Frugality Beats Sanity.

Yesterday morning at 6:10 a.m. I was in San Francisco on a cable car barefoot in a wetsuit. Fortunately, I was not alone.

Six weeks ago, I signed up for the Alcatraz challenge and the day had finally come to do it. I got the idea from my friend LaRee who sent me the link for the race with the message: "We should do this."

I briefly skimmed the race web-page and thought, "Well, that will be after Barb's half-ironman, so I will probably want to do another event. And really, how difficult could a 1.5 mile swim in the bay be?"

As I started the registration process on Athletes Lounge, it did seem funny that I had to initial three disclaimers. Usually, most races have the whole "don't sue us if you die" or " no refund" disclaimer, but this one discussed bridges and other crazy things. I just shrugged and typed in the "JM" and quickly e-mailed my friend I signed up.

It wasn't until I started telling people about this swim and listened to their responses that the actuality of this event sunk in.

Here are what the basic responses were:

"What?"
"Seriously?"
"Why would you do that?"
"Brrrr."

These responses struck me as odd because when I told the same people I was doing a half-ironman they kind of shrugged their shoulders. I mean, this was JUST a swim.

I blame my naivete on not knowing anything (except for the whole island prison thing) about Alcatraz. I have never even done the tourist audio tour of the island. This race was not on my "to-do" list of athletic events. Marathon in another country? Perhaps. Swim in the bay? To quote Bart and Lisa Simpson: "Meh."

My biggest concern before the challenge was, "Can I do this?" Of course, under usual conditions I can swim 1.5 miles in a pool, but this time was different. My shoulder was still not feeling 100% better since my bike crash at Barb's. Last Wednesday I finally got in the pool after almost 3 water-free (except for showers) weeks. I felt ok. Plus, I already forked over the $100 to participate, Frugality beats sanity. The race was on.

So, that is how I found myself riding public transportation in a wetsuit. Me, and a bunch of other people took a ferry a few hundred yards from Alcatraz to do this crazy swim. It still seems crazy to me. I mean, I literally jumped out of a ferry and swam to the Presidio. Me. I don't usually do crazy things like that.

The swim kicked my booty. I have no idea how far I swam because there is kind of a crazy current in the Bay. The race director said it was a 1.5-1.8 mile race. I was definitely unprepared for the crazy waves slapping my body every few seconds. Plus, the participants were pretty spread out so there were times when I was swimming by myself. There were also time where I didn't see anyone behind me and I thought, "Am I going to be the last person out of the water." I swallowed my pride and reasoned, "Well someone has to be last. Maybe I will even get a cool prize." Honestly, I just wanted to finish this beat.

And I did. And I was 42 out of 56 in my age group. I jumped off a ferry in the San Francisco Bay and swam to shore in an hour and 6 minutes.

And you know what? That is kind of cool.

It was cool because I was still smarting from my Barb's race DNF and in the back of my head I worried that I was on this bad karmic train and would never finish a race again.

But the good news is-my spirit is back and I even signed up for another half iron-man in 2 weeks. I may be a little out of shape due to lack of training since my accident, but I feel in my bones that I can finish a half-ironman. Even if it means perhaps coming in last.









"

I wonder...

If I will be healed in time for the Alcatraz Challenge on August 23. And also, can sharks smell fear?

Did they have to make it red?

I am on the road to recovery and able to dress myself again. Yea! The bad news: my wound is leaking on my dress. Gross. Maybe I should have gone with sleeveless today.

My shoulder is fine except when I move it. Luckily the headache is gone, so I probably haven't done a whole lot of damage to the brain.

I couldn't resist the urge to look up my result for the race. I did the swim in 42:16 which isn't too shabby considering I didn't realize the race was even starting. But right below my name on the results web page were the dreaded initials:

DNF

Did.Not.Finish. Seriously, did they have to make it red? Knock a girl while she's already down and road rashed why don't ya?

(BEWARE: Ranting Section)

This sucks! It really does! This was supposed to be my race. I was so ready to have this major accomplish under my tri shorts and what do I get? Bump on the head and a shoulder resembling prosciutto.

ok...done ranting. I can't be positive and zen-like all the time.

"What's my name?"

I can’t believe Barb’s race is over. It came and went so quickly—even though it was way back in December when I registered for my 1^st half-ironman triathlon.

Looking back, I think I put more time and energy training and preparing for this race than planning my own wedding---but that is just because I was a lazy bride. Barefoot on a public beach in Maui was much more appealing than choosing hideous bridesmaid gowns.

