Before and After Pictures

I think I mentioned a few posts below that over the summer I drove my car into my bedroom window.

I was working from home and playing hooky - to be more specific, I took a break to go to the neighborhood pool.  I did a quick swim and rushed home to return to work.   I carefully coasted into the driveway, just like I have a hundred times before, and gently tapped the break.  Except, somehow, it was the gas pedal instead.

I jumped out at the car, wearing only a Zoot bikini and flip flops, jaw agape.  I didn't know what to do, so I paced back and forth in the front yard for 20 minutes.  Every once in awhile, I glanced up to see if the damage somehow magically disappeared.

Eventually, I gathered my gall and called my husband.  He handled the words, "Dude, I just drove my car into our bedroom" surprisingly well.  It took me a little longer to come acquire the same ease, however, today I am ready to talk about it.

The previous owner converted the garage into a master bedroom.  David and I never loved the fact that the windows faced the street.   Lets call this the "Before Picture."

And I guess we can call this one the "After I Drove My Car Into the Window Picture" or shorten it to simply the "After Picture." 

The wall was boarded for a few weeks and then reconstructed.  We decided to forgo the window.  After our new wall was complete, I realized that it was now the perfect wall for supporting handstands.  And if I am going to be handstands, I figured, why not stop there?  And so, it has now become a family yoga corner.

Before:

              

After:

               

                                 

So....even though I am very pleased with the end-result, I do not recommend trying this at home.  I can't believe my husband still allows me to park the driveway. 



End of October

I don't have many memories of Halloween growing up.   I slightly remember collecting my candy in a pillow case.  I do remember the year my mother made my costume, though.  I was a bat.

I suspect this was a safe choice for my mother, who has never resembled a Betty homemaker of any sort. Bats are perhaps one of the ugliest creatures to spawn on the planet, so this gave her a lot of leeway.  Even a horribly hideous costume would be successful, as long as it was brown.

What I didn't realize back then, as I was standing in brown tights, deformed wings, and tears streaming down my cheeks, is how much work goes into everything when you are the parent.   This last week in October has been filled with fall festivities - all of which has left me somewhat deflated.

I want to give my kids warm family experiences to remember, however I had many of those experiences and yet all I remember is that butchered bat costume.

One thing I may consider giving up next year is the pumpkin patch.  The problem with pumpkin patch is its opened during October.  Even though this year we waited until the last weekend to go, it was still 91 degrees.  After a long car ride and smothering the kids in sunscreen, we waited in the sun to ride the ponies.

And then we took a hayride to the pumpkin field so that the kids could pick out overpriced pumpkins. 

They each selected a small pumpkin that they  I had to lug around for the remainder of the day.  

Shortly after our trip, all the pumpkins at Sprouts (even the large ones) went on sale for $1.  So, not only did we pay $20 to get into the farm, we overpaid 400%  for our pumpkins.  

Hayden's pumpkin got carved and sent to school,

Brenna's pumpkin still sits outside our decorated house, which now needs to be un-decorated.

Albeit work, I admit, I did have fun decorating.

In addition to the deformed panda bear and Mr. Wonderful  from last year, I created three new characters using butter knives and fake blood.

On Halloween, my creativity continued as I made Hayden's favorite food:  Hot dogs.

I made them look like bloody fingers!!

At first, I was quite proud.

But then he refused to eat them since they did, indeed, look like bloody fingers.  

Hayden did like his costume though (Thomas the Train).  Brenna was a mermaid and a little more demanding and dramatic.

After celebrating at each of their respective preschools, it was time for them to pay me back by collecting as much candy as possible.  Previous years proved their trick-or-treating skills to be sub par.  I mean, last year, we practically had to drag them around the block.   This year, they walked on their own, with very little whining, and we even made it off the street.  And, Hayden only tripped and spilled his candy twice!

They really enjoyed knocking on the doors, perhaps too much, and did a good job holding out their buckets for the droplets of candy.  Unfortunately, we came home without any Twizzlers or Butterfingers and too many tootsie rolls.

One thing I have learned raising twins is to take as many shortcuts as possible.  Next year, we will just buy a pumpkin in the comfort of a clean and air conditioned Trader Joes.  And the hot dogs will remain plain, boring hot dogs.

