Trading Da Clubb for Da Tubb

Somehow my sleep schedule got messed up enough that, in tandem with a touch of the hermits, I decided to spend New Year's in the tub with some tunes and a glass of wine. In some respects, this mode of celebration and playlist were inspired by this Babyface video (also, this is my favorite version of this song and I have yet to find it sans video).





I'll post all my biggest plans for 2009 in the coming days.

This Time I Mean It

*exhales*

I seriously hated that last "upgrade" but needed some kind of change. I think this is probably closer to who I am. Meh, I'll stick with it for now. I'm not totally convinced about that little Powerpuff Girl, but I spent a long time changing her dress and eyes to match the color scheme. Yes, I am aware that the blond one already matched, but Buttercup is the tough one, so that settles that.



Merry Christmas, everyone!

A *New* New Leaf

*rubs eyes*

Who turned on the lights?

Maybe it's because I've been watching too much Intervention, but after the hellish week I had last week (in which I worked my ass off and still turned in one steaming pile of crap after another) and a generally underwhelming embarrassing semester altogether, something's gotta give.

I remember when I used to be good at things. Like, really good at things. And I used to LOVE school. And I used to blog regularly. What the hell happened?

I honestly don't know. But here's what I'm going to do about it:

Endorphin therapy.

Now that the 140.6 monkey is off my back, I'm going to work my way back up from the shorter distances and get faster. Some call it "training." I call it "what you're supposed to do instead of showing up on race day, undertrained, and hoping for the best."

But really, I'm in it for the side-effects: more energy and ability to focus. I think that'll fix a lot of other stuff that's been dragging in my life.

Stay tuned!

Made in the 70s

After spending 18 hours at my computer every day last week, my body is in desperate need of a boogie-down.

Yes, I missed my own birthday.

I had a disco CD in my collection during my freshman year of college. Every time I finished a test or some other "big" assignment, I'd come home and dance around my dorm room for about half an hour. So yeah, I think I might be hard-wired for this sort of thing.

Side note: I think "Boogie Shoes" might be one of my favorite songs of all time, not just this genre.

Not promising anything, but today might be a two-fer. Stay tuned.

Two Years Running

Elementary school: I was disappointed that winter break started before my birthday.

Grad school: What's a girl gotta do to get winter break to start before her birthday?!?!

Paper Writing Season Ends Friday

Be back soon!

This Helps Me Work

How is it possible that I still don't own this movie?



And seriously, when IS this guy gonna get the picture?

Shake Your Rump

This week there was a LOT of Facebook activity with some high school peeps. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that the Sunday throwdown landed here despite my initial disco intentions. (Stay tuned for that one, though.)

Of course, I spent so much time on this mix that I am just going to post it and go straight to bed now that it's done.

It will be a Movin' Groovin' Monday morning for me instead.

Freakazoids...Please Report to the Kitchen Floor

Well crud. I meant to wait 'til Sunday for my solo kitchen dance party, but then the rhythm got me and made me shake my booty two days early.

Eh, I blame it on the boogie.

Total time: 44:44.

Darling Nikki's the cool down...

The Guts to Be Grateful

For as long as I have this blog, I think I will always post Ten Things on Thanksgiving. Here goes:

I am thankful for…

1. My Mamar being the gutsiest broad I know. And my Daddy, for being an honorary gutsy broad. And for both of them passing down their inner ass-kicker genes.
   


2. Reconnecting with friends from childhood this year and gaining a sense of rootedness and being from somewhere that I don't think I have ever felt (I’m an only child who's moved 23 times since I turned 18…call your siblings.)


3. The opportunity to coach for Girls on the Run this year, and give back to the sport.
   


4. All the supportive words and thoughts that got me over the finish line at Ironman Louisville this year.
   


5. My childhood friends, Scott and Ana, for hosting/caring/cheering for me as I completed my first marathon last December.
   


6. Having a body that allows me to participate in sports (a mind to rhyme and two hype feet).
   


7. Having the money to participate in this ridiculously expensive hobby.
   


8. Still having Rocky with me to nuzzle and humor me through impromptu solo dance parties in the kitchen. (I miss you, Bootsie and Dinah!)
   


9. The group that I play ultimate with being patient and laid back enough to make me feel welcome on the field.


10. You.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

What Happens in the Kitchen...

...gets posted on the blog.

It started innocently enough as music to cook by but quickly degenerated into a full-body boogie-down...with my dog. Well, he was a good sport for about half a song and then took off. Eh, it was fun while it lasted. Maybe it's just because this is my first day back after two weeks with the flu, but I've decided to incorporate a Sunday night kitchen dance party into my weekly routine. Here's the playlist from the inaugural throwdown. To be clear, TLC is the cool-down.

I'm such a nerd.

Total time: 40:40

Country-Fried Introspection

Methinks I am just exactly where I need to be.

Dance Biscuit

Watch, then I'll comment.



1) I don't know how or why, but this makes me like (respect?) Justin Timberlake a little bit more.
2) I am currently on a mission to incorporate "dance biscuit" into my everyday vocabulary.

Usage:
"Oh man, the girl in the video below totally drops a dance biscuit."
"The girl in this video IS a total dance biscuit.


Watch to the end...SO worth it.



Yes, I'm going to be like this until I'm well enough to work out again.

One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I've been out with the flu for the last week. Still not 100%, but at least my body temp has returned to normal (I hovered around 96 the last couple days) as have my appetite and sense of smell.

I've heard about certain smells evoking memories, and last night as my own sense of smell returned, a cup of tea propelled me back to my college days. For me, "sleepy time" tea (and its equivalents) equals December 1994; orange spice, December 1996. I guess one of the cool things about having moved around a lot is that when a smell (or a song) transports me to another time, I also get to go on a little daytrip to a specific and special place.

"Sleepy Time" Tea: Dec 1994 -- Sonoma State University, CA
I lived in a quiet part of California's wine country and was completing my last semester at SSU (I was about to transfer to the 2nd of four schools I attended for undergrad). Sleepy tea reminds me of walking to my 7:45am English class as well as falling asleep in my Monday night Theater class. Seriously, who takes sleepy tea with them to class?!

