The Plague, and Ben & Lisa Nailing It

I pulled the blanket up around my chin and glared at the TV screen. Miserable, I endured a coughing fit and contemplated another hit of the neti pot, with which I had developed a love-hate relationship. I decided on another cup of tea instead. I'm always a horrible, cranky sick person, but this time things were worse than usual. Instead of basking in post-vacation glow on a now-short work week, I was quarantined on the couch while Seth hunted and Mom and Dad got to hang out with the Oklahoma Walters, who were in town for the week. I adore my siblings (and my priceless nieces) and don't get to see them very often, so having been stricken with the plague now seemed particularly unfair. I blamed canned airplane air.

I eventually recovered enough that I didn't feel like a jerk for spreading germs to Natalie, and we salvaged most of Ben & Lisa's visit. And it was, as all Walters family reunions are, a blast. We loved hanging out with Natalie, who is turning into quite the little Walters. She rock climbs, loves the treadmill, has boundless energy, and even goes to bed without a fuss (no doubt realizing the need to reacharge for another day of Walters family vacation.) We got to take her to the Billy Goat Trail, and spent a lovely day at the zoo. We had a rainy day barbecue and discovered Lido's pizza, and I got to witness the unbelievably cute morning singalong. And I managed to score girl time (pedicures with Lisa and Nat) and a double date with Ben and Lisa (Mom and Dad watched the princess while the four of us gorged on messy chicken fajitas and got to see the Band of Heathens live.) Even better, we got to celebrate Ben's aircraft assignment with them, since they found out while they were in DC. We were stoked, if unsurprised, that he had gotten his first choice (F-16s!!!), and also thrilled that their likely next PCS location was a significant improvement over Enid, OK.

Basically, the Oklahoma Walters nailed their vacation.

I'm still not fully recovered from the World's Most Persistent Cold, but managed to drag myself through my favorite (if hilliest) race all year, the Virginia Ten Miler in Lynchburg. I am pleased to report that, although it has a deep enough field to be very competitive, it also still has race day parking and packet pickup, manageable portolet lines, and the Vito's Pizza at the finish line never disappoints.

AND I survived the whopper-eating contest at work. (I did not eat whoppers, but watching one of my Captains attempt to polish off 5 in 10 minutes was gross enough.)

 

Seth worked like a dog getting all of his stuff (finally!) unpacked, and the man room and garage in fighting form. It looks amazing. I'm a little worried he'll never come upstairs.

 

Anddd... since my iPhone camera has about bitten the dust, I'm waiting on Lisa's pictures to select a photo of the week. Because mine don't do the amazingly adorable Natalie justice. Stay tuned.

A Much-Needed Getaway

I am married to a very smart man. Thoughtful and considerate and tons of fun and lots of other superlatives, too, but he made a terrifically smart call on Friday. We had been sniping at each other nonstop for weeks about the calendar and our busy fall schedule, and I was on the verge of buying trashbags and shovels the next time I fought traffic after a 13 hour day and arrived home to a Christmas tree’s worth of Cabela’s boxes ordered in preparation for some upcoming hunting vacation or other. It was about to get ugly. So Seth simply called me at work Friday and asked me if I’d like to go to Puerto Rico the following week. We both had use-or-lose leave, and PR is an easy trip that didn’t even require us to dig out our passports. Not given to spontaneity of any sort, I hemmed and hawed a little bit, but Seth wouldn’t budge and before long I was in. I (barely) survived the Commander’s Cup swim meet that night, got home and threw a couple of swimsuits in a bag, and by the time the sun came up the next morning we were airborne for San Juan.

It was exactly what we had both needed, and I don’t even think we realized it until we were poolside with umbrella drinks in hand. We hadn’t had an honest-to-goodness break together in- well, maybe ever. Things had pretty much been whirlwind since we met, and the last ten months had been a breakneck, hang-on-for-your-life, roller coaster of emotion and worry and stress and competing demands. Since we’re both “head down/ do what needs to be done” people, we had neither talked about it nor given ourselves a break for the short-fused exhaustion it had no doubt caused.  

