough score then for sure I wouldn't get into college and I'd have to work at Deseret Book for the rest of my life. I worried about it so long, and it got so late, that then I worried for a bit about how early I had to get up and how much time I had wasted thinking about the ACT's.
So here I am, fifteen years later and I still lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and invent things to worry about. Losing my job, the altitude of the Wasatch Back, accidentally missing a credit card payment, my car getting stolen, missing a huge work deadline, leaving my cell phone somewhere (I panic about this at least once a day). I am so good at this that sometimes I can worry about two opposite things at once. Like sitting in my mom's ward in Utah last month and freaking out that all the girls there were my age and had three or four kids and I have zero kids and none on the horizon but also very concerned that I definitely didn't want to trade lives with any of them either.
Chronic worrying is exhausting enough when it's just me but I imagine it could be doubly annoying to someone who doesn't have the benefit of knowing how my brain arrived at these ridiculous concerns. And I also imagine that becoming a parent will open the door to hundreds of thousands of new things to worry about. From what might the baby choke on to why isn't the teenager in by midnight to what if I don't do a good job of teaching them to be productive members of society?
I have a worrier mother, and some worrier siblings so I think some of this is hereditary. It might be impossible for me to stop completely. And some of my worrying really does motivate me to work hard and feel love and concern for the people around me so I certainly don't want to lose that. But I have set a goal to slow down the useless worry. I'm starting out small, trying to get my nighttime ceiling staring under control. I will think about good, calm, happy things. If something is really sticking in my head as I fall asleep I will get up and write it down so it's out. But I won't think about work, I won't play out worst case scenarios about boys or friends or big black dogs. I will not think about money or the state of the world.
As we speak I am snuggled in my bed with my laptop propped up on a pillow. I figured I would do my favorite thing RIGHT before I fall asleep, get my brain nice and empty and then SHUT DOWN.
Here we go...
Ever since I was a tiny girl, I have been an Olympic Gold Medal worrier. I worried about earthquakes and house fires, my dad being on airplanes, salamanders in the swimming pool, being obedient enough, big black dogs, walking to school alone, being left out at recess, my grades, what other kids thought of me, pleasing teachers, if I would ever be able to live in an apartment by myself and not be scared at night, how I would tell a boy I had to ask my mom first when he asked if I would marry him. I can remember laying in bed on night in high school, staring at the ceiling and worrying that I only had time to take the ACT's once and if I didn't get a good enough score then for sure I wouldn't get into college and I'd have to work at Deseret Book for the rest of my life. I worried about it so long, and it got so late, that then I worried for a bit about how early I had to get up and how much time I had wasted thinking about the ACT's.
So here I am, fifteen years later and I still lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and invent things to worry about. Losing my job, the altitude of the Wasatch Back, accidentally missing a credit card payment, my car getting stolen, missing a huge work deadline, leaving my cell phone somewhere (I panic about this at least once a day). I am so good at this that sometimes I can worry about two opposite things at once. Like sitting in my mom's ward in Utah last month and freaking out that all the girls there were my age and had three or four kids and I have zero kids and none on the horizon but also very concerned that I definitely didn't want to trade lives with any of them either.
Chronic worrying is exhausting enough when it's just me but I imagine it could be doubly annoying to someone who doesn't have the benefit of knowing how my brain arrived at these ridiculous concerns. And I also imagine that becoming a parent will open the door to hundreds of thousands of new things to worry about. From what might the baby choke on to why isn't the teenager in by midnight to what if I don't do a good job of teaching them to be productive members of society?
I have a worrier mother, and some worrier siblings so I think some of this is hereditary. It might be impossible for me to stop completely. And some of my worrying really does motivate me to work hard and feel love and concern for the people around me so I certainly don't want to lose that. But I have set a goal to slow down the useless worry. I'm starting out small, trying to get my nighttime ceiling staring under control. I will think about good, calm, happy things. If something is really sticking in my head as I fall asleep I will get up and write it down so it's out. But I won't think about work, I won't play out worst case scenarios about boys or friends or big black dogs. I will not think about money or the state of the world.