I camped with my mom, sister-in-law and three nieces the week before Barb’s. We were in this great little town of Duncans Mills and our campsite was right on the Russian River. We played cribbage (Google “cribbage” if you don’t know what it is), swam in the river and made s’mores (by the way--peanut butter cup s’mores are delish).

One day I took my 4 year-old-niece Susie to the restrooms and we decided to run back. She was wearing flip flops and suddenly fell on the road. She started crying and I did a quick assessment to make sure there were no broken bones or skinned knees. I helped her up and wiped away her tears. I told her she was fine and not to worry because Aunt Jill falls down a lot when she runs (see blog entry “Greatest Hits” for proof).

“Why do you run then if you fall?” She sniffled.

I thought about this. I couldn’t tell her, “Well, your aunt is kinda foolish, huh?”

“Well,” I said as I grabbed her hand, “Just because we fall doesn’t mean we stop doing what we love.”

Dennis finally got to the campsite the Friday before the race. We drove to the race packet pick-up and the nerves I suppressed all week finally came bubbling to the surface. Was I really going to do this? What was it going to feel like? How long would it take me?

Dennis calmed me down and we checked out the expo and went to the course pep talk. My nerves changed into excitement and I knew that I was ready to do this race.

We woke up bright and early to head to the race start at Johnson’s Beach in Guerneville. My race OCD was in overdrive as I kept checking my transition bag to make sure I had my bike shoes and helmet. There was no parking available and I told Dennis to just drop me off and I would meet him at the finish. I was pretty freaked out as he drove off because I felt all alone. Luckily as I was walking towards the beach, I saw one of my friends and we chatted nervously. I set up my transition area and squeezed my wetsuit on so I could jump in the river and do a warm up swim. My friend and I swam a little and then headed back. I accidentally knocked her in the head with my arm and we started laughing because the race hadn’t even started and she already got hit in the head. When we were back on shore I heard “Jill!” I turned around and saw my coach Heidi and was so relieved. It was too hectic the night before the race for us to meet up and I was so glad to see her before the race.

We went into the water again and she calmed my nerves by telling me it was going to be a great race. We headed back onto the shore oblivious to a volunteer trying to get us back in the water. Finally we noticed her.

“Are we supposed to get in the water?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, “The race is starting now.”

Heidi and I made a mad dash for the water and heard the starting horn go off.

“Oh my gosh,” I though to myself as I started swimming, “This is it.”

The swim went well. It was an out and back which seemed more difficult then the Catfish swim from a couple of weeks ago because that swim was more of a triangle shape. The swim felt good and finally I saw the last buoy and ran to the shore. The best part of the swim was the volunteers who helped take off people’s wetsuits. Shimmying out of a wetsuit is the hardest part of the bike transition and it was nice to have people order me around and tear my wetsuit off.

As I ran to my bike I heard. “Yea Jill!” and I turned to the crowd of spectators and saw one of my friends from the training group holding a sign that said “Go Jill!” I was truly touched to have my own sign. I waved at her and she shouted our team motto: “Dominate!”

The bike started off well. A lot of people passed me, but around mile 17, I was passing people. I had done the bike route before and knew that I had a ways to go. But—I was feeling good.

That is until mile 22.

I am not sure what happened, but I think my mind wandered and I wasn’t paying attention to the road. The road was bumpy and one part was higher than the other. I guess my wheel was right between the raised part of the road and the flat and my bike lost control. I tried to steer it in the right direction and everything was in slow motion until my body hit the ground.

Everything else is kind of a blur.

Somehow I got up, but I don’t know if someone helped me. My vision was going in and out and it was a very out of body experience. Someone asked me if I was ok and I said yes, I want to get back on the bike. I wanted to finish the race. I couldn’t see anything but kept talking. A man told me to rest and guided me to a place to sit down but I had a difficult time balancing. Suddenly, I heard my name:

“Jill are you ok? Are you ok?” It was my friend whom I met up with before the race. At least I think it was---I still couldn’t see anything.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, “I am fine.”

Luckily there was a man who owned a bike shop in Santa Rosa who was helping people repair bikes, I sat in his truck as people discussed whether they should call an ambulance or take me to the medical tents at the finish line. I felt floaty and discombobulated, but just wanted to finish the race.

The man packed up my bike in his car and said,” You can’t finish –your bike is in no condition to ride. Also,” he said holding my beautiful new pink helmet, “this thing is cracked and you cannot wear it.”

