Skol!

I often find myself repeating the old line about "the best laid schemes o' mice an' men" while shaking my head about something in my life that I could never have contemplated just a year and change ago. Of course, although I'm fond of old Burns, the rest of the poem is depressing-- and does anybody really know what "gang aft agley" means? I guess I just mean that life has lots of twists and turns and surprises, and most of the time they make me smile. But also shake my head.

This weekend the moment hit me as I was bundling up against the chilly Minnesota wind, having sat outside the metrodome downing 16 oz. cans of Miller Lite with other green- and purple- clad revelers for the better part of the day. I am a Vikings fan by marriage, it seems. I was still reeling from the purchase of the deep freezer and the fact that I was now the proud owner of a cookbook featuring elk meat. And now, somehow, Seth had gotten me out of my cute new oatmeal raglan sweater (worn with knee high boots) and into a garish purple and yellow sweatshirt that actually laced up the neck, a bad replica of some imagined Viking maiden garb of yore. He himself was wearing a purple jersey and matching hat. The face paint, I admit, was all my idea. When in Rome...

 

Don't get me wrong. We love our football in Southern California. But it's a much more... civilized proposition. And it's definitely warmer.

 

At any rate, we did have a terrific weekend in Minneapolis. I seriously- and somewhat secretly- love that town. Well, actually, St. Paul. It's beautiful and friendly. We got to enjoy the tail end of fall foliage season, and were blessed with sunny, above-freezing weather. I ran a local 5k around beautiful Como Lake that reminded me why I used to love road racing, so friendly and enjoyable was the event. (Try finding one of those in DC!) We LOVED getting to hang out with Jayne, although Tony's absence due to late-season bean combining (I think I got that right) couldn't help but put a damper on things. (I really did score in the in-law department in a major way.) Seth got his cheese curd fix, and thanked me with a stop at lululemon, and Jayne finally broke her very-impressive beer fast. I was reminded that I love Grain Belt beer, and discovered coal-fired pizza. Oh, and we got to catch up with Seth's buddy John, who was with him in the blast in Afghanistan, and his brother Danny, who had provided us with the tickets (so we tolerated their Packers allegiance and corresponding gear.) A good time was definitely had by all.
 

Until I woke up Monday morning an hour after our early-morning flight to DC was supposed to have departed. Seth and I spent the better part of the day at the Minneapolis airport, me hoping fervently that I would not be reported AWOL. (I wasn't. Although it was threatened. I think jokingly.) Thank goodness MSP has the nicest USO on the planet. It wasn't a bad day of playing hooky after all, although I'll be working late every night this week to make up for it.

 

Oh. And the Vikings lost. I'm pretty sure this surprised no one but Seth. He did not take it well.

 

Photo of the week (taken right after the devastating, if unsurprising, loss.) Better luck next year, Vikings. Or do they say skol?

Another Army Ten Miler Down

It seems that for the past decade-plus, my life has been measured by Army Ten Milers. I used to count by deployments, but that got both depressing and confusing. Somehow along the way my annual milestone of choice became the huge race that starts and finishes at the Pentagon and every year draws tens of thousands of friends and fellow service members from all over the world in one big show of camaraderie.

Or stress and nerves, which is what I most often felt. I have never run the ATM for fun, or by myself. I’ve always been outfitted in a team jersey, glued to my watch, worn down by the complicated logistics of team travel, and a ball of nerves generally. I had run the race several times, I remember, before Michelle- who runs it for fun every year, and enjoys it immensely- said something about how great it was that the race ran by all the monuments. I was dumbfounded. I had no idea what the course looked like. I had always been focused on the watch, the pavement, and the runner behind me.