As we speak I am snuggled in my bed with my laptop propped up on a pillow. I figured I would do my favorite thing RIGHT before I fall asleep, get my brain nice and empty and then SHUT DOWN.
Here we go...
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Sk*rt!
This new website could quite possibly suck up all the free time I don't already spend on the internet.
It's basically a giant clearing house for amazing things out on the www that you would never find yourself. For instance, check out this rad photo blog I found today. Two friends on opposite sides of the country each take a photo everyday and post them together.
Oh sk*rt, you might become a problem...
It's basically a giant clearing house for amazing things out on the www that you would never find yourself. For instance, check out this rad photo blog I found today. Two friends on opposite sides of the country each take a photo everyday and post them together.
Oh sk*rt, you might become a problem...
Monday, June 04, 2007
Walking in Memphis
This post is for Beckie, because she needs reading material at work and my brain is so full of Sales Meeting I can't get anything creative out of it. I wrote this a few years ago after a long work trip.
i was sitting in an airport in memphis, on a two hour layover, trying to forget the fact that I had gotten up at 4:00 a.m. to make my flight out of Seattle and now I was sitting here doing nothing in a terminal with no bookstore and only BBQ restaurants when all I really wanted was a good salad. and i'm starving but i've eaten my quota of gift shop trail mix for the next ten years and i just can't face it again. so i buy a copy of "dwell" and a copy of "fast company" and i look for a place i can kill what my wanderings through the airport in search of lettuce have now reduced to an hour before my plane leaves.
people are sitting in the waiting area like they always do at airports; every other seat and with their carryon bag taking up the space next to them. So even though theoretically there are plenty of seats for everyone, you often end up standing or on the floor because I'm using my backpack to ward off having to sit next to someone for one second longer than the duration of the flight. I usually have no issue with this arrangement, except that today I am incredibly sleepy and i just want a chair. so i step over two guys forming some sort of blockade with their legs and end up sitting almost directly across from a really good looking guy who appears to be about my age. I notice him immediately because A) he is right across from me, B) he is wearing a great watch and I can hear part of a conversation I had with my brother Sterling where I said no one uses watches anymore because of cell phones and he said, "grownups wear watches". and i am a little excited about the idea that this "boy" is a grownup and I am a grownup and although usually that admission bums me out, today it's just a little bit sexy, and C) the guy notices me as well.
I fly enough to know that cute guy on your airplane is rare and usually accompanied by girlfriend or wife. So I am slightly intrigued by this one. I have now noticed that he is also wearing glasses, he is not wearing a wedding ring, his eyes are brown and that watch is seriously cool.
And then we begin. I start reading my magazine and position it so i can glance up at cute guy while he works on his laptop. We catch eyes a few times. I keep looking away because I have suddenly, unexplainably and frustratingly, lost all ability to flirt. Our suitcases are both on the floor in front of us and I realize that the handle on mine is making it tough to glance at him without being totally obvious. I try to get the handle down and he stops working to watch me. He then moves his bag and turns it into a table so he can lean foward to work on the computer. He struggles with his handle as well so I decide to watch him as well. He is frustrated with the thing and it's sorta cute. Obstacles finally eliminated we return to our distractions. We do this for about 15 minutes and then they announce our flight is delayed due to weather. We look at each other and smile and roll our eyes. 15 more minutes of reading and working. I am engrossed in aerial photos of LA's freeway system. He closes his computer. Looks around. Looks at me. I smile. He smiles. He gets up and walks around, leaves his stuff all over. He comes back. Sits. I put my magazine away. We sit there and watch each other for a minute. I get embarrassed and watch the TV. Then there is an announcement-please ignore the fire drill, it was a false alarm. We look at each other-he laughs, "well good thing since we didn't actually HEAR a fire alarm." I laugh. More computer and magazine. 15 more minutes, they announce we could board in 15 minutes or five minutes so don't go too far. We look at each other again. And we start laughing. He gets up and asks if I would watch his things while he goes to the restroom. Of course, no problem.