The cracked helmet explained my floatiness—I had a mild concussion. We drove away and I tried my best to remain coherent.

“How is my bike” I asked him.

He started laughing, “That is a sign of a true triathlete—worried about your bike. Your bike is fine”

I smiled weekly and suddenly felt all the pain my body endured. I looked over at my left shoulder and saw blood and road rash. It seized up when I moved and I wondered if it was dislocated. My left thigh felt like it was on fire and the fingers on my right hand were banged up from the gravel and starting to look raw. I was glad I remembered my bike gloves that day.

Somehow I made it to the medical tents at the race finish and was examined to make sure I didn’t dislocate anything or do damage to my head. A doctor came up and introduced himself before examining me I called Dennis’s cell phone and left a message. He was with my mom at our campsite and I knew he didn’t get reception. I had someone call the campground so they could let Dennis know where I was (it was a good 3 hours before I was expected to finish). I told the person calling the campground to make sure they know I am OK because I knew my mom would freak out if someone told her I got hurt at the race.

The doctor came back again and asked how I was doing. I said fine.

"What's my name?" He asked me.

Crap. I don’t even remember names on days I don’t crack my helmet.

He said, “It is Mike. Remember that, because I am going to be asking you that for the rest of the day. Do you know why?”

“Yeah,” I said, “to make sure I didn’t scramble my brain.”

It was about an hour until Dennis picked me up. We gathered my stuff from the run transition and I know I must have looked pathetic with my arm in a sling. My head was killing me and it was pretty depressing seeing the finishers with their medals and smiling faces. Honestly though, I was much more concerned about my brain hemorrhaging and felt lucky I didn’t hurt anything else or that I didn’t take anyone down with me.

I am so glad Dennis was with my mom when the campground employee told them I was hurt. He is so rationale and I guess he told her that if I was really hurt I would be in the ER, not the medical tent.

Dennis packed up our stuff and drove home. It was a miserable drive because I got nauseated on the back roads and Dennis wouldn’t let me fall asleep because of the whole head injury thing. Plus he kept asking me what our address and phone number was to make sure I was still with it. I finally got to shower when we got home, but it was too painfully to take off my sports bra that we had to cut it off. I must say I am pretty impressed with how durable Zoot tri shorts are---they didn’t get torn at all from the fall.

It has been almost two days since the accident. My shoulder is staring to feel better and the huge welt on my thigh is going down and turning colors. It feels strange to be slightly immobile and confined to a couch because the last 2 months I have been a non-stop training machine. I must admit, I am a little heartbroken about not finishing the race. It was my first DNF ever, and I figured that it would happen eventually. I planned for so long for this race and it was pretty much all I could talk about.

But, honestly, it wasn’t like I was trying to win the race or that it would be the last half-iron EVER.

There is a half iron in Santa Cruz at the beginning of September and if I am feeling better toward the end of the week, I am definitely registering.

After all, just because I fell doesn’t mean I am going to stop doing something I love.

"You aren't going back to your hippie days, are you?"

The other day Dennis and I were chilling on the couch, drinking coffee and entertaining ourselves (me: watching "My Life on the D-List"; him : reading the news on his laptop). He chuckled out loud and I paused the show to ask him what was so funny.

"Well, I am reading this article from the New York Times ----hey I am not going to finish the story if you keep rolling your eyes."

I couldn't help the roll. I love to tease him about when he quotes NPR or the New York Times because if it came from anyone else besides him, it would seem undeniably pretentious. Luckily, he is the smartest person I know so I can cut him some slack. It is cool though because I often quote US Weekly. We balance each other out.

"Sorry," I said, "Continue."

"Well, the writer of the article discussed how 'narcissist' is the new buzzword and everyone is all self-absorbed with Facebooks, MySpace, blogs. The author believes they really they aren't being narcissistic, they are just being jerks."

"Heh heh," I said weakly, "Funny."

As I thought about blog posts, uploading race photos to MySpace and how I talk about my triathlon training with everyone I run into, I started to wonder something: "Have I become narcissistic?" Or worse: "Am I a jerk?"

I think back on the past couple of years and, to quote Bobby Darrin, I'm beginning to see the light.