Orange Spice Tea: Dec 1996 -- Seattle, WA
Orange Spice tea reminds me of my second visit to Seattle (I had gone earlier that summer), a couple years before I moved there. I was spending the holidays with the Love of My Life. I managed to come down with the flu on the plane -- and ruptured my eardrum on the landing.

Within the first couple days, we met up with his folks in downtown Seattle to see Singin' in the Rain. I just remember being very cold and miserable because I was sick, but somehow ending up after a long walk at Westlake Center (which is why I chose a pic of the Clock Walk over one of the Space Needle) and feeling really really bad for the horses that were being made to drag carriages behind them.

I also remember there was an engagement party for one of his college friends (that marriage was doomed from the start). I went to bed early because I was sick, but I do remember hearing something about one of the boys (Mossy?) making out (or trying to) with the bride-to-be's mother while the others (The Cray, Wewer, and maybe Garske) were hiding in the bushes/behind a car... can you believe these guys are 7-10 years older than me?!

I think that New Year's someone else in the group threw a disco party. I managed to find an AWESOME Phyllis/Rhoda dress at Goodwill. (Oh how I wish I still had that thing!) I've got it on good authority that there is a picture of me in it still floating around...

There was also a wicked snowstorm that year that derailed Joe's Miata, I went toe-to-toe with Moosie at World Wraps, spent a quiet evening in for my 21st birthday with a very tasty coconut cake but celebrated later at Moon China (oh that almond chicken!), didn't get carded when I eventually ordered my first legal drink at an Irish pub (rats!), collapsed in a heap from the flu at Christmas, and eventually went home early because my dad was lonely for my mom who was in the Philippines.

Yeah. ALL of that popped in my head when I got the first whiff of my orange spice tea.

Typos Rick!

Some of you know how much I like the phrase "what the crap?"

Today it came out like this:

"What the carp?!"

Thus, my new favorite phrase was born.

Then I found this:


Seriously. What the mother carp?!

A Guest Post

My friend Sara sent this in an e-mail to all her friends with the preface "If I had a blog I'd post this on it, but I don't."

So I'm lending her my space.

Obama Wins
by Sara K.

I feel obliged to write my account of the events for history’s sake. Other things I’ve witnessed that I should have or did write down, they would be the WTO march in Seattle and Sept 11.

I’d been obsessively following the polls for weeks so I was pretty confident Obama would win. It’s not like I was surprised he did.

The couple of days leading up to the election and particularly the day of, I had thoughts of “I’ve got to stay alive to see this.” I took care crossing the street, making sure I’d live long enough to cast my vote.

Sandro and I cast our votes during lunch time, waiting an hour in line, during which time we realized our neighbors are mostly white and look like cool artsy Marin people. The mood in line was light hearted but serious. In line I prayed for peace and safety, and reminded myself that being born in 1912, my grandma Ruth was born before women had suffrage rights. A friend later told me of a friend, a Latino, who cried in the ballot box as he cast his vote. I checked and rechecked that I’d darkened the circle right next to Obama/Biden, and Sandro later told me he cast the vote for Obama, and then pulled the sheet out to make sure it was marked next to #10, as it was supposed to be. I guess if I had a better grasp of technology and spacial relations I would have pulled the sheet out too, rather than just staring at the dark circle I’d filled out.

And then once I cast it, and left early from work at 3:30, in order to go home and start preparing my thyme, lemon zest and polenta dish for my dinner party, and I took the bus home, I had my normal thoughts as I get off the bus. Look around, to make sure a captor can’t seize me. There comes a car approaching and stopping near me, is he stopping, or is he going to shove me in his car, where I’ll be unseen behind black out windows? (Yes, now I’ve revealed to you what a psycho I am and/or what fearful times we live in that such thoughts should cross my mind. This life as a woman). As I glanced at all the men on the street and kept my wits about me, I thought, at least I’ve voted, but now if I can just stay alive to see it.

I made it home, needless to say, and started cooking and watching TV. I had planned for weeks to make arugula salad, in a nod to one mini scandal where when Obama said he liked arugula, his detractors said that was an example of how out of touch and elitist he is.

My guests came. One of my favorites was a family friend, a woman in her 50s. She showed up with three bottles of champagne. I ended up drinking champagne with her all night, but was able to use enough restraint not to get shnockered. Being with her reminded me of parties with my mom and her friends, her reactions and comments were of a woman who lived through the 60s and is full of giddy disbelief.

It was kind of a whirlwind cuz I was cooking. (Order pizza next time?) All my obsessive research had said to watch for Indiana, if Indiana went Obama, it was over for McCain. So, funny that Indiana was one of the states not to get decided that night, and there I was looking for it as an early indicator. But I remember it being significant when Virginia came in for Obama. Me and my neighbor were screaming “Virginia!” I can’t even remember when Florida got called. That shows you what a different night it was from the past two elections, where we’ve all hung on Florida in the past, this time it was more like “Oh yeah, and Florida too.”

At 7:30 Pacific Time we were all eating my meal. The group included gays, a lesbian, immigrants, children of immigrants, and champagne drinking WASPS. This is my California, my life.

Suddenly at 8, like a freight train, the election was called. All my research had me predicting it would be called by 7:30 or 8. But it still seemed like a surprise. I hugged my champagne buddy, as we heard a cork pop of Sandro opening another, and I had a long embrace with my gay neighbor. Then I hugged Sandro. The neighbor was one of my best memories of the night. He wept. He didn’t even care that the gay marriage ban passed, saying “This is why we have to keep wearing assless chaps”.

I wanted to cry, but didn’t really have any tears. I got more emotional when Obama was nominated at his convention. I cried when he came out on the stage, followed by Biden, to see the Black man out front, and the White man in the number two position.

I regretted that I couldn’t have this event reported to me by Dan Rather. It seems like the only requirement to be a newscaster now days is to be a white male who isn’t balding. They are all so sanitized. Not like Dan during the 2000 Florida squeaker saying “This race is tighter than a swim suit in the back of a hot car on the way home from the lake” or, “Al Gore is madder than a snapping turtle!” The one moment that may seem trite but was special was the newscaster showed a poster like the kind on a fourth grade classroom wall, and how all the photos heretofore were white males. And there was Obama’s smiling face last in line. And now this will be the new normal.