And I think of all the times I talk on and on with people at airports, and all the times I start conversations and all the conversations that get started with me that are interesting or boring or fun or lame and how easy it is to start talking with someone. Unless you think this person is really cute, and in your head you are thinking-I am single, maybe he is single, I'd like to get to know this person, he looks interesting-which admittedly is because he's cute but I've been observing him for almost two hours now and I feel like I have a sense that he's a person I would enjoy talking to. All these things are running through my head when he comes back and then they call my row. The plane is small and the space is limited and so I get on the plane. And I'm sitting in my exit row seat, and he gets on and he's scanning the plane, and we make eye contact again and then he slides into his row. And I read some Dwell and think about how people meet each other and how it's really hard but it's also sort of exciting. And how much I love that feeling when you are first into someone and they are so exciting and interesting, and all of their stories are new, and they tell you about things you don't know and all of your best stories get to come out and they think you are funny and smart and confident and they tell you how much they like your laugh and you forget that maybe in six months or six years, you'll think about that time you talked about whether you would let your kids have a dog and it will make you feel sick because you liked him so much and you let him so far in and then when it didn't work you couldn't stand stupid pets and any mention of them for months.
And sometimes I hate it, and sometimes it wears me out, and sometimes I want to quit. But then the dog sadness will fade, and there will be another boy, another watch, another one that will say hey make me a CD, and I like the way you write and your hair when you leave it curly. And this is what I'm used to. And there is a sense of comfort in this.
When we got off the plane we both got on our cell phones right away. We got to the baggage claim and his bag came first, he picked it up, smiled at me, waved, and left. I got those little butterflies you used to get in the cafeteria if the boy you were crushing on smiled at you during lunch.
And I think someday I might miss this. Or at least appreciate that there were days of my life where the pressing issue of the day was whether i should have actually said hello...
i was sitting in an airport in memphis, on a two hour layover, trying to forget the fact that I had gotten up at 4:00 a.m. to make my flight out of Seattle and now I was sitting here doing nothing in a terminal with no bookstore and only BBQ restaurants when all I really wanted was a good salad. and i'm starving but i've eaten my quota of gift shop trail mix for the next ten years and i just can't face it again. so i buy a copy of "dwell" and a copy of "fast company" and i look for a place i can kill what my wanderings through the airport in search of lettuce have now reduced to an hour before my plane leaves.
people are sitting in the waiting area like they always do at airports; every other seat and with their carryon bag taking up the space next to them. So even though theoretically there are plenty of seats for everyone, you often end up standing or on the floor because I'm using my backpack to ward off having to sit next to someone for one second longer than the duration of the flight. I usually have no issue with this arrangement, except that today I am incredibly sleepy and i just want a chair. so i step over two guys forming some sort of blockade with their legs and end up sitting almost directly across from a really good looking guy who appears to be about my age. I notice him immediately because A) he is right across from me, B) he is wearing a great watch and I can hear part of a conversation I had with my brother Sterling where I said no one uses watches anymore because of cell phones and he said, "grownups wear watches". and i am a little excited about the idea that this "boy" is a grownup and I am a grownup and although usually that admission bums me out, today it's just a little bit sexy, and C) the guy notices me as well.
I fly enough to know that cute guy on your airplane is rare and usually accompanied by girlfriend or wife. So I am slightly intrigued by this one. I have now noticed that he is also wearing glasses, he is not wearing a wedding ring, his eyes are brown and that watch is seriously cool.