I am living in this little bubble where I think everything is about me and that people should revolve their lives around my actions. Plus, I think I have developed a bit of a chip on my shoulder and have a low tolerance for other people's actions. I tend to get worked up when someone cuts me off on the freeway, drives in the bike lane while I am in it, doesn't move on the trail when I shout "On your freakin' left!" I get irritated when people stand too close to me in Starbucks, I shudder when people bring children to restaurants and they start screaming. I can feel the stress working its way into my body and it doesn't really create sustainable energy (i.e. "that driver just flipped me off and I am so angry at him right now that when I get home I am going to take a nice long run." That doesn't happen. Usually I marinate in the anger and complain to Dennis about it.)

I think most of all I need to be more accepting of people who aren't used to cyclists or runners. if someone doesn't make room for me, I shouldn't scowl at them. What is that going to prove?

Last week my friend Jen and I went to Baskin Robbins for ice cream. We were enjoying our treats outside and saw this lady walking toward a car in the parking lot. She got really upset that someone had left their dog in the car with the windows rolled up. In fact, she got so upset that she went into Baskin Robbins and demanded to know who owned the car. She then yelled at the woman who owned the car about how she needs to roll the window down so the dog had air. She then got super worked up and continued to rip the lady a new one by talking about animal cruelty and then proceeded to use a ridiculous amount of obscenities. The owner of the car went outside to roll the windows down and the woman said to her in a very sarcastic tone: "Thank you very much for rolling down your windows. Thank you." And then she got a crazy look in her eye as the soccer mom went back into Baskin Robbins, "What? What are you looking at? Do you want to take a go at it?"

Meanwhile Jen and I were silent, avoiding any eye contact with the crazy lady. The crazy lady's friend finally convinced her to leave, and when it was safe I turned to Jen and said, "Um, I seriously thought this was going to turn into an episode of Cops."

Jen laughed and said, "It's nice to know that she is concerned about the well being of someone else's dog yet doesn't care about dropping F bombs in front of her daughter." Oh yeah, the crazy lady had her own 8 year old daughter with her as well. Classy.

"Do you think if I talked to her about that, she would laugh about the irony of the situation or she would try to kick my butt? "

"Probably kick your butt," Jen said.

"Hmmm...your right." I thought about it, "Do you think I could take her? I have never gotten into a physical fight before. I mean, if it came down to a self defense situation---I bet I could probably get down and dirty. I wouldn't be able to throw a punch, but maybe throw some kicks in or pull hair and scratch."

"You may have a bit of a chance," Jen said, "You have been working out a lot lately. I think my strategy would be to ask her 'What's one plus one?' and when she stops to think about it---bam! I kick her in the shins and run away."

We laughed into our ice creams and started talking about The Real World from the early 90s versus the skanky Real World now

Now that I think about it, what separates me from this crazy lady? When someone doesn't make room for me on a trail or on Foothill Expressway, I give them the dirtiest look or a gesture that says, "Thanks a lot,jerk wad." The crazy lady's approach to get the woman wasn't the most effective way to go about the situation. She could have calmly told the woman that it appears she may have forgotten to roll her windows down and the dog probably needs some fresh air. Then the woman would have said, "Oh my goodness! I can't believe that, thank you so much for your consideration." Instead, the woman was threatened by the crazy lady and probably was thinking, "Dang, I wish I didn't leave my pepper spray in the car with the dog." Maybe I need to be more like a rational human being and less like the crazy lady.

The evening after the NY Times conversation, Dennis and I were at a restaurant having dinner and I shared my revelation with him.

" I decided something today."
"What's that?" He asked before taking a sip of his Mojito.
"I decided I am not going to get annoyed by stupid people anymore."
After he almost snorted out mojito because of his laughter he said, "Come again?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. I feel like lately I have become more cynical and less tolerant of people. Like what good does it do to get worked up over someone who takes up the whole aisle of the pasta aisle in Safeway with their cart? Maybe they are cooking this great dinner to meet their future in-laws and they are stressed about the cooking. I need to be more tolerant of other people's journeys."

"Your not going to go back to your hippie ways, are you?"

"No way---I am totally going to keep showering and won't be listening to The Dead or anything. Well, I just feel that me grunting my annoyance or rolling my eyes isn't going to solve anything. It is not going to make people feel better about cyclists when we flip them off if they cut us off. I think I need to be friendlier to people when they aren't considerate. I think a smile and a 'excuse me, on your left' may be a good start. It is amazing how much more receptive people are to a smile than a scowl."

"This is true."

"So, from now on I am just going to let go of my anger and focus my energy elsewhere. I want to be a nice person again."

"Sounds like a very good goal. Now can we get the check and go see Batman?"