And it all just melted away. We were only absent from the real world for four days, but they were beautiful days of sleeping until obscene hours, drinking rum for lunch, ignoring our phones and email, and lying by a spectacular oceanside pool. We lazily explored the Bacardi distillery in San Juan and went for a drive through the El Yunque rainforest. One afternoon we took the ferry to Vieques Island, intending to explore it by scooter, and instead found a killer dive bar on the water and whiled away a cloudy afternoon drinking Medallas with some acquaintances we happened to run into. We didn’t horseback ride or rent ATVs or kayak or snorkel, all of which we had considered on the plane. We just… unwound. And it was wonderful.

Even coming back to the real world wasn’t so bad, although I contracted the dreaded "airplane air" cold and was knocked flat (but not before infecting my entire office, and having to hear about Seth's superior immune system, since he was not so afflicted.) I did manage to pull myself together enough to get sworn into the Court of Appeals for the Armed Forces, which turned out to be a really nice first morning back, rush hour traffic in the District notwithstanding. Seth was still on leave, so we had a breakfast date at our neighborhood bagel place and he came with me to watch the swearing-in and listen to oral arguments before heading down to Belvoir to kick off fall bowhunting season. He also sent me dozens of flowers, which was so sweet I didn’t even mind his stalking deer until all hours of the night while I coughed myself to sleep on the couch. A smart man, indeed.

All in all, it was a beautiful week. It’s already Friday, and I’m trying to decide whether to buy a surgical mask to wear (a la Seoul) so I can go see my adorable niece after work, since the Oklahoma Walters are in town and I've been dying to see them (but not wanting to share the plague.)

Photo of the week has to be this one (because it's hysterical), of the motley DAD Crew at the swim meet. We (obviously) didn’t win, nor did we look good doing it. But I managed to not drown and pull off a cannon ball start, and beer and pizza was had by all.

Tri, tri again... Or not.

I did it. The triathlon I had been promising to do for years, for which I had even purchased an expensive road bike and registered more than once, was checked off the list Sunday. Maybe not the bucket list, but at least the list of things I had reluctantly been saying I was going to do. Charcy and Leslye were coming to town for the big event, and bullied me into the clearly-committed response of, "well, I haven't been swimming very far, or ridden my bike in about a year, but what the hell? Seth will be out of town anyway, and I don't have plans, so let's do it." It was only after I registered that they informed me that the 1500m swim was in the Potomac River. I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

I was certain I was in over my head when they started to talk logistics. The prepwork required for this thing made the tax code look like an easy read. There was the expo, the course brief, the bike drop-off, the 4 different kinds of body markings, the "transition area" with all of its rules and timelines, the complicated course maps, the multi-wave start with its color-coded swim caps, the gear I had never heard of, the passing etiquette, and the requirement to change your own flat tires. Not to mention all the spandex. The crazy coordination and gear checks and re-checks consumed the bulk of the weekend, although we did- predictably- find time to drink a few beers. Still, my head was spinning by the time we made it to the last-minute gear check in the transition area predawn, and I gazed at rows and rows of racked bikes, wondering how on earth I would ever find mine.

And it all eventually worked out. I did not drown in the river or, presumably, become poisoned by it. I did not get a flat tire or road rash or wrecked or even hungry or tired or hopelessly deficit in whatever the supplement du jour was supposed to prevent. What I did get was annoyed. Very annoyed. I discovered during the course of the 50k event that this was not my bag, nor were triathletes my people. Tense and aggressive and gear-obsessed, they grabbed and clawed at me in the water, scoffed at my not-top-of-the line bike and additive-free water, and shouted angrily throughout. I had run a fun 5k the night before, during which a fellow runner's shoe had come off because of a broken lace. No fewer than three other runners stopped to see if he needed a hand, and one helped him replace it with her hair elastic. These triathletes, on the other hand, would have drowned one another with no compunction, and yelled at people with broken bikes to get them out of the way. My nerves were literally shot by the end of the 25 mile ride, which took place on a scenic course that I was prevented from enjoying because of the constant, frantic screams of "on your left! on your right! passing! Passing! PASSING!" from all around me. I was on pins and needles anyway, terrified the entire time that I would hit one of the plastic water bottles that littered the course, or get a flat, or miss a hairpin turn and lose most of the surface of my skin to the menacing concrete and metal freeway joists. I found the chaos profoundly stressful, and quickly developed a hatred of my fellow cyclists with giant disc brakes, crouched over aero bars and sporting ridiculous looking helmets like this one:

