Do you know what an Ironman triathlon is?

It’s a 2.4 mile swim, then a 112 mile bike ride, followed by a full marathon.  You know the cyclists that do century bike rides?  And the runners that do marathons?  Imagine doing both of those in one day AFTER swimming 2.4 miles.  That’s an Ironman.

See this?

That’s an Ironman, too.

Last weekend, my friend Julie and I drove to Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, to watch our friend Kara compete in Ironman CDA.  It was the most amazing, humbling, exhausting, mind-blowing, utterly overwhelming event I’ve ever witnessed.

We made a few signs:

(In case it isn’t clear, Kara is a University of Oregon alum)

Then, we found a course map and made sure to be at all the right places in all the right times. This involved getting up at 4 AM to get to Coeur d’Alene Lake to watch the swim:

This is what 2400 swimmers starting at the exact same moment looks like.

She finished both 1.2-mile laps in about 1 hour and 30 minutes total:

Then it was onto the bike:

She’s on Mile 112 at this point.  Looks pretty good, eh?

After 7 and a half hours on the bike and transitioning to the run, she still looked like she was just out for a Sunday afternoon jog:

It was incredible.  She crossed the finish line at 10:35 PM, after 140.6 miles and 15 and a half hours:

Congratulations, Kara.  I am so, so proud and happy for you.

Now, welcome back to the world of the socially-active and well-rested.

(Special thanks go to Kara’s boyfriend Todd – pictured above in orange – for taking the really great photos).

I just got back from a trip to Phoenix with Galen and his family to catch some Spring Training action. Thus, I bring you my top five favorite things about Spring Training:

Visiting Jess in her new city:

Hanging out with Galen:

Playing with the kiddos:

Soaking up the sun:

Umm… and “base-ball” or whatever this is:

Go Giants!

You know that feeling you get when you go home? Not the anxiety or the worry that some of us feel, but the warm part. You know, when your heart swells and every fiber of your being relaxes and you know you can just be yourself, because these people know you as yourself. And they love you for it.

I realized last month that that feeling is not limited to the house you grew up in or the place where your family lives.

Over the long weekend in January, Galen and I flew down to the Bay Area to visit his family and some friends of mine. Ben and Amanda moved last fall to a town about ten minutes from Galen’s parents’ house. My good friend Bean from Chicago was also going to be staying with them that weekend, so it was perfect timing.

As soon as Galen and I saw Ben, Amanda and Bean, I got that “home” feeling. These people know me. They may not know the intricacies of my daily life, but they know all the important things. And they are important to me. These are my people, and there is nothing like the feeling of being home with them.

So, to Ben, Amanda and Bean: Thank you for making me feel at home. I am so lucky to have you.

Do you have a sibling?  Do you ever wish you could get back at them for all the damage they did to you (both mentally and physically) while you were growing up?  You don’t want to do anything horrible, of course, just give them some lasting token of the childish emotions you can’t let go of?

I’ve got an idea.  You know that terrible nickname you gave your brother or sister when they were younger that still embarrasses them to this day?  Teach your kids to call them that.

Believe me.  I’ve got an Aunt Tuna.

Yeah, you read that right.  My mom grew up calling her sister Tuna after a mysterious incident involving a cheerleading uniform that both of them still laugh about but refuse to retell.  My aunt has a real name that sounds nothing like Tuna, but I only learned that when I was about ten years old.  It still weirds me out when other people use her real name.  My mom calls her Tuna.  My brother and I call her Aunt Tuna.  My step dad calls her Tuna.  You get the point.

Recently, I asked my mom if she had a bit of a “gotcha” moment the first time one of us said the words “Aunt Tuna,” as if this was some type of retribution for all those years of annoyance and frustration her younger sister put her through.  (Can you tell I’m the older sibling, too?)  She thought about it for a minute and then said, “I’ve always called her Tuna.  I can’t imagine calling her anything else.  So why would I teach you guys to?”  I suddenly wished my younger self had come up with a better nickname for my little brother than “Bud.”

________________

In early December, we went to Tennessee to visit Aunt Tuna on her farm in the mountains.  I hadn’t been there in ten years, so it was interesting to see how many things were different and how many were exactly the same.  She has the same horses but not the cows; she lost three dogs but got a puppy and a new cat.  The house was just like we left it, although I had grown so it seemed to have shrunk.  It was also the first time I could remember being there in the winter.  There’s something fascinating to me about frozen mud and kudzu vines that survive the frost.  These are not winter concepts I am familiar with.

Aunt Tuna’s house (in summer):

Aunt Tuna and Toby Kramer (the gigantic puppy):

Other photos from the farm…
The most inviting chair in the world:

Snow! And kudzu!

The tin man sits on the covered porch of a southern home, admiring the fresh snow.

Last but not least, my mom sent me this photo of us on a hike.  From left: my brother, me, my mom, Aunt Tuna (notice the dress with leggings and red rubber boots.  Always a fashion plate – even when the rest of us are bundled like the kid from A Christmas Story, add hiking boots).