I agree and think that going to see the movie at the mall is a great place to test out being more tolerant of people. Usually the mall is filled with zombies dazed by all the products marketed to them. The trip to the mall went well, I smiled at people, said excuse me and noticed something interesting. If I go into a situation with a positive attitude, chances are I will I come out of it with the same positive attitude.

It has been three days and Optimism is beating Cynicism in the fight for my outlook on life. And actually, it makes driving not as annoying when I don't brace myself for people being stupid.

Now I just have to figure out how to make this positive thinking work for my triathlon training...

"I don't want to do this anymore!"

It is officially less than 2 weeks to go until the big Barb's Race. The Vineman 70.3 was on Saturday and I checked out the results on-line, to get a sense of where I may be. I won't utter any goal times out loud until after the race for fear of jinxing myself.

My training is becoming pretty intense. For the past week, my workouts have been lasting 1-3 hours! that is like watching the newest batman plus all the million previews! I am tired and sore, yet have a lot more energy than I have had before. Plus--- food has never tasted so good! Yesterday after the Catfish swim Dennis and I went to breakfast and it was such a party. I was taking bites of my omelet, slathering jam on toast, piercing my fork in Dennis' Benedict and told him: "I am having such a fun time!"

The Catfish was a swimming-only race where you can choose to swim a 1.2, 2.4 or 3.6 mile swim in the Stevens Creek Reservoir. I signed up for the 1.2 because I wanted to know what 1.2 in a lake setting felt like (plus, I need more practice getting in and out of my wetsuit.) in preparation for Barb's.

I decided to call it a practice swim and not a race, because my RACE is in two weeks and I have my enthusiasm on reserve. Plus, as noted previously, my workouts have been getting intense and I definitely didn't have nice fresh legs for a race.

Dennis and I left at 7:00 to head to the race. We biked from our townhouse to the start---about 5 miles. I was also wearing my tri-backpack filled with my wetsuit, goggles, swim cap and towel. As I got on my bike, I could only think one thing: "Ouch!" It was my 4th day in a row on a bike, and certain unmentionable body parts were protesting the torture. Oh, wait, I was thinking two things: "ouch" and "brrrr." Funny, I thought it was supposed to be warm in California in July. Not so much at 7 in the morning.

We arrived at the reservoir and I stumbled into my wetsuit. Note to self---wetsuits are hard to put on when slightly sweaty from biking. I kissed Dennis goodbye and headed to the start. He found a good spot where he could watch both the swimmers and the bikes.

It was a water start, which meant you get in the water first and just kind of bob around until they start the race. I surveyed the buoys to visualize the turns and the distance of the race. Funny, 1.2 miles in a lake doesn't look all that far. It must be an optical illusion.

Unlike triathlons---which start in age group waves---it was going to be a mass start. I bobbed to the back of the pack as I didn't want to get in anyones way. I was not there to win the gold.

Speaking of which---there was a girl in the race who will be competing in the Olympics this year! How cool is it that I was in the same water as a future Olympian? Her race at the Olympics is the 10k open water swim and she wants to do it in 2 hours. Yeah, that is 6.2 miles of swimming! Rock star.

Anyways, the race started and bam! Pure anarchy. I have always been somewhat cautious about the open water swim in triathlons because of all the appendages flying everywhere, but this was like no open water swim I have done before. They should have called it the Sardine swim because I felt like we were a bunch of sardines squeezed together swimming. I had people swimming on top of me, pushing me, pulling hair (ok, maybe not pulling hair as we were all wearing swim caps)...It felt like an extreme sports version of "Lord of the Flies." I saw these two women frozen in the water eying the insanity and one said to the other, "I don't want to do this anymore!"
Luckily, I did not panic. I did, however, have to chuck my personal space issues out of the reservoir. I am not really a hugging person, nor do I like close talking people---but I had no choice today. Eventually the group spread out and I was able to maintain a good pace. I didn't go fast, but I really concentrated on my stroke and breathing. About halfway through the race it got a little congested again. I had one guy swimming on my right and a woman on my left and they were both coming towards me at a fast pace. I slowed my pace and let them both pass me and I watched them crash right into each other. Ouch. That is going to leave a mark. I am actually surprised Open Water Swimming isn't a bigger spectator sport as football--there is kind of a lot of physical contact and (though unintentional) violence.

1.2 miles is a long time to swim in the open water---the furthest I had done was .9 in the Olympic distance triathlons. I finally made it to the finish and got out of the water, wondering what my time would be. The clock had a little over 42 minutes on it. I was pleasantly surprised, as my goal was to do it in under an hour. All in all, a great practice swim. Maybe next year I will do the 2.4 distance.