 

By the time the run portion rolled around and I got to experience the much-talked-about "dead leg jog," I had determined once and for all that my Serious Triathlete friends, who were convinced I would fall in love with their sport and immediately register for another, were definitely wrong. Since we had started late, it was blazing hot by then, and my rebellion against the tri-isms of gels and goos and Endurox had been to sip a little water and only eat one of my Mom's "triathlon brownies," which were really just low fat peanut butter bars. (Delicious, but I probably could have used the calories.) I was fading fast, and could have used a bit of the runner's high I usually get from pounding the pavement with my fellow runners, only these weren't runners. These were triathletes. I have competed at some of the top levels of what I had come to think of as a much friendlier sport, and even when running sub-six minute miles have found the time for a "good job" as I passed people at turnarounds. Because that's what is expected. We all do it, and I have never finished a run at any distance or competition level that I haven't felt a sense of kindred with and admiration for my fellow competitors. Here, runners shoved one another out of the way for water and glared at the people who passed them. I have to admit, it gave me a little extra "juice" when I needed it, and I picked up my rapidly-slowing pace to show these people that I could outrun them with a smile and a cheery "nice job!"

 

I eventually crossed the finish line and was thrilled to be done, for a number of reasons. It was a long event, and an incredibly tough one. I was glad I had checked it off, and couldn't wait to collect up all my gear and go find a cold beer somewhere.

 

I was also glad to discover that this intense, humorless slice of humanity had found itself an outlet. If the multimillion dollar triathlete industry were unable to satisfy it with ten thousand dollar bikes and heart rate monitors that spit out computer data analysis and aerodynamic swimsuits and talking watches, God only knows what would-- but I would be very afraid. It was bizarre. Some of the most cheerful, encouraging people I know have been world-class triathletes, and they don't seem like serial killers at all. Then again, I've never personally witnessed them on road bikes.

 

Still, my one and only triathlon was a success. Thanks to the not drowning, and all.

Well, that and the post-race beers.

A drop in the bucket (list).

Naturally, the “best week ever” was followed by one that was less than inspired at best. Seth took off Wednesday for his first hunting trip of the season, with the Injured Military Wildlife Project of ND. It was his first trip home since he got blown up, and his first trip of the season, and he was beyond excited. I’m generally a rabid supporter of couples having time apart to pursue separate hobbies and goals and just get some alone time, but the timing of this one was all off. I battled moral outrage over the fact that I hadn’t gotten to do anything (other than the wedding circuit) with Seth since last summer, and now as soon as he was back on his feet he was off on adventures while I stayed home to work and battle traffic. The week, as far as marital bliss was concerned anyway, was doomed from the start.

I count among my many flaws a shamefully strong aversion to anyone having fun without me, and this was no different. It was compounded by the fact that I, possessed of a deep wanderlust and a miles-long bucket-list, had not been able to take a real vacation in a year. It was starting to chafe a bit. A firm devotee of the bucket list, I had elicited Seth’s on a dinner date more than a year ago, and knew that killing a mule deer in North Dakota was high on his. He got one his first night of the trip, in velvet no less. I still haven’t heard the details, but it seems that it was epic, and he had the rest of the week to bum around, shoot prairie dogs, and hang out with his parents, who made the long drive to Dickinson to visit him in his hunting cabin. I was thrilled for him, but… well, just “but.” He contacted me only a couple of times, and it was with the brevity and interest level of someone who has better things to do. I tried to tell myself that I’m sure I’m the same way when I’m off adventuring, but the “’who’s counting,’ my foot?” voice in the back of my head reminded me that it had been so long he wouldn’t know.