In hindsight, I do appreciate the effort my mother put forth when attempting to create my bat ensemble.  It's a lot of work to get a kid into a costume, nonetheless make the costume.

And for this reason I will spare myself the stress and stick to the consignment stores.

Lifetime Sprint Triathlon

I almost did not make it to this race.

You know that strained lat muscle I mentioned below?
It turned out to be a strained intercostal muscle.  Which turned out to be a pretty big deal.

I never knew this muscle existed until I hurt it - but now I know it is involved in everything.  It hurts to laugh, cough, roll over, sit up, and pick up my kids.  It hurts to breathe and hurts to sleep.  It hurts to open car doors, heavy stores doors, and the house door while also carrying 15 plastic bags of groceries.  It hurts to turn my bike.  And, mostly, it hurts to swim.

When I hit the one week mark without seeing any signs of improvement, I started to accept I would not race my last triathlon of the year.  In some ways, I did not care.  Because of my foot injury and Hood2Coast recovery, my mileage was low and my speed work was sparse.  I felt slow and sluggish.

This carried over to the bike.  In fact, my legs felt so powerless on my bicycle, I took it to see Mr. Bikeman.  "Something must be wrong with my bike", I complained.  "Maybe I need a new one."  It seemed obvious to me the best way to get out of my slump was to find myself on sleek, sexy, out-of-my-price range, TT-bike.

Mr. Bikeman was fast to say, "You absolutely do not need a new bike.  This is a great bike."

Whatever.  It is a road bike.  And it old.  And ugly.  I want a pretty bike!

"This bike would look pretty if you cleaned it more often," was his predictable response.  And then Mr. Bikeman cleaned some grime out of the cockpit and lectured me on my peddle stroke.

But, running and cycling issues aside, most of my summer was focused in the water.
When I thought about the hours, the boredom and the frustration that I invested, I cared about this last race quite a bit.  Otherwise, all those Master practices would have been for nothing.

It was not until the day before the race that I decided my injury had improved enough to endure a half-mile swim.  And even then, it was with a lack of certainty.  And after a two-week swimming hiatus, I now lacked confidence as well.

I felt so nervous getting into the lake water on race day.
I felt more nervous as I floated among the large wave of red swim caps (ladies under 40).  It was so crowded our bodies brushed together.

As always, the start was brutal.  Limbs frantically flew everywhere, including my own.  After a few minutes of chaos, I settled into a rhythm, relieved that I remembered how to swim.  But it was crowded the entire time.  It was windy and the water was choppy.  Sometimes I gasped for air and wound up with a mouthful of toxic lake water.  It became about survival.  Who cared about technique?

My swim time was 14:03, which a PR for the distance.  It was a top swim time, too, so maybe the course was long.  (I like to believe the swim course is always long).

My T1 transition was unpracticed and clunky.  My spot was in the back of the very large transition area.  It was going to be slow no matter what - so yeah, I took my time.  And  a shot of apple cider vinegar to kill the lake demons.


Eventually, I ran my bike out of transition and realized I had to run further than usual in order to mount.  The mounting spot was across the parking lot!  This added nearly a whole minute to my bike time.  But, I felt great on the bike.  The course had many very tight turns and multiple u-turns.  It was crowded, making it challenging to pass.  My overall bike time was a little slow (just shy of 35 minutes), but my cycling time (from mount to dismount) was pretty good (just under 34 minutes).  Not a PR, but also not too shabby for a road bike.

My T2 transition was less-slow than T1.  I grabbed a small electrolyte-induced water bottle for the run.  The goal was to use this water instead of the water stations.  But as soon as I started running, the water started splashing out.  It was a cheap, plastic mini-water bottle with a cheap, plastic sprout.  At about a half mile, I realized I barely had any water left.  I drank the remaining drops.

It was a beautiful day, but still September and still warm.  I was thirsty.  Since I am incapable of drinking from a cup while running, I had to stop at both water stations.

I knew by stopping twice I was not going to break 20-minutes on the run.  But, I did not know that I was in the first place female position.  What a treat to find that out as I crossed the finish line.  I won!