Instead of a funny story or anecdote, I am going to tell you what happened to me today between the hours of 2 and 7 PM.

I was driving back from Umatilla when one of my front tires popped like a balloon. Of course, I’ve been meaning to learn how to change a flat ever since I was 15, but haven’t quite gotten around to it. Plus, I was off the side of Highway 84, which isn’t a great place to learn, especially if you’re teaching yourself.

So I called AAA, and I’m amazed they didn’t greet me by name, considering how often I’ve been calling them recently. They asked me where I was so they could figure out where to send the tow truck. I had no idea. I told them I was definitely somewhere between Boardman and Arlington. They informed me this was a distance of 25 miles, which is not particularly helpful. They said the tow truck would be there in 30 to 40 minutes.

Then an incredibly young and incredibly sweet state trooper stopped by to make sure I was okay. I told him a tow truck was on the way, but I didn’t know where I was. Rather than look at me funny, he told me exactly which exits I was between. I resisted the urge to kiss him and instead called AAA back.

I sat in the car on the shoulder and waited. I watched in the rearview mirror as trucks came around the corner behind me and tried to give my car some space when they passed. I almost freaked out when an “oversize load” (A HOUSE ON A FLATBED TRUCK) came around the corner. Luckily, there wasn’t anyone in the left lane, so the house truck could move over. At this point, I got out of the car, stepped over the rail and walked around on the hillside for a while. I called Galen and asked him to tell me about the Seahawks game so I had something else to think about.

The tow truck came and the driver had most of his teeth. He also brought his wife along, which I found rather amusing, (because I was a little delirious and) because I was feeling a little vulnerable as a lady all by myself and wishing I had a buddy… and then he brought his wife. He asked where my spare was and then got really pissed off that there was stuff in my trunk on top of the spare. (The rather funny part is that I had already moved most of the big stuff into the back seat so it wouldn’t be too bad). I mean, really, who puts shit in their trunk?

He got the spare out and informed me it was flat.

He tried to inflate the spare, but the little valve thing (technical term) was broken. He had to tow me to the nearest town (ten miles) to get a part to fix the little valve thing. On the way, he explained to me that I can call a junkyard and buy a spare tire that isn’t flat for $25. His wife started smoking a cigarette in the truck and he asked her if it was “one of the ones she found.”

We got to town. He got the part, fixed the spare, put it on the back tire and put the good back tire on the front. (While he’s doing this, his wife very sweetly offers to get me something from the gas station across the street. I didn’t know if they sold liquor, so I said no thanks). The guy told me the old tire was shot, then threw it in my trunk. I asked him if I could drive all the way back to Portland on the spare and he said it would be totally fine – I shouldn’t think about it. Which, of course, made me think about it the entire 140 miles back to Portland, while I drove ten miles UNDER the speed limit.

If you had asked me, say, a year ago to make a list of things I’d be least likely to do in my life, “Attend an amateur body building competition” would probably have been right up on top of the list next to “Become a Navy SEAL” and “Compete in the Kentucky Derby…as a horse.” But my fabulous roommate Brian’s great boyfriend Ken, in a moment of questionable judgment about 8 months ago, decided to train for one such event. Which is how I found myself a couple weeks ago at a casino in western Oregon with Brian, my friend Kara and some of Ken’s friends watching a bunch of VERY tan, rather oily and slightly frightening people flex their muscles on a stage decked with neon and black lights.

First of all, let me explain a little about what “training” for a body building competition entails. Ken has not only been working out daily, but he’s been rigorously dieting for the better part of a year. He eats every couple hours and consumes very strange things: plain chicken with mustard, giant scoops of cashew butter, olive oil by the spoonful. He drinks protein shakes and takes vitamin supplements like they’re going out of style. And whenever he has a “cheat day,” he gorges himself on carbs and then crashes on the couch for a while until his blood sugar gets back to normal. At one point last fall, he made a comment about how he doesn’t eat for taste… So, I took it upon myself to pretty much ONLY eat for taste whenever we were together. He’d order egg whites cooked in Pam for brunch – I’d get Belgian waffles with ice cream and extra powdered sugar. I think it’s important to maintain the world’s equilibrium.

When my friend Kara told one of her coworkers that she was going to Lincoln City to watch Brian’s boyfriend Ken compete, the coworker responded, “Oh, so you’re going to support Ken? That’s so nice!”

“No…” Kara replied, “We’re going to support Brian.”

And I think he needed it. I mean, when Kara and I got to Lincoln City and met the boys at the house Ken had rented for the weekend, we almost introduced ourselves to Ken because he was so tan we didn’t recognize him. Only a very talented airbrush artist can make this:

look like this:

There were smudges of spray tan on all of the couch pillows, where Ken had taken a nap. Brian had a smear of bronze on his forearm where he had rested it on Ken’s arm during the night. And as Brian reminded us, “I’m Mexican! I don’t need this!”