Leading up to the election, I’d noticed Blacks at my work didn’t act too excited or didn’t want to talk about it too much. I think they were steeling themselves. My neighbor said a Black friend opened up to him that they were all too scared. His friend is from Virginia.

McCain conceded rather quickly, and I was thinking wickedly how now Sarah can go home and raise that baby.

Obama’s speech was sparkling, earnest and hopeful. We all watched, trying to ignore Enzo doing flips off the couch.

At work the next day, I took a coffee break with a White friend, when we were outside on the street we walked by a Black co-worker, she said “Power to the People!” and we each gave each other the black pride fist. A black woman we didn’t know on the street spontaneously gave the fist too, she thought the sister was talking to her, rather than two white people.

I read dozens of articles looking for the words, and found these: The day shimmered with history.

Anti-Inflammatory Political Post

Facebook Status Update, November 4, 11:32pm
Kristina is ready to do the work of uniting with those who were disappointed with tonight's results.

Except for my quasi-passive posts in the few days leading up to the election, I have refrained from saying anything overtly political on my blog. I obviously have my views, but after seeing the venom with which people take up the discussion on too many occasions (notably, the flaming that took place on Project Procrastination's comment board), my desire for peace and harmony prevailed.

Additionally, I know there are those who read my blog who disagree with me politically and it is ultimately more important to me to emphasize our common ground (this is still something resembling a tri blog, after all) than to engage in discourses of fear, anger, and division.

The exchange below showed me that we can do this, and signals to me the dawn of a new political climate -- not simply of policy, but a whole new paradigm of relating to one another that I hope will become the norm rather than the exception.

The Guts to Be Civil

Facebook Status Update, November 4, 12:10pm
Kristina is thinking about her friends in CA...hoping for a resounding NO on 8.

Jason wrote at 2:48pm
Krissy, I saw you post on my facebook page about prop 8 and I saw one of your friends state that people who are for prop 8 are ignorant. It is concerning to me to see this kind of stuff. Marriage is (I am sorry to say it) a christian institution and has always been defined by the wast majority of the church as a union between a man and a woman. All... Read More religious traditions like muslims, buddhists, Jews, etc. have always understood it this way. Marriage is a theological concept not a political one. If one is going to play the "equality for all" card in marriage, this will lead down a very slippery slope. What I mean is, if marriage can be redefined a two concenting adults, it is not a huge leap that it could be defined as three concenting adults or four and this will open the door to polygamists. Hey, if it is truly equality for all then why can't an adult and a child marry or a human and an animal. One must discriminate at some point, where do we draw that line?

Kristina wrote November 4 at 5:14pm
Jason,
Thanks for taking the time to write – I know your faith is important to you and it is unfortunate that our political passions sometimes lead us to name-calling. It is clear that neither of us will change the other’s mind about Prop 8, but I do want to take the time to respond to some of the points you made in your post.

The heart of your argument seems to be based on marriage being a Christian institution and that it is a theological concept, not a political one (though you go on to cite a series of non-Christian faiths, including Buddhism which considers marriage to be a secular issue). I would be willing to accept this except for the fact that in California (and the rest of the nation), marriage has _legal_ status – which makes it a political issue. The original DOMA was declared unconstitutional for good reason – it did not provide equal protection under the law. Simply changing the constitution to make an exception to afford this legal status to certain segments of the population and not others solely based on gender does not solve the equal protection problem.

As for the slippery slope (the one you say will lead to polygamy and child marriages)…first of all, polygamy/multiple marriage is illegal (despite its presumption of heterosexuality), so the numbers game is not on the table. Changing the sexes of those involved is not affected by the intent of this law.

Second, one legal aspect of marriage is its treatment as a contract under the law. Contracts are based on free choice and legally, children lack the capacity to contract without parent/guardian consent. The legal marrying age in all states is 18, 16 with parental consent (in most states), and New Hampshire allows marriage at 14 with both parental and judicial consent. Gender does not affect one’s mental capacity to enter into contracts.

Long story short: the web of laws defining what “counts” as marriage as we know it (two adults, presumably in some sort of romantic relationship) will not unravel simply by allowing those two adults to be of the same sex.
That being said, I venture to assume that the reason you object is because your faith does not condone homosexuality and the arguments you put forth come from that deep-seated belief. While I may disagree, I respect your right to believe what you want. But I’d like to remind you that it was only 41 years ago that the Supreme Court struck down anti-miscegenation laws that would not have allowed you to marry your wife, or my father to marry my mother because bride and groom are of different races. My parents are still happily married, and by the looks of your facebook pics, your family is also going strong. Can you imagine being legally deprived of that?

Anyway, I am certain you will not agree with me or change your mind, but I wanted to engage in the conversation with the same level of civility and care you afforded me. I hope I succeeded in addressing your comments with respect, if nothing else.

Krissy

Jason wrote November 4 at 6:29pm
Krissy,
Thanks for the reply. I do see name calling on both sides as unfortunate and especially the infamous catch-all "ignorant" word. People use it for just about anybody that they disagree with these days. You are right, I am approaching this from a religious perspective as since I am a Pastor, I see things from that vantage point. Also, if gay marriage is allowed, it would not be the end of the world. On my personal moral importance grade from 1 to 10 with 10 being the most important, it is about a two. I do not think gay marriage is an outrage, it is just kinda silly. I see it like I would see atheists who demand the "right" to be baptised. Why would they want to be? Baptism is a ritual that is between a person and their commitment to God and Jesus Christ. If you do not believe that God even exists, what is the point? I guess if some atheists wanted to baptize each other as some commitment to atheism, I would not object. But it would still be strange. There are homosexuals who take such a view on marriage. They do not want to be married because they understand the implications of what that ritual means.
Although, I do see what you are saying about the civil side of it and if gay couples are denied any civil rights that hetero couple have I would be the first to want equality in that sphere.
Anyway, I could go on but I gotta go and probably should stop. I hope all is well with you. Keep in touch.

Grammar Nerdom...For Dummies

Or...what happens when it's a ridiculously nice day, you take a 3-mile hit of endorphins, and then start cruising the Internet for blog fodder.

Feeding My Inner Taoist

Iowa Today: Sunny 66° F
Ultimate Frisbee: 2 hours
Me: Blissfully happy.