That said, ATM weekends always had happy memories too. Generally once the race was over. There were lots of surprise run-ins with old friends and celebratory post-race nights at Murphy’s. There was the year my Bragg team almost got cheated out of our trophy and Jackie grabbed it and ran off the stage. The year I feuded with the coach over our post-run beer habit, and then beat her by minutes in a resounding moral victory. The year Michelle won an Irish car bomb- drinking contest when she was (unwittingly) pregnant with Scott. The year we won, stayed out all night, and had to drag ourselves hungover to the AUSA convention at 7 the next morning for an awards presentation, reeking of beer and desperate for water- which, post 9/11, was prohibited in the convention center. The year of the hilarious and unfortunate chain of events at Murphy’s that resulted in the nickname “drunk monkey” for our most straightlaced, Catholic team member (now a mother of two.) The year Kala tried to start a bar fight, all 92 pounds of her. The year I was the captain and coach and learned the true meaning of “pride” when my team won after a tough season of juggling deployments and schools and long training events.   

Yes, as much as I said I hated it, through deployments and PCSes and relationship ups and downs and even a career change, the Army Ten Miler had always been there. And this year was no different. Except that it was. I was in the worst shape of my life. It had not been a good year for running. I still had a team, but it was an odd, loosely affiliated group of ragtag runners in Belvoir jerseys that had no camaraderie and no chance of winning. But it was still the ATM, and it was important to me, and Seth had foregone some hunting trip or other to be there.  Actually, at the last minute, he had decided on a whim to hand cycle it with the wounded warriors, never having actually hand biked. I was worried about impending disaster, impressed as always by his casual "can do" attitude, and exceptionally proud that Team Nieman was going to tackle this thing together.

 And tackle it we did. Thanks to a badly-timed team meetup and a major security snafu, I didn’t get to see Seth on his handbike at all (the wounded warriors started early and finished waayyyy before us.) He apparently did a terrific job and had a good time doing it. I barely made the end of my wave start after having waited in line to be patted down at security (seriously, that’s necessary when I’m clad mostly in spandex?!) My race started off slow and got slower, and at mile 8 I very seriously considered quitting. Then again, I think I always consider that at mile 8. I finished almost 4 minutes slower than ever before, and was tempted to be depressed about it until I decided on a back pat instead. After the year we had both had, Seth and I eked out those ten miles like champs, and that was something that could not be reflected in finish times.

We would both get back in shape, but we were doing pretty well, all things considered. I was proud of us. And of all the years of ups and downs and good finishes and bad finishes and mediocre finishes… the best finish of my life was this one, because I heard a familiar voice call my name, and Seth lifted me up over the barriers for a hug, having stowed his handbike and walked over half a mile back to the finish to see me come in. As milestones go, this ATM marked the best, craziest, toughest, and most rewarding in my life, and I was the happiest I had ever been, even without a team and a win. It was crazy to think that, when I sat out last year’s race- my first to do so, but Charlottesville didn’t have a team and I was pouting because I had had to leave Bragg- I had biked to the finish line from Belvoir and visited friends and been sad and talked to Seth about it that night when he called from Afghanistan. That seemed like lifetimes ago, but here we stood, on the finish line, happy and grateful just to be there together. (And, OK, at least one of us was thrilled to have the damned race over with. But still. Serious “we’ve come a long way” moment.)

Belvoir, predictably, won nothing, and I didn’t see most of the team after the race. There was no reason to wait around for awards, a kind of disappointing first for me, but it did save hours. We hung out for awhile with Michelle and Susan, who had run with the amazing organization TAPs in honor of Paul, and headed out for celebratory brunch and beers with the Trimbles. Another ATM down.

Since fitness seems to be the theme this week, there are two photos of the week, both of our already-athletic little nieces!

This first is of Lisa and Nat, who braved freezing cold temperatures to do a local 5k. I’m so proud of my sis-in-law for not letting a crazy schedule and being a single parent while Ben’s deployed get in the way of her fitness goals!

And here’s the little rock star-in-training Lehua with our brother-in-law Daniel, who somehow managed to find an ice rink in Hawaii!

Bucket List Week for the Niemans

It's been a whirlwind couple weeks for the Niemans (and we are loving being back home together for a change!) but as much as we hate being separated by time differences and thousands of miles, we did each knock an item off our respective bucket lists- and couldn't be more thrilled about it. Seth has always wanted to kill an elk. I think I've known that since our first date. And oh boy, did he... and got to enjoy the experience with his Dad, in Washington state. It was really special for them both. And I salvaged the long weekend he was gone with an impulsive trip to Tofino, BC, which has always been high on my travel bucket list (and the bonus was getting to share the adventure with Missy!)