In most ways, I felt stoked because I like winning stuff.  Although, my kids were rather unimpressed (as usual):

and more impressed with the food, (as usual):

In another little way, I feel embarrassed because my winning time is so slow compared to other typical winning times.  It is even 75-seconds slower than my PR.  Before this race I said that I didn't feel my fastest, but I felt the most well-rounded. And that is true:  I didn't win this race by being really good in the run, I won by being equally decent at all 3 events.  And, of course, by luck.  No matter what, a win is always partially contributed to pure luck that no one faster was there.  Because at my level, there is always someone faster.  Just sometimes they are doing bigger, badder things.

Or sleeping.

General Update about Stuff

The kids went to their annual doctor appointment where it was confirmed that they are indeed  taller and heavier than they were the previous the year.

So we have been busy doing BIG KID things.  For example, Brenna and I tried ice skating.  This was a good idea in theory.   It was less of a good idea when I realized I had no idea how to stop and suggested that we just "bang into the wall." 

They are also training for their next race.
So far we do not have the best track record.  During their first race, they sat down and screamed.  And then their second race was canceled due to rain.

Training thus far is trying to make it around the block.  Going around the block can be tedious because there are just so many things to pick up.  Like rocks.  And twigs.  And trash.  And abandoned chewed gum.

And as for me, I have been happily running and persistently swimming.  In fact, I swam 21 miles in August.  For me, that is a lot of miles in a pool.  I was at a pool almost every day!  Even in a lapse of childcare, I still went to Masters.  Thank goodness for computers, tablets and phones and $2 episodes of My Little Pony.

I feel like I should be a good swimmer.  I have crazy long arms and big hands.  Like a monkey.  But, also like Michael Phelps.

But apparently having nearly freakishly sized limbs does not help you at all if you cannot figure out how to control  them.  My elbow does not bend enough.  My hips do not rotate enough.  My wrist bends at the wrong time.  I take too many stokes.  Bla. Bla. Bla.

I strained my lat muscle though so for now, I can only run.  I cannot swim.
I CANNOT SWIM!!!

The injury did not happen in the pool, or even near the pool.  It happened in yoga class, while attempting a forearm stand.

This is my second yoga-related injury.
Who knew yoga could be so dangerous?

Then again, I seem to rather accident prone (Brenna should probably re-think ever going ice skating with me again).  I even ran my car into my own house.  Aside from 9-year old Stephanie Tanner, who does that?

Ah yes, the same person who injures themselves in yoga class.

Look What Happens when I skip a few Posts......

My kids, the former babies, went ahead and turned FOUR.

Although I am a little beside myself that I am the mother of two kids rather than two toddlers (I mean, lets be real, I am still bewildered that I am a mother at all), I am more phased by the fact that older kids = older mom.  Sometimes I look at my face in the mirror, see my smile lines and forehead creases, and I just cannot help but think, HOW CAN I BE THIS OLD?????

But, for the past week, I have calmed myself by reminding myself at least it is not *my* birthday.  My birthday is still 5 months away.  It's bitter-sweet because even though I hate turning a year older, I absolutely love my birthday.  So, after I feel relieved it's not my birthday, I feel disappointed.

It's complicated.

This is the first year the kids were aware it was their birthday.  They have been to a few birthday parties and noted that birthdays meant cake and presents.  For the past four months, Hayden has started his morning by asking, "Is it my Birthday?  Is it my Birthday?"

After the 115th time, it became annoying.  So, I was thrilled when I could finally answer, "Yes.  YES.  YES!!!!!!

We threw them a party at a little gym.  They ate pizza.  They got presents.  They had cake.  We picked out the cake together; the pink sand was Brenna's idea.

It was pretty good cake, as long as you like things that taste like sugar.

I learned two things from this whole birthday-party throwing experience:
1) Birthday parties are expensive.
2) Birthday parties are exhausting.

When we got home, my husband plopped on the couch and I went into the kitchen with the bakery box of leftover cake.  I placed most of the cake in a Tupperware container and placed it in the freezer.  Leftover freezer cake is the best kind of cake.  Then I noticed there was a lot of cake residue stuck to the bottom of the box.  And tons of icing abandoned on the side.