Tomorrow: Bike ride with Jen to Hills. Which is flat.

No, I don't get it either.

From Bad to Worse: 1990 Strikes Again

When you start reconnecting with people from your hometown on Facebook there will eventually be a group created around your shared past.

Enter the group "I'm from Fairfield, Biatch!"

Okay, I clearly occupy a position where I think including "Biatch!" in any utterance is meant to be ironic and playful. But imagine my chagrin when I visited the group page and discovered, based on the wall posts, that they were saying it with a straight face.

This video was on the group's page. It is simultaneously laughable, horrifying, and a slice of nostalgia.

I should also say that although this thuggy element was present when I was growing up there, I was relatively insulated from it. Except the one day in Spanish when the kid behind me showed me his gun...and the other time when the Fairfield PD drew their guns on a car full of kids in the school parking lot. At lunch. With half the school flocking to see someone get shot.

But this isn't even why I refuse to join the group. (Okay, it's kind of a big part of it.) My "real" objection is to the part of the group's description that says "you have parents that say 'hella.'" PARENTS.

(btw: I *luv* that there are multiple academic studies on the origins and spread of the term)

Lemme say that at 32, I'm under no illusions that I'm old. I will add to that my complete understanding that there are those who have children at a young age, and that is also perfectly fine by me. But the part where there were enough Facebook-aged people from Fairfield who have parents who say "hella" to form an entire group around it?

That's hella weak.

One Gutsy Post

It's not mine, but it's oh so good. Check it out: Size-Adventurer

What Happens in 1990...

...should not be brought up as a way to look hip and with-it to your students.
My friend Jessica recently posted a horrific tale of encountering a person born in 1990. Methinks the only thing more horrifying than Jessica's tale might be having to teach a lesson about popular music to a room full of people born between 1987-1990 -- which is what I did every night this week.

*crickets chirping*

To say I felt old is an understatement. At one point, I mentioned that a group came on the scene in 1997 and one of them said, "Wow, that's like ancient history." To my face!!!

The was one brief, shining moment when one especially baby-faced one responded to Jazzy Jeff & Fresh Prince's Summertime with "That's like what I do back home." If he was mocking me, I wasn't willing to see it.

Which brings me to the...

You Had to Be There (And Not Embryonic) Playlist

Poison
Bell Biv Devoe

Funky Enough
The D.O.C.

Freaks of the Industry
Digital Underground

Feels Good
Tony Toni Tone

Turn This Mutha Out
MC Hammer

Joy & Pain
Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock

Gyrlz They Love Me
Heavy D and the Boyz

Me, Myself, and I
De La Soul

Thieves in the Temple
Prince

Miss You Much
Janet Jackson

Hold On
En Vogue

Giving You the Benefit
Pebbles

For the record, I'm not saying all this stuff is any good, but sometimes you just need to take a quenching drink of "I like being my age."

Sometimes You Get Kicked

Sometimes you have to kick your inner ass-kicker's ass.

(Reflections on today's sooper-dooper bike ride HERE.)

I set these grand-tastic goals two weeks ago and then let the rest of my life kick it all to the curb. Yes, I said LET. I'll own it. I dunno, it's like I got all fired up to do stuff and then immediately packed my bags for Slack-ass-ville.

All around me, really schweet stuff is going on. A student of mine ran his first marathon in Chicago today. Another friend did his first marathon in Baltimore yesterday. Still another is kicking ass-k left and right on her goals (yes, I'm talking about you, Jen) and it's really inspiring to have all these peeps around me making progress on all the schweet-ass stuff they set out to do.

So what about me? I think a symptom of whatever is going on here is the fact that I skipped most of what was in my iPod in yesterday's race. *shrugs* If the music's stale, then the drive can't be much better.

So I'm narrowing my focus onto the Girls on the Run 5K in six weeks and nixing an intermediary race I had originally scheduled two weeks from now. Oh yeah, and cleaning up the old iPod along the way. I mean, the Cool J and Marky Mark have been in heavy rotation for almost three years. I love them, but it's clearly time. (Stay tuned for a new playlist sometime this week.)

I should also remind myself that it is midterm time, and this feeling of being pulled in so many directions that I can't do anything very well will pass...especially if I get into a training groove. (Oh endorphins...is there anything you can't do?)

Stay tuned.

Indian Summer Classic: A Bitter-schweet Symphony

Did the race today...

Overall, it was a great day. My training buddy, Jen, had an awesome day -- exceeding her goal for the day. Mine was medium. I made some errors, not the least of which was going out WAY. TOO. FAST. None of this ruined my day, but it did make for a somewhat anti-climactic first race back after Ironman. Of course, the root error was not training consistently (big surprise). I think I'll finally be able to get into a groove re: school/training scheduling this week. You know, just in time for midterms.

Anyway, here's the rundown of the day:

Bitter: Staying up past midnight making a mix CD for the ride.
Schweet: Jen stayed up past midnight doing the same thing.

Bitter: Jen's CD player wouldn't read either of the independently-created CDs we both stayed up way too late making.
Schweet: THE WEATHER!!! A clear, Indian summer morning on Lake MacBride -- the widest possible spectrum of fall colors!

Bitter: 10:18/miles with more than a few walk breaks
Schweet: Motivation to work harder these next six weeks to the Girls on the Run 5K.

Bitter: Crashed HARD for 2 hours when I got home.
Schweet: Having the universe plop a super duper magna fantastic training partner into my lap -- in a way that is usually what ends such partnerships. *cryptic* Maybe I'll tell that story another time.

And the grand finale: previewing the bike ride we'll take tomorrow -- have I mentioned before how beautiful Iowa is? I friggin' LOVE living here!

Racing!

I have to admit, this (like my pre-Iron posts) is just to get me fired up for my race tomorrow. I mentioned in my training log that I am reluctant to post goals before a race, but it's kind of a novelty for me to actually have goals that move beyond simply covering the distance. It's kind of exciting! I like it!

Even though I haven't gotten into a training groove, I still would like to push my pace. Nothing too crazy -- I'd be happy with a sub-9:30 pace. (Who'da thunk I'd say those two things in the same sentence?!)

Yee HAW! Nervous and excited for tomorrow! I'll run hard!