Seth had this to say about his elk hunt:

 

I killed this magnificent 7x7 Warrior Bull in Washington state with Archery Outwest Outfitters.
http://archery-outfitter.com/
He was a 7x7 36 hours before I harvested him with my T/C Pro Hunter .50 muzzleloader. He broke off 4 points on th...e left side defending his harem of 30 cows in the interim. My outfitter and guide was DJ.

The whole hunt was very special because my Dad and lifetime hunting buddy was there with me.

This was a special hunt organized by Scott Marvin of Warroad, MN.
Scott organized this hunt because he had read an article about me being wounded in combat in our local newspaper.

 

As for the long-overdue and much-needed Sister Trip Minus One (we missed you, Sary! even if you would've been REALLY cold...), it was idyllic. We cracked up about the sign at the border: "British Columbia: Best Place on Earth," but, as Missy said, "it turned out that we agreed completely."

 

I fled after a long work week and flew out Friday morning, which gave me enough time to go for a run at Point Defiance (an old favorite from my Ft. Lewis days) and spend a terrific night catching up with Shelly and the Taylor- Chavez clan in Gig Harbor. We took a bottle of wine down to watch the sunset on their private beach surrounded by lodgepole pines, and I turned a few shades of green with envy. I miss the West Coast madly. Life is just better there.

 

The next morning I picked Missy up waayyyy before dawn. My fault completely. I believe in squeezing every last second out of a long weekend, so I was taking the redeye home Monday- and I made her take one that left Anchorage at midnight and arrived at an ungodly Saturday morning. Her flight was late, of course, so I took a nap in my car in the cell phone lot at Sea-Tac. We cracked up when we realized how often our vacations together involve sleeping in airports. (Here's to you, Bustamantes and the awful benches in the Lima Aeropuerto.)

And then we headed for Canada! After a whistlestop tour of Vancouver (and a quick pilgrimage to the original lululemon), we refueled with coffee in Horsheshoe Bay and enjoyed the breathtaking ferry ride across the Strait of Georgia. We arrived in Nanaimo in time for lunch at the falsely-advertised (but still delicious) "only brewery on the island," and headed for Parksville and our yurt.

It was everything we dreamed of and more. (A definite Missy-ism, but highly appropriate.) We had been so looking forward to staying in the yurt, we were worried it wouldn't live up to our expectations, but- with a skylight, gas fireplace, full kitchen, and all the amenities- we were soon wondering if it would be practical to live in one year round. We spent the afternoon beachcombing, discovering real-ish texas barbecue, and hiking along waterfalls in the lush temperate coastal rainforest. For dinner, we picked up Thai and were cheerfully (everyone in BC is cheerful and friendly) ridiculed by the owner, who wondered if our government was "still having argument?" He then welcomed us to Canada's National Parks, since "yours are closed, yes?" Thank you, shutdown. We are officially an international laughingstock.

Although we didn't want to leave our cozy yurt, we were anxious to get to Tofino, so we headed over the mountains on the winding and beautiful Pacific Rim highway and spent a sun-drenched, perfect day hiking in Pacific Rim National Park (Reserve, apparently, due to some small hangup negotiating with the native people), exploring the picturesque towns of Ucluelet and Tofino, and contenting ourselves with wandering the unspoiled beaches instead of surfing or paddleboarding (since the water was a chilly 49 degrees). We would just have to come back for the legendary cold-water surf, which was OK with us. We discovered a secret beach ("the beach of our dreams," according to Missy), perfect for our traditional Walters  family baguette & cheese lunch.

We were later delighted to discover that our hotel- chosen somewhat at random from a quick internet search- was an offbeat cliffside rambler literally at the end of the highway, right before it dropped into the sea. We watched the sunset on our balcony with wine (after a death-defying cliff scramble/ tide race) and had dinner at a groovy bar/restaurant where we enjoyed Tofino Brewing Company beer and were wished a Happy Canadian Thanksgiving by everyone. (We had no idea it was this weekend, but it really did feel like a holiday! And a highly preferable one to Columbus Day.)