Still, the man did deserve a vacation more than just about anyone I know, and I tried to be excited for him. I was excited that he got a bucket list item checked off, and that Tony and Jayne got to spend time hanging out with him in their home state. And, because I was starting to hate my own internal snarling, I bought tickets to Vancouver Island for the long weekend of his next hunting trip, and made plans with Missy to take a road trip to Tofino and stay in a yurt. Things were looking up.

Seth got home Sunday night, and Leslye and I were on the couch nursing sunburns and sore muscles from our triathlon and alternating between Miller Lites and powerade. He was beat too (having endured a long trip which involved TSA confiscating his properly-cased rifle), and we grilled dinner and watched football and were in bed by ten. There was no reason to dwell on our “off” week. We figure we’re in this for the long haul, and are going to have those sometimes. We tacitly agreed that we’d do better this week, and that we’d sleep in and start Monday off right. And so we did.

Here's to the ebb and flow of life, and relationships. And the new velvety antlers that will soon make an appearance in our man cave. Look out, wildlife. Seth the Hunter is back!

Best. Week. Ever. (For now, anyway.)

This might have been our best week ever. Or, since we intend to keep having adventures, I guess I should say, "so far." It didn't start off that way. The picnic had brought productivity at the sweatshop known as DAD to a near standstill, and we only had four days to scramble to get all of our filings in. Monday I worked insanely late, hit traffic, came home, burned dinner, and bit my poor baffled husband's head off. Definitely not something I'm proud of, but you have to hand it to the man. He doesn't miss an audible. When I got home Tuesday, again late and traffic-scarred, he had wine and takeout on the table. I could not have been more grateful.

Wednesday we had Luke Bryan tickets, so I hustled to leave work at a decent hour and we fought traffic to Merriweather, an awesome outdoor concert venue with literally the world's worst location. We eventually made it and had a blast sitting on the lawn with 22 oz. Bud Lights and an excellent view of the world's most ridiculous country fans (complete with pink shorts, boat shoes, and dance moves better suited for rap videos.) We're having a terrific time living in the DC metro area, traffic woes aside. But we really can't wait to leave.

We left early Friday for Minneapolis and a long-overdue long weekend away. Travis and Karen's wedding (at historic Fort Snelling) was beautiful, and we had a wonderful time catching up with friends and hitting the dance floor. It made my night to be able to twostep with Seth again, who once spent an entire evening trying to keep his poor toes out of my clumsy way at a dive country bar in Fayetteville. He's not as graceful as he used to be, but I'll venture a guess that he's still the smoothest twostepper in the family.

The rest of the weekend felt like a vacation, and I was reminded how much I really like Mineeapolis- St. Paul. In the summer, anyway. We feasted on cheesecurds and Seth introduced me to Grainbelt beer in Stillwater, and made another stop on our Cabela's tour of the United States. (This one, to Seth's delight, had tractors.) We finally made my five-years-in-the-making pilgrimage to Isles Bun and Coffee, and they still had buckets o' cream cheese frosting like I remembered. Seth let me drag him to a hipster bar in Uptown, where we had some amazing yucca fries, and the state fair, where we indulged in more cheese curds and a ferris wheel ride before fleeing the truly insane crowds.

 I ran a gorgeous half marathon Saturday morning through the streets and green spaces of St. Paul with Jackie, and it was just like old times (only better, because it was a cutesy women's event with ridiculously friendly spectators and champagne at the finish.) Oh, and I took Seth to check out the new Target field, where the Twins play. Admittedly, some pretty nice digs.

All in all, we felt like we squeezed in a killer mini-vacation (in the upper midwest, no less.) And still made it home in time to celebrate Labor Day by doing absolutely no labor and instead watching a "Two and a Half Men" marathon and mustering just enough energy to throw dinner on the grill.

Hope everyone else had as relaxing and fun a long weekend as we did! Now it's back to the grind for SOME of us (read: not Seth, who kicks off hunting season with a trip to North Dakota tomorrow)...

And because of that, the picture of the week is me celebrating my highly unusual (and unepected) win over Seth at the watergun horse race at the fair.