Dream Girl

I dreamed of Dinah two nights ago, and I was very happy for the visit. In the dream, she just sort of trotted around this corner and came running to me...but I woke up or something happened before I got to pet her. I remember saying in the dream, "Hey, there's Dinah!" and feeling like she wasn't really gone after all. But there she was, exactly as cute and happy as I remember.

Strangely, when I woke up I was only a little disappointed that it was only a dream. I mean, of course I'd love to have her back. When I was still raw and in the denial stage, I wished for there to be some kind of magical way for her to come back to me, but I'd have to keep it a secret from the rest of the world, like in some sort of dark comedy. You can imagine my breakdown tearful reaction to the pilot for Pushing Daisies, right? (Seriously, I would have made that deal.) But somehow waking up from that dream made me feel happy to have gotten to see her again, even briefly.

At the risk of sounding completely insane, I will say that I think our furry friends visit in dreams after they pass. I'm fairly certain that our one dog, Bubba, visited Boots almost every night in her dreams to play with her. She adored him, and went into a deep, deep depression after he died. (I can't think of anything more tragi-comic than a depressed Basset Hound.) Boots would frequently run and bark in her sleep -- I can only imagine that she was dreaming of playing with Bubba.

Anyway, I'm missing Dinah and Bootsie terribly again/still.

Time to put on some sunglasses and go for a run.

Dammit!

I picked the worst possible week to begin a new plan -- who the hell leaves 100 papers to grade until the last minute and then leaves town for a conference?! Okay, I shouldn't act so surprised. Anyway...I start anew tomorrow morning.

Oh yeah, and I'm going back to my (mostly) vegetarian lifestyle to boot.

Stay tuned.

It's Official!

...because online quizzes never lie.

What female superhero are you??? Wonder Woman! You're an original. A champion of justice and able to keep up with the best of male superheros, you attribute your power to amazonian origins. You`re a powerful, independent woman, and you`re not afraid to show it.

Click Here to Take This Quiz

Tunes for Tuesday

Now that I am embracing my inner superheroine, I clearly need a soundtrack. This started off as a serious list, but what I ended up finding turned this into, well, something else. (Also, I really wanted to avoid overlap with my previous lists, so you'll probably note the absence of other Grrrl Power faves like No Doubt's Just a Girl, and any number of other Christina/Britney hits.)

Keeps Getting Better
Christina Aguilera

I think these lyrics pretty much require me to make this my new personal theme song:

Some days I'm a super girl out to save the world and it keeps getting better

One Girl Revolution
Superchick

Okay, this is what it is, but the themes under the bubblegum aesthetic do what the Bangles and Bananarama (and the Go-Gos) could've done for me and my Gen X chicas. Meh.

Rock What You Got
Superchick

It's On
Superchick

Me Against the World
Superchick

Ain't Nothin' but a She Thing
Nobody's Angel

Supergirl!
Krystal Harris

Watch Me Shine
Joanna Pacitti

And now the Close, But No Cigar Awards (here's where things go awry):

When this was going to be super-superhero-y, Batdance seemed like a logical place to go, but check out the Batgirl Theme and lyrics. This is awful on so many levels, not the least of which is auditory. But I like the idea of asking a superhero if she is a "chick who fell in from outer space" and if she isn't, then the logical alternative is that she might be "real with a tender warm embrace."

People ask me this all the time (the outer space part); maybe it's a sign that my inner superhero is shining through.

Batgirrrl, Batgirl! Batgirrrl, Batgirl!
Where do you come from, where do you go?
What is your scene, baby, we just gotta know.
Batgirrrl, Batgirl! Batgirrrl, Batgirl!
Are you a chick who fell in from outer space?
Or are you real with a tender warm embrace?
Yaaa, whose baby are you? Batgirrrl, Batgirl!
Yaaa, whose baby are you? Batgirl!

Wonder Woman Theme
For obvious reasons, I wanted to include this in the "serious," kickass list despite the background vocals being shrill and annoying. But the lyrics "in your satin tights, fighting for your rights" relegated this to the silly bin.

Sometimes it Takes Balls to be a Woman
Elizabeth Cook

Excerpt:
Sometimes it takes balls to be a woman Standing up to a test, while wearing a party dress Sometimes looks can be deceiving when you¹re quietly over-achieving Oh, sometimes it takes balls to be a woman He says I should repent for the money I spent on shoes and bags and jewelry Well To hell with that, my hard working ass ain't gonna sit before a jury Now isn't that a mighty small price to pay For all the love I send your way Honey when it comes down to the plumbin' Sometimes it takes balls to be a woman

A. I shoulda known this was a country song from the title alone.
B. This is from an album called simply, "Balls."
C. Rhyming "plumbin'" with "woman" -- now THAT'S artistry.

And that's when I had to give up the search.

Wonder Woman Challenge 2008-2009

So my training partner Jen started on a 90-day Bikram Yoga Challenge at the end of August. Seeing as how I'm a sucker for stuff with catchy names, I decided that my next training endeavor needed to have a snappy title like hers. Wouldn't you know, she came up with this:

Wonder Woman Challenge

Hell yeah!

Things to Look for in a Training Partner #43: Ability to come up with snappy names and phrases.

Since I donned a Wonder Woman-esque outfit for the run leg in Louisville (which brought me great strength), this is a great way for me to live up to the outfit.

Of course, I am also a big fan of creating snazzy blog themes. I'm not really ready to give up my "Gutsy Broad" banner yet, nor am I that interested in mixing the minutia of my training sessions with my other musings. Thus, I've created a separate site for my training diary, complete with badass aesthetic.

Two Gutsy Broads

I have a training partner! Woot! Jen and I planned a ride today, both of us showed up, and the whole thing kicked a lot of assk. Since she has begun telling peeps, and since the 2-3 points of overlap in our social circles probably don't read my blog, I don't think she'll mind if I announce here that our joint goal is for IMAZ '09.

In addition to the well-known, universal benefits of training with a partner, here's a sneek peek at what will make ours sooper dooper:

- A mutual love of tots
- Boy-watching
- Tri crafts!
- Winter movie marathons on our trainers
- THE MIXES!!!