I scraped my finger/hand along the bottom of the box and sides of the box to acquire an impressive, although unattractive, mountain of cake mush.  Cake mush is the second best of cake, especially since no one else will eat it - so forks be damned and hands be shovels!  Usually, when shovel cake mush into my mouth, it's in the privacy of my kitchen at 5am.  But in my fatigued state, I forgot it was the middle of the day.  I looked up to see my husband staring at me, eyes wide and jaw agape.

I guess I am lucky it took him this long to see me in such an act.  And, I will  not lie, I have visited the freezer cake every day since the birthday party.

My ignominious interaction with cake mush was not my intention for writing today - but between this and the tangent about my age, my writing time has encountered lunch time.

And NO, I am not going to eat cake for lunch.


I already did that before my morning swim.

Feeling a Bit Burnt Out

I don't know if its the summer heat, or just lack of giving myself a substantial break, but I am feeling rather burnt out.   Nik, maybe that is I did not update for a full week - my facebook feed is full of people who are always training for a half Ironman, if not a full Ironman, so it seems a bit wussy to be burnt out from doing 5Ks and sprint triathlons.

My body is not encouraging me either because I pinched a nerve in my lower back.  It either happened from not properly getting out of full-camel position, or during my nightly attempts at chin stands.  I was feeling pretty awesome about being able to do a chin stand, but just because you can do something, doesn't mean you should.  At least without learning the proper form first.

My yoga teacher used the term "over-compressed" so my chiropractor has since "decompressed" me twice.  But, my low back still feels weird.  However, when I was image Googling chin stands to find a picture, I found a bunch of other poses I want to try so clearly I have not learned my lesson.

So, the solution to feeling burnt out seems rather simple - I should just take a break, right?  But my life is so compartmentalized:  my family time - my work time - and my hobby time (with also is my alone time and my social time).  If I don't have my hobby, I have a void.

But it's not so much that I don't WANT to run, it's that I don't want to HAVE to run.

Recently, my son has been obsessed with my Garmin.  Every day, for a few weeks, he has asked for a "running watch that he can put on his bike."  I finally found a stop watch that could fit his little wrist.  It's not a Garmin, but it has stop and start buttons...the only two features he cares about.

It's not unusual for me to feel this way during this summer.  And although it has been awhile, it is not unusual for me to give my Garmin a break and run just to run.   I am considering temporarily trading watches my son.  My only hesitation is can I trust him to not put my Garmin in the toilet?

The irony in all this is I just agreed to get coached.  This was my first week and I blew off 75% of the workouts.  Even though my mind wants to be motivated, I just cannot fake it.  Or force it.

So, despite the fact I do not want to write this, I declare July a recovery month.  In August, I am doing Hood2Coast and I will end the season with one last triathlon in September.

Even though the heat has made me officially surrender, my kids are handling it better than they were a few weeks ago.  We have been having fun at the pool.

And the movies.

And Hayden discovered that if he wears his hat and his sunglasses, the sun will stay out of his eyes!

Losing Control of my Finest Creation

Every time we leave Costco (and since we live a mile away we are there more often than normal people), the man at the doorway waves to Brenna and says, "Goodbye, Princess."   While most girls would giggle and bashfully wave, Brenna flips her hair and offers an aloof two-second obligatory 90-degree rotation of her hand.

My daughter is smart yet stubborn, clever yet complicated and amazing yet exhausting.  I love her to death.  But, it is one thing to play you are a princess, it is another thing to believe you are a princess.  These days, I am beginning to question who runs the house.  If Brenna is a princess,  then technically I am a queen.  However, it's a title she refuses to acknowledge.

When I was about 6 months pregnant, David and I were at the mall and I was relaxing by a fountain.  There were a few kids surrounding the fountain, totally fascinated, finding it to the coolest thing ever.   Mind you, my estrogen levels were off the charts and even a Charmin toilet paper commercial made me cry, but I couldn't help feeling sad that my years of learning something new every second and being enthralled by even the simplest things were over.  And even worse, I spent them without appreciating them.