Monday was a haul back to the airport, although we stopped along the way to discover Tim Horton's (apparently the way-better Canadian version of Dunkin' Donuts) and had coffee with The Big Tree (taller than the Leaning Tower of Pisa and 800 years old!) in Cathedral Grove. We took a different ferry ride back and were once again amazed by the view. And- as usual- we found ourselves racing for the airport, since my flight was moved forward an hour (who's ever heard of that?) as we were on our way to one last brewery lunch (at the funky-cool Chuckanut Brewpub in Bellingham) and we decided we had time for a beer anyway.

We did (barely- poor Missy almost choked on her burger, although she pronounced it delish), and we both made our flights. Everything had worked out perfectly from start to finish. And, although the redeye followed by a long workday was a little rough, I came home to flowers and wine and pizza and a husband who had missed me and even done his own hunting laundry.

Not a bad week for the Niemans.

There were way too many great photos this week between the two of us to pick just one, so top honors goes to this one from Ben & Lisa's visit a couple weeks ago, of Nat and I going for a jog. It cracks me up.



Deep in the Heart of Texas...!

I was sitting in a bar a couple years ago with friends, trying to explain what I loved so much about Austin. It’s a fun town with great food and lots to do, sure, but there’s always been something more for me. My friend Caroline slid into the booth with a glass of wine and laughed, “Of course you love Austin. It’s basically you!” How so? I wanted to know from my straight-out-of-Dallas sorority sister, who referred to my little utopia (as many Texans do), like some sort of circus sideshow. “It’s all hippie-dippy tie dye,” she said, “With a side of boots and beer and bad country music, afflicted by a serious fitness obsession.”

She was wrong about the music, of course (it’s terrific) and I assumed the rest was meant affectionately. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended at the time, but I’ve been described as worse, and I do love that town. I was ecstatic to be spending the weekend there for Austin City Limits. ACL is no Bonnaroo (and the lineup this year was pretty awful), but I adore the festival partly for its much-more chill vibe- and largely because it’s an excuse to spend a few days stuffing myself at Chuy’s and drinking Shiner on a blanket in Zilker Park.

April and Rebecca and I all felt overdue for some R&R, and as Rebecca pronounced Sunday, “ACL delivered.” We slept in and ran along town lake and walked blistering miles in our flip flops and took a hilarious turn on the water bikes (requiring us to nearly capsize in our efforts to clear the ubiquitous cabomba plants from our rudders). We completely negated all of our exercise with beer and Threadills’ world-famous Southern-fried brunch and midnight pizza at Home Slice and a pilgrimage to the cupcake truck. And we spent sunny afternoons hanging out in the grass with the Austin skyline peeking over the stages, listening to good music and mediocre music (and one gospel band that was truly horrific) and enjoying world class people-watching. None of us wanted to leave.

 

But all good things must come to an end, and I’m back in DC on  a rainy Monday, angry because all of our running trails and parks are still cbarricaded unnecessarily thanks to the government shutdown. The weekend appropriation at least means that we are no longer trapped on post because only one gate is open, and we’ll be able to avoid the 12 hour workdays we were contemplating to make up for the absence of our civilian employees. Still- it’s a little jarring to return to the land of political bickering and retaliatory parking lot closures after not having heard the word “shutdown” the entire weekend. I'm chalking it up as yet another reason to move to Texas…

Seth is gone all week on an epic elk hunting adventure with his Dad in Washington state. As of this writing, there had been no new sets of antlers for the man cave, but I’m expecting the news any day now. I miss him, but he’s having the time of his life. Somehow, in the frantic short week before we both raced to the airport before dawn Friday, we managed to enjoy a lovely afternoon on the water in historic Fells Point and to check out our new local taco joint. (Restaurant openings in sleepy Glen Echo/ Cabin John are few and far between, and we’re pretty stoked about this one.) Seth also squeezed in a pheasant hunt, because who doesn’t need a pre-hunt hunt?

The photo of the week is our water biking collage. Check out Rebecca’s  epicphoto bomb on the right.