Work Sucks

Okay, it doesn't really. But it is cramping my see-Chris-Isaak-for-free-except-the-eight-hours-of-driving-plus-gas style.

:^(

And I do want wine.

Oh Chris Isaak, Say It Ain't So

If you didn't already know, I love Chris Isaak. I mean really, I LUUUUV him. He usually sticks to the west coast for tours, so how happy was I when I learned that he will be in Chicago next week? At first, ecstatic.

Then I investigated.

He'll be giving a free concert (WOOT!) at the grand opening of a shopping mall. (WHAT?!) You read that correctly. My Chris Isaak is channeling the New Kids and Tiffany and hitting the shopping mall circuit. (Is this a step up or down from the casino he played here in Iowa last summer?) As if that weren't bad enough, the press release reads like something off The Simpsons. Read these money quotes with Kent Brockman's voice in mind:

Platinum record artist Chris Isaak is set to highlight the grand opening celebration at The Arboretum of South
Barrington later this month.

The free concert takes place at 7 p.m. Sept. 27 on the plaza stage at the new 600,000 square-foot outdoor shopping center near routes 59 and 72.

Guests are encouraged to bring a lawn chair.

"We want to properly introduce the project as one of the most important new retail developments in the Chicago area in terms of scale, retail offerings and ambience," Jaffe said. [emphasis mine]

-insert snarky Kent Brockman comment here re: Chris Isaak doing a bad, bad thing-

Three things:
1. If you didn't already know this about me, I'm kind of a liberal, anti-sprawl, anti-consumerism, if-you-don't-keep-your-wits-about-you-suburbia-will-kill-your-soul type.
2. I try to live deliberately: sticking to my principles, shopping locally, using public transportation or my bike.
3. You bet your ass I'm going!

*sigh*

4. I live a life of hypocrisy contradiction.

Girl, Why You Trippin'?

Here's footage of my Ironman finish -- and they even got the part where I almost fall on my face. AWESOME!

Also, I love how the music and editing make it seem like all of us were out there for some kind of leisurely fun ride -- or out chasing Duke Boys.

IMKY '08 Part 1: Broad Strokes

I have to admit, there is a part of me that wants to document every single moment of this day. But the part of me with the stronger voice prefers to prefers to paint in broader strokes, focusing on the things I want to stay with me and in the foreground of my memory of this event. Of course, I have PLENTY to say about this, so I will wax philosophical on all those topics in separate posts in the coming days. But for now:

Ironman Louisville 2008 in Five Easy M.F. Hard-Ass Pieces

1. Play of the Day: Sharing the Start Line with TriBloggers!
I can't express how wonderful and peaceful it was to have Kim and Mary at the start line. I'm fairly certain that if they weren't there, I'd have thrown up or otherwise talked myself into some sort of pit of despair.

These two are such wonderful, spirited women with great outlooks on sport and life. I'm so grateful to have met them and to have seen them out on the run course -- my own spirits buoyed every time I saw them.

That, and Mary's title and caption for this pic pretty much nail it.

2. Swim Kicker
According to my friend, Mary Beth, I left 883 people behind me on the swim. I am a mid-pack swimmer! Woot! The swim itself was actually fairly uneventful: I got punched in the head once, lots of hands on my feet -- nothing out of the ordinary, though I was unprepared for all the butt-grabbing. I can't ever remember that happening in any other race. There was also something very unnerving about swimming in a shipping channel. Like Mary, I had mysterious red spots all over me when I got home. *shudder*

3. Hills and Wind and Heat -- Nemeses No More!!!
Making the bike cutoff under these conditions was a victory in itself. And then the wind picked up on the second loop. Oy. The toughest parts:

Miles 18-28. This section had some of the steepest sustained climbs of the course. An out & back jaunt, it also meant you could really get screaming down those hills. I don't know if it was my mountain biking fearlessness or the quality of my bike, but I flew past a LOT of people on the downhills (maxed out at 40+mph -- I heard pros got up to 50+). There was one crashed cyclist that I saw on the side of the road -- we were all still pretty bunched up at this point in the race, and a lot of people were not placing themselves in the lane safely. I can imagine that she got clipped in the crowd.

Bonked on the 1st Loop. My pack of electrolyte pills bounced out of my bento box sometime in these first 40 miles. Then I let my nutrition get away from me. Then I got really slow and my mood started to sink along with my avg speed (I needed to keep it above 13mph). I remembered reading somewhere that you should pay attention to your mood on the course because it's a sign that you need to take in more calories. This was the only time on the course that I felt bad and like I never wanted to do another Iron-distance race again. Then I ate a gel and guzzled some gatorade and things started looking up.

Acorn Hill. Holy mackerel. This crappy little hill pops up after a tough section in the loop (steeper hills, no shade or breeze). You have NO momentum going into it and even though it's short, it. is. steep. I pedaled up it on the first loop; decided to conserve my energy and walk it on the second loop. Jeebus, that little thing was a monster!

8:23:21 is a LONG time to sit on a bike seat.

4. Running the Numbers
Once I knew I would make the bike cutoff, I pretty much had no plan for the rest of the race. My original goal heading out on the run course was to finish under 17 hours. My legs actually felt good enough to run, but I was having some weird stomach stitches for the first hour, so running was out. I did run for a bit headed toward the "false finish" -- where they run you within yards of the finish line before sending you out for the second lap. And though I knew from Pigman that walking would potentially be more painful than running, I knew I could walk the whole thing and still make the course cutoff. Of course, I ran whenever I saw cameras and for the last point-two because, well, I have my pride. I'd like to think that if there was a hard midnight deadline like other IMs that I would have run enough to make that. I guess I'll know for sure next time. (That's right, I said next time.)

5. The Distance Between Your Ears
There was a point when I was about 5 1/2 miles from the finish and there was a man behind me -- coming the other direction on the out & back -- who was about 6 1/2 miles out from the line. I saw the sweep van pull up beside him. I was too far away to hear, but I knew what conversation they were having. I kept repeating in my head, "Don't get in that van! No, don't do it! You're so close!" I desperately wanted him to keep going, and I really wanted to punch that driver for putting the offer on the table for that guy.

Then the man stopped walking and reached for the door.