And then we begin. I start reading my magazine and position it so i can glance up at cute guy while he works on his laptop. We catch eyes a few times. I keep looking away because I have suddenly, unexplainably and frustratingly, lost all ability to flirt. Our suitcases are both on the floor in front of us and I realize that the handle on mine is making it tough to glance at him without being totally obvious. I try to get the handle down and he stops working to watch me. He then moves his bag and turns it into a table so he can lean foward to work on the computer. He struggles with his handle as well so I decide to watch him as well. He is frustrated with the thing and it's sorta cute. Obstacles finally eliminated we return to our distractions. We do this for about 15 minutes and then they announce our flight is delayed due to weather. We look at each other and smile and roll our eyes. 15 more minutes of reading and working. I am engrossed in aerial photos of LA's freeway system. He closes his computer. Looks around. Looks at me. I smile. He smiles. He gets up and walks around, leaves his stuff all over. He comes back. Sits. I put my magazine away. We sit there and watch each other for a minute. I get embarrassed and watch the TV. Then there is an announcement-please ignore the fire drill, it was a false alarm. We look at each other-he laughs, "well good thing since we didn't actually HEAR a fire alarm." I laugh. More computer and magazine. 15 more minutes, they announce we could board in 15 minutes or five minutes so don't go too far. We look at each other again. And we start laughing. He gets up and asks if I would watch his things while he goes to the restroom. Of course, no problem.
And I think of all the times I talk on and on with people at airports, and all the times I start conversations and all the conversations that get started with me that are interesting or boring or fun or lame and how easy it is to start talking with someone. Unless you think this person is really cute, and in your head you are thinking-I am single, maybe he is single, I'd like to get to know this person, he looks interesting-which admittedly is because he's cute but I've been observing him for almost two hours now and I feel like I have a sense that he's a person I would enjoy talking to. All these things are running through my head when he comes back and then they call my row. The plane is small and the space is limited and so I get on the plane. And I'm sitting in my exit row seat, and he gets on and he's scanning the plane, and we make eye contact again and then he slides into his row. And I read some Dwell and think about how people meet each other and how it's really hard but it's also sort of exciting. And how much I love that feeling when you are first into someone and they are so exciting and interesting, and all of their stories are new, and they tell you about things you don't know and all of your best stories get to come out and they think you are funny and smart and confident and they tell you how much they like your laugh and you forget that maybe in six months or six years, you'll think about that time you talked about whether you would let your kids have a dog and it will make you feel sick because you liked him so much and you let him so far in and then when it didn't work you couldn't stand stupid pets and any mention of them for months.
And sometimes I hate it, and sometimes it wears me out, and sometimes I want to quit. But then the dog sadness will fade, and there will be another boy, another watch, another one that will say hey make me a CD, and I like the way you write and your hair when you leave it curly. And this is what I'm used to. And there is a sense of comfort in this.
When we got off the plane we both got on our cell phones right away. We got to the baggage claim and his bag came first, he picked it up, smiled at me, waved, and left. I got those little butterflies you used to get in the cafeteria if the boy you were crushing on smiled at you during lunch.
And I think someday I might miss this. Or at least appreciate that there were days of my life where the pressing issue of the day was whether i should have actually said hello...
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Welcome to the World Baby Boy!
Few phone calls are as much fun as the ones you get from a friend in the maternity ward!
My dear, DEAR friend Lori and her delightful husband Steve are the proud parents of one bouncing 9 pound baby boy, Alexander Richard.
This little guy is such a lucky fella-he gets two awesome parents, he gets to live in Park City, and he has a whole bunch of people who are so thrilled that he's finally here.
So to celebrate his arrival,here is one of the happiest and most hopeful songs I know.
Welcome to the world Alexander! I can't wait to meet you!
My dear, DEAR friend Lori and her delightful husband Steve are the proud parents of one bouncing 9 pound baby boy, Alexander Richard.
This little guy is such a lucky fella-he gets two awesome parents, he gets to live in Park City, and he has a whole bunch of people who are so thrilled that he's finally here.
So to celebrate his arrival,here is one of the happiest and most hopeful songs I know.
Welcome to the world Alexander! I can't wait to meet you!
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