I have learned a couple things about open water swimming these past few months:
1) Don't drink lake water unless you want parasitic pets in your system. Mmmmm...gardia...deelish...
2) Find a discreet way to spit in your goggles to defog them
3) Breastroke kickers are scarier than sharks.

Greatest Hits

Yesterday I entertained my training group by telling a very embarrassing story regarding me, Foothill Expressway and my helmet. It made me realize that I have kind of A LOT of not so flattering stories involving me on a bike, in running shoes and possibly in the water. Some are athletic and some are not (i.e. riding a bike because I didn't have a car). So, in no particular order, I present you: "The Greatest Hits on Bike, Land and Water that Have Made me the Well Formed (klutz) Woman I Am Today." So enjoy, and if you totally bite it some time and are embarassed, refer back to this post and know someone bit it harder than you.

1) bike (recreational): While riding through University of Oregon's football stadium parking lot on the way to my apartment, I stopped looking in front of me for a minute. It was dark so I couldn't see things very well. For some reason I decided to look up and saw a rope used to divide parking spaces right in front of me. I slammed on my breaks, which didn't help with the bungee effect of my torso making contact with the rope and I fly off my wheels. Skinned knees: check. Bruised ego: check.

2) bike (recreational): same parking lot; I got off my bike to go through a gate and was face to face with this disgusting looking creature that is reminiscent of the Rodents Of Unusual Size from the Princess Bride (except the size of this dude wasn't very unusual). I slowly backed away from the hideous thing and he lunged toward me while making a warrior sound (o.k., I think it was just a small hiss) as his claw grazed my oh so stylin' Dickies overalls (cut me some slack---I was in college and my fashion sense wasn't quite fully formed yet---I promised my husband years ago that I will never wear overalls again). I screamed like someone attending the prom in Carrie right after she went all crazy telekinetic and jumped on my bike. Turns out the creature was the dreaded eco-system-destroying nutria that love to roam around marshy areas in Eugene and terrorize curly haired girls wearing overalls.
I still shudder at the thought of that claw.

3) bike (recreational): Let me preface this story by telling you that I was not a sporty kid. I wasn't even allowed to ride my bike past the end of my street, so as an adult I lacked coordination on two wheels. So, one time I rode through Eugene with some friends and we went up this hill. My friends in front of me got up of their seat to pedal up the hill. I thought, "Hey, that looks cool. I am going to try it." Next thing I know I am crumpled on the ground and my friends look back and freak out because they think the truck that stopped behind me hit me. Nah, just me being me.

4) Running: I am 10 and at sleepaway camp playing a very intense game of Capture the Flag. Even back then I had the habit of not looking in front of me while moving. So, while running for the flag, I made contact with a tree trunk that was waist level and spent the rest of camp with a huge bruise in a place where bruises NEVER should be.

5) Running: About 8 years ago I was running around my parents' neighborhood. There is a point where the sidewalk ends and you have to get off the curb and land on the street. It is early into my run and (warning: kinda gross) after 10 minutes of running I usually have to hock a loog.Because I am not the best athletic multi-tasker, I do the deed without realizing it is time to jump off the curb. See #3: "crumpled on ground."

6) biking (workout) While riding on Foothill Expressway two years ago (post-college cruiser but pre-rocking pink handlebar road bike), I noticed this male driver totally checking me out. He wasn't even trying to hide it as he cranked his neck to ogle. I rolled my eyes, wishing that a girl could just work out in peace. I turned into the left lane and we are both stopped at a light. The dude had the nerve to roll down his window to talk to me. What kind of tired pick up line is he going to use? I look over at him and he said "Your helmet is on backwards." Luckily my light turned green right after he spoke and I rode to a parking lot to flip my helmet around, totally embarassed because I was riding like that for TWO HOURS!

7) swimming: last year I went to an Open Water Swim Clinic in Santa Cruz. I had to rent a surfing wetsuit at a surf shack on the beach. The store dude helped me pick a size and I went to the restroom to grunt my way into the wetsuit. I looked in the mirror and thought, "I look ridiculous. Oh well." I went to the main part of the store and asked the store dude what he thought. He said while barely stifling a smile, "Well, it is on inside out. And backwards."

Are you noticing a theme here?

That is it for now. But don't worry, I am sure there are many more stories to come because as long as I am moving, I will surely be falling.