I shared my feelings with David right then and there in the mall, with tears streaming down my cheeks.  He told me that I would get to re-live all those childhood moments through the eyes of my children.  I was comforted.

I have always liked everything pink and princess.  I don't really remember owning a lot of princess stuff but I do remember the princess hat I picked out at Disney land.  It was pink, tall and pointy with a pink veil. I wish I still had it.

The moment of wearing such a princess hat was over me, but  I was excited to re-live it through my daughter.  And I did not waste much time.  Obviously Brenna did not elect to wear this princess crown and pink tutu when she was three months old.

Nor did she understand the very basic plot of her movie, A Princess Rides a Pony.  (Directed by myself)

And she did not she pick out her first princess dress two years ago.

I have a friend who loves hair bows.  So, her 6 month old daughter has (literally) 100 hair bows, many of them custom made.  Some of them are bigger than her head. Her daughter has no hair - she never asked for those bows.  Just like my daughter never asked for this:

She doesn't even have the maturity that is necessary to handle the stress of having such a selection of pretty poofiness.  One minute she was be happy and admiring her dazzling self in the mirror:

And then, without warning, she will spontaneously collapse onto the floor, into a pink, dramatic heap:

Basically I created this princess.  I own it.

Sometimes though, I wish just bought her hair bows.

All you need is love?

It’s been a rough rebound after my triathlon debacle last weekend. Although I know I was sick, I can’t brush off the feeling of giving it my best on my bike, yet barely able to break 19mph.

After a few more days of recovery and hot yoga, I returned to the saddle Friday afternoon. I rode for an hour, hilly roads, in 95-degree weather and swirling winds, and ended with a short 15-minute run. Afterwards, I looked at my Garmin was mildly pleased I covered 22 miles during that time. But, it didn't give me the redemption that was expecting.

On Saturday, I met my tri-group for an open water swim. We followed that with a bike ride/ run. Again, my performances were pleasing but didn't bring me the motivation that seems to have melted away during my illness.

There is one last local triathlon in five days before everyone surrenders to the heat. I want to do it. Or more so, I want to want to do it. Or maybe even more so, I want to do it well.

I feel like I have a lot of bad races. I am scared of having yet another.

But, on the other hand, I love triathlons and the triathlon community, so should it even matter if I do well? I feel like it has been ages since I have PR’ed, but that does not mean that I have not had fun during all my attempts.

At the end of the day, I love to race. So I don’t know why I can’t commit and bring myself to fill out the entry form. If I don’t do it soon, I lose the opportunity all together.

In addition to my running, biking and swimming, I was able to spend weekend with my favorite people. On Saturday, David and I went out for our anniversary. We rarely go out so this was a special treat. I had quite a few drinks.

On Sunday, I laced up my running shoes and left for a run – I had no idea where I was going or how far I would go…I didn’t bring music or water…I just ran! After about a mile, I thought maybe I had a hangover. And I realized that it was very hot. But I just kept running and it turned out to be glorious run – I ran all over the city – and eventually found myself at my mom’s house. She gave me a hug even though I was all sweaty.

I love my family.
I love to run.
I love to race.


I should just do it and have fun.  I have nothing to lose.

Too Hot to Trot / Salsa Festival 5K

In general, 5Ks are a comfort distance for me.  I understand them and even when they suck, they only suck for 10-15 minutes.  But, I have only ran one this entire year, and it did not go very well.  My efforts have mostly gone towards running farther, not faster, so I knew a PR was not in the cards.  But I thought maybe I could win.  The race market is so saturated that all the fast runners are dispersed.  This means that more average runners, like me, are able to win races.  It was just a matter of luck - luck that no one fast shows up.

I was running on behalf of my "other" family, who had a tent sent up and so gave me a race entry.  I run a  lot. hundreds of miles a month.  Yet, I have been injury-free since 2006. I like to take credit and say it is because I do hot yoga, intrinsically listen to my body and never run through pain.  And yeah.......it IS part of that.  But, come on, I have bunions and scoliosis - I am basically an injury in running shoes. My saving grace is my magnificent team and their marvelous hands.

As I was on the massage table getting my regular routine, I saw a fast looking girl wearing a track and field shirt.  People who wear track and field shirts never fail to be fast.  I immediately decided that she would win the race.