I only cried three times on the course. Twice I teared up because I was just so happy to be there and knew that I would finish. But the tears only streamed down my cheeks one time and it was for this man. There is something painfully heartbreaking to witness a person give up.

About an hour later, the van pulled up beside me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I feel fine," I said. Then, with perhaps too much force: "Keep driving."

He laughed and drove on.

. . .

Yes, this was a long, painful day. But even just a few days later, I don't really remember so much of the physical discomfort -- though I was definitely a lot more than uncomfortable. What I remember is how high my spirits stayed. I think this is what got me over that finish line. Except for bonking on the first loop of the bike, I smiled BIG for most of the day and almost all of the run.

At the pre-race talk, Lance Watson, a multi-sport coach, told us to treat ourselves well on race day. He'd just come from IM Canada where he saw one dejected face after another. "Don't give up on yourselves," he told us. It was exactly what I needed to hear. I spent the two weeks before crying and beating myself up for not training harder. I had been incrementally giving up on myself every day leading up to the race.

So I smiled instead.

And I never gave up on myself.

And I finished.


And then I tripped three steps after crossing the finish line.

Labor Day

This is it.

Win or lose. Official finisher or DNF. I will not be broken.

Track my progress here. I am Athlete #813.

In the Land of Ali...and Tanlines

TThe beauty of being in Muhammad Ali's hometown is that there is a moment on the run -- just one block, just before heading out for the second lap -- where I will run on Muhammad Ali Blvd. What a great way to recharge! (That and the cruel irony of running us within yards of the finish line before sending us out for another 13 miles.) You can bet I'll be tapping into that block-long pool of Go! to get myself to the finish line!

On a completely unrelated note: tans and tanlines.

You can usually tell who the athletes are at these things because not only are they trim and fit, but they also sport some golden skin. A key indicator that I hadn't trained enough last year besides my soft body: I showed up pasty on race day. This year, I not only have a myriad of tanlines on my back from various sport tanks, I also have race numbers emblazoned on my arms from my last race (apparently Marks-A-Lot is SPF 8).

Race numbers: the triathlete's temporary tattoo.

The Groove in My Heart

I think I listened to this song about 18 Go!-zillion times on the drive here...will probably belt it out on the course, too. (Click the title to hear a sample.)

I Will Survive
Stephanie Bentley

excerpt:

I've gotta be strong
Teardrops no one sees but me
I won't stop, 'cause I'll always believe

I will survive, I will endure
When the goin's rough
You can be sure
I'll tough it out, I won't give in
If I'm knocked down, I'll get up again
As long as my dream's alive
I will survive

. . .

Going for a practice swim with Mary Sunshine tomorrow morning to get a feel for the current. Will take a bath tonight to relax/visualize/meditate...then off to bed.

Peas.

Something More Important Than Courage

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of my life.

Road Trip!

Alrighty -- my dad and I are hitting the road. I will be updating while in Kentucky...stay tuned.

Keep Going

As the single digits of the race countdown dwindle away, my emotions are all over the road. I have cried a lot this week. Like, A LOT. Yes, I admit that I am scared. And I admit that I am afraid to admit that. I've been thinking that if I voice my fear, it would be like some sort of jinx, or a concession to defeat, or a sign that I just don't want it enough.

And then I got my Triathlete magazine today. Scott Tinley's essay this month was titled "Embracing the Fear." Money quote:

"While athletes know the calming effect of an easy run or a hard swim, fear is a pervasive emotion within most sports. This is not necessarily an unhealthy phenomenon. Sport offers a kind of malleable tension that can both thrill and kill, excite and indict our senses with an anxiety that leaves us somewhere between satiated and starving. ... I'd like to think that sport allows us to mediate our fears based not upon our failures but upon our dreams."

Single digits to race day...here's where the vanity of chasing a dream like this gives way to the One Thing. Yes, I am afraid to fail again. But I am more afraid of not having the guts to stay in it mentally. I am afraid that this fear that I am experiencing now might be my undoing on the course. What will keep me going on race day when my mind and body attempt to talk me out of it?

So I searched for my posts that I labeled "The One Thing." Here's what I came up with:

• Stephanie May, reminding me that the feeling of digging down to one's deepest limits is amazing even in defeat -- and ultimately makes the defeat itself something of a misnomer.
• From last year: "I think I've found it: Triathlon lets me experience the joys of independence and self-reliance. It also helps me confront my despair at the thought of feeling alone in the world. It lets me know that if I ever were alone in the world -- I can handle it. I can keep pedaling, keep breathing, keep going. I can also find friends on the road who are like-minded and supportive -- strangers who will give me a "Stay strong, Krissy" when I need it most."
• From Friday: "Alas, there is nothing more to be done now. All I can do is keep moving, keep pedaling, keep my legs going..."

Then there was this odd rambling about the marathon movie in which I am dismissive of the fact that I completed 26.2 miles on foot -- running every step. "But all I did that day was show up and keep going," I say, as though it were some easy thing. (I don't know what possessed me to write that because I remember that it wasn't until mile 24 or 25 that I knew I would finish.)

Given the theme above, it should come as no surprise that the climax of Hillary Clinton's speech last night made me cry:
"On that path to freedom, Harriet Tubman had one piece of advice: 'If you hear the dogs, keep going. If you see the torches in the woods, keep going. If there’s shouting after you, keep going. Don’t ever stop. Keep going. If you want a taste of freedom, keep going.'"

Clearly, all of this taps into my One Thing.

. . .

So I think I am ready for The Talk:

There are a lot of people whose eyes will be on me. I've told so many people what I'm doing. I want my daddy to see me cross the finish line. I've got a chip on my shoulder from last year. NONE OF THIS MATTERS.

I am KrissyGo! The person I am KEEPS GOING. If I can move, I can move forward. I may walk multiple times on the course, but I will not walk off of it. Not of my own volition. Why? Because I feel most alive, most spiritually awake when I am GOING, EXPERIENCING, setting goals BEYOND MY REACH, chasing those goals, sometimes achieving them, sometimes failing, entering into some endeavor with NO IDEA of what the outcome will be and finding satisfaction in simply having the guts to do anything in the first place, but always ALWAYS present in every moment knowing that I have LIVED my life.


Courage is doing what you are afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared.