And she did - but I enjoy and appreciate a good race - it keeps it exciting.

She took the early lead the first mile but I felt really good. I only glanced down at my Garmin once - towards the middle of Mile 1.  It said "6:02."  It felt fast but also effortless.

Right after that first mile, I found myself behind her - this is my favorite spot because you get to control the pace.  But she slowed to let me pass and I found myself in that common conundrum of whether I should make the move.  My legs would not slow down so I passed.  

At Mile 3, I let her pass me back.  She got ahead of me and remained ahead of me - although I was able to not let her gain much distance, I couldn't dig it out of my legs to catch her. 

At the end, I was doing that floppy weird thing with my hands that shows I am fatigued, but I still felt relatively unscathed for the end of a 5K.  

I came in second place by a handful of seconds (19:06).  It is a very average 5K time for me but I am okay with that.   Brenna quickly claimed my award as her own, so obviously she was with it, too.

And yes - yes that is a bag of chips in her hand, which should not be surprising since it was a SALSA FESTIVAL.  While I was enjoying my speedy competition, another race was going on behind me:

The kids, especially  Hayden, were pretty crabby during this whole event.  After the race, we went home to change and let the kids recover (because sitting in a stroller can be exhausting) and then returned for our "complimentary" entry.  This included a margarita and unlimited chips and salsa.

Even though chips and salsa are one of Hayden's favorite foods (second only to hot dogs), there were very few moments spared of whining and complaining.  Admittedly, the conditions were not ideal:  it was hot (upper-90s) and uncomfortably crowded.  

Eventually, things were calmed when the kids each got an ice cream and I got a margarita.  Brenna and I walked around in our matching running skirts and pink tank tops.  She also experienced her first porta-potty.  Multiple times.

But it didn't take long for my margarita to spill and for the kids' ice cream to melt.   So that concluded our day at the salsa festival.

Oh. Taper.

My next race is an Olympic triathlon and it is next weekend.
Things have been going really great with training... I have been having a lot of fun, doing group workouts, and feeling unsurpassably strong.  In the past three weeks, I have a done at least:
- 12 mile run (with 10 miles at tempo pace / 6:50)
- 13+ mile run x 2
- 43 super hilly bike ride
- 37+ bike ride bricked with 4 miles x 2 
- Cycling intervals on the power-meter x 3
- Track x 2 and speedwork directly off the bike
- A few bikes rides bricked with my favorite running partners:

And then, on Wednesday, I was reminded that I should perhaps start my taper.

My response:  "Already????" 
I felt sorta bummed.

But then I woke up Thursday to meet my friend for what normally would be a tempo run.  But instead, we just ran.  It wasn't fast.  It wasn't far.  But yet, it felt hard.  My streak of feeling stronger every workout was over.  I felt tired.  Or, at least I convinced myself I was tired so I would abide by my  taper.

The taper is an important thing for me.  Not only is it an opportunity to recover, but it is an opportunity to swim, do yoga and get caught up on my errands -- so far, I have two massages and a facial scheduled.

Massages and facials may paint me as the lady of leisure I would love to be, but aside from this exact sentence that I am typing right now, "leisure" and "twins" are simply two words that never find themselves together.  Just the fundamental task of keeping my kids alive keeps me very busy........nevermind trying to keep them happy.

When we are not doing things, their default activity is fighting.  Brenna is usually the antagonist, but at least once a day, I catch Hayden slowly extending his hand towards Brenna's ponytail as if he just cannot resist the temptation of pulling on it.  This is one reason Brenna's ponytail never makes it past lunch time.

It is hard to be "doing things" all the time, especially with two three-year olds in tote.  So, I have continued separating them a few nights a week.  This makes doing things a lot more easier.  For example, this week, I took them each to a little carnival.

I walked Brenna through her very first funhouse:

And a few days later, I accompanied Hayden on his first flying elephant ride:

I was real excited to find out he was tall enough to ride the tilt-a-whirl...I used to love that ride!  But, he was not interested in anything that daring yet.  I was not surprised considering he is scared of practically everything in life unless you have ice cream.  And I had no ice cream.