~Eddie Rickenbacher

One Last Summer Indulgence

Good golly, I heart me some Grease 2. It appears that everyone deals with these last days to race day in some strange ways. Apparently mine is to load up on the CHEESE! Exhibit A: last week's Britney-fest. Exhibit B: see clip above.

Anyway, school starts tomorrow, which is the "real" reason for the clip (sure it is).

I'm excited, which is a good sign, even though I've got a pretty full plate this semester. Either way, though, I think I need to band up with some Pink Ladies so we can pledge to act cool, to look cool, and to beeeeeee cool.

Athlete Number 813

Race numbers were posted today. You can track my progress here on race day.

My facebook friends know that I had a little breakdown last night reading a race report about the bike course. The countdown is in the single digits. This time next week, I will be in Louisville.

I am scared, but determined. Alas, there is nothing more to be done now. All I can do is keep moving, keep pedaling, keep my legs going...until I either cross the finish line or someone pulls me off the course. And that someone will have to be pretty strong, because I will not go quietly. It will be a long, difficult day, and I am ready to face it; I am ready to face myself.

"On the mountains of truth you can never climb in vain: either you will reach a point higher up today, or you will be training your powers so that you will be able to climb higher tomorrow."
~Friedrich Nietzsche

70.3 Despite My Ovaries' Best Efforts (Again)

As I mentioned with my last race report, I am trying a "highlights-only" version of ye olde race report as I have neither the time nor the patience to recount all the minutiae. I figure I've got about five worthwhile things to say about any race, so here it is: the inaugural Five Spot Race Report (it's like a threat down, only race-related).

Five Spot: Pigman Half-Iron Triathlon

1. Play of the Week: MY FIRST SHERPA!

On Friday, Veg*Triathlete Jen called me up and offered to sherpa for me today. "You got it!" I said, even though I wasn't really sure what it meant. Turns out, it means letting the racer blast Britney Spears (playlist forthcoming) and talk a mile a minute at 5am while she burns off nervous energy, and then, when aforementioned racer has a disastrous run, still meets her a mile from the finish to tell her she's her hero and bouys her spirits enough to get her to run the last 100yds to the finish.


2. Inner Swim Kicker (46:19)
With the breeze, I got a taste (I think) of what it might be like to swim upriver for Iron Louie. A little disconcerting; a little sputtering. Hmph. Good thing I get to go with the current after about .8 mile of that. Other than that, not too shabby for swimming a squirrely line and getting swam over for the first time (that didn't even happen at IMAZ!). And, according to Jen, there were plenty of people behind me.


3. Inner Bike Kicker (3:52; avg 14.7 mph)
I was *hoping* for a 4-hour ride. Then there were hills. And a slight headwind. So this really was out-friggin'-standing. That, and the part where I sang My Prerogative OUT LOUD, alternating with "Who rocks the mic? Krissy rocks the mic. And when Krissy rocks the mic, she rocks it all the way down" for the first 30 miles. Oh yeah, I spent my formative years at cheer camp.

4. Inner Run Kicker (3:32 -- walking 16:11/mile)
Oy. A fatal error in T2 meant that not only would I not finish under 7:30 (which was my goal), the potential 7:00-7:15 finish I had set up on the swim and bike also evaporated. Thanks, ovaries. (But also thanks for doing this today and not at Iron Louie.) Let's just say that I forgot to pause for bladder/ovary maintenance before I left T2. Also, the cramps started at Mile 2. And the only portajohn on the course was at Mile 4, which didn't matter anyway, because I didn't procure a tampon until the turnaround. Then another 2.5 miles back to the portapotty. I don't know if you've ever tried to run while cramping and having to pee, but it's pretty much impossible. And this is how I learned that (1) these shoes weren't made for walking (two huge blisters) and (2) my running muscles are definitely MUCH better trained than my walking muscles.


5. What Made Me a Gutsy Broad Today
You know what takes guts? Insisting on walking all the way to the finish even when the sweep vehicle (AKA DFL-Wagon) pulls up behind you at Mile 4 of a half-marathon. Had this exact thing with my ovaries not stopped me from finishing Buffalo Springs 70.3 in 2006, I might have thought seriously about getting in that car and calling it a day.

But I had a bone to pick with both the distance and my ovaries. TAKE THAT BIATCHES!

P.S. So...doubling this distance in two weeks? It's a little unsettling, to put it mildly.

My Heroes Have Always Been Gutsy Gals

Mary Lou
1984 was my first Olympics and Mary Lou was my first sports hero. It's just that simple.




Nadia
After the '84 Olympics, there was a made-for-TV movie about Nadia that I watched with my parents that introduced me to her. Watching this again with adult eyes, I am more in awe of her than before.




Lynnette Woodard -- The first female Globetrotter (Go to 2:06)
She became the first female Globetrotter when I was in 5th grade and made me want to play basketball, which I did until 7th grade and it became painfully clear that (a) I would be 5"1' forever and (b) soccer was my real love.




Mia Hamm
I think I've mentioned before that anemia spelled the end of sports for me in ninth grade. I have often wondered how my path would have been different if I had been able to continue in sports and/or grew up during Mia Hamm's reign. I don't get weepy over it, though. In place of sports, I veered off into the performing arts. I'm happy with that path, too, but I will always be grateful for the strong foundation sports gave me.

Surrender

Okay, Universe.

You win.

I've heard you loud and clear.

Thanks for getting my attention.

It's already worth it.

Gutsy Means "With All My Heart"

I had planned to write about athleticism and elaborate on "gutsiness" this week, but I'm going to postpone that a bit.

Today is Dinah's anniversary.

I don't want to get too morose, but I do want to say this:

Even though losing her was the worst heartbreak I've ever experienced, I know that having loved her that much and making the decision I made was gutsier than any of my impulsive cross-country moves, any of my solo adventures, any of the out-of-control mountain bike descents, rock climbing leaps of faith, or vomit-inducing sprints I've ever made.

I think that even with the pain, giving all of my heart to her was worth it and ultimately the very thing that kept her loss from destroying me completely.

It's been a while since I listened to the song she was named for, but here it is again. Click here to read the backstory.



Dinah by Thelonious Monk

(For some reason, my Firefox is doing weird things with this, but it seems to work okay in Explorer.)