The contest itself was surreal. We had to watch dozens of women with bleach-blonde hair and sparkly string bikinis flex their muscles and walk across the stage in VERY high heels (with clear plastic platforms) before the men’s competition started, but I think it just made us cheer even louder when we saw Ken.

There he is, posing while his theme song (Superman) blasted from the speakers.

His performance was awesome. So awesome, in fact, that he won First Runner Up in his weight class.

Do you think he knew I was taking his picture?

After each of the weight classes took the stage, the overall winners for both the men’s and the women’s competitions were announced. The female winner thanked her family – her husband and two teenage boys – for putting up with her throughout all of her training. “I know everyone’s here to celebrate the competitors,” she said, “but what we do wouldn’t be possible without our families and loved ones. They have to deal with our mood swings and crazy structured lives. They have the toughest jobs.”

So congrats, Brian. You did it. Maybe Ken will let you borrow his trophy for a few days.

Although you might want to wash it first, in case it still has spray tan on it.

As Abby has already done a fabulous job of describing our Vegas trip, I will just tell you the highlights and my suggestions for anyone else headed to Sin City. Keep in mind we did the whole thing on a budget, so you won’t see any reviews of the rooms at the Mandalay Bay or Cirque du Soleil shows here… Save that for next time (or whenever I win the lottery).

Conservatory at the Bellagio

It was absolutely beautiful. Tulips, roses, butterflies, sculptures, fountains and lots and lots of windows to let in the sunshine. When I marry rich (for love, of course), my house will have a room like this in it. And my gardener will probably make more than I ever will.

PURE

Everywhere you go in Vegas, on every street corner, you will find men (usually short, rather portly ones) trying to sell you porn. Next to them you will find people trying to get you to come to their nightclubs. We turned down all of them (even the really cute guy who was near the pool at our hotel) because we wanted to go to PURE and not their sleazy clubs. Then a very nice man on the street with four teeth offered to sell us VIP tickets to PURE for $5 each. Turns out we could have gotten in for free because we are ladies, but we didn’t know that. And to be honest, we probably needed the passes to make sure we actually went. Anyway, the club was awesome. The music was amazing and the view from the rooftop deck was fantastic. It was a great night.

Venetian

Fancy “shoppes” with beautiful things we couldn’t afford surrounded the canal that was complete with gondolas and costumed gondoliers.

Yard Margaritas on the Strip

They were delicious! This was pretty much our first stop after we checked into our room at the Flamingo.

Bellagio Fountains

On our first day, we walked by right as the fountains were coming on. It was perfect. This photo doesn’t do the show justice – we were all so mesmerized we weren’t really doing a good job of taking pictures.

View from the MIX

Funny story… Did you hear about Earth Hour? We were a block away from THEhotel at Mandalay Bay when all the lights on the strip went out. This is what we saw from the top balcony. This is what it looks like normally.

Breakfast Buffet at the Bellagio
(no photo available – just imagine the most amazing brunch feast you could ever… let’s put it this way: for breakfast I had Belgian waffles with strawberries, powdered sugar and ice cream; french toast with butter and maple syrup; sausage; bacon; chocolate croissants; fresh-squeezed orange juice; coffee; and a mini-cheesecake with raspberries and mini chocolate chips on top. Then I politely asked the waitress to roll me out of the restaurant and up to a 25-cent slot machine.)

But you want to know the best thing about the trip?

Four of the best friends a girl could ever ask for.

It’s true. Four of my girl friends and I are headed to Las Vegas on Thursday for a girls’ weekend (Spring Break ’09!). The funny part? I’m the only one that’s been there before, and it was for work. (The engineers I was there with couldn’t have cared less that they were in Vegas. It might as well have been Milpitas, California.) This is very convenient, since the whole trip will be an adventure for everyone and almost everything will be new and exciting.

But, that means that none of us really know what to see and do… So I’m asking for your help, Internet. Have you ever been to Vegas? What did you love? What was overrated? What would you recommend we do with our 3 days and 3 nights? So far I’ve heard about dealers in costume at the Imperial Palace, drinks at the Paris to watch the Bellagio fountains, and comedians at Second City in the Flamingo (which is where we’ll be staying). I also found this gem on one website:

As long as the cocktail waitress thinks you are gambling, you can get free drinks. Cocktail waitresses prowl the floors of all the major casinos, giving out free drinks. Place your order and the next time the waitress makes her round she will bring you the drink of your choice. If you leave a tip they’ll come back again to take another order.

Although this is technically free, you really are expected to be actively gambling and leave tips to take advantage of it. It is easy enough, however, to hang out on a slot machine chair or in a sports book and still be able to recieve the drinks. People usually leave about a dollar tip per drink unless they are doing well at the tables or getting drunk.

Thanks for the insight, vegasfreebie.com!

I’m also looking for good sports bar suggestions, as I’m VERY interested in watching some March Madness basketball while I’m down there (the other girls most likely do not share this enthusiasm).

So bring it on! And thanks in advance. :)

It was February of my sophomore year of college – I was just getting back into the swing of things after a month off, wearing sweats to class to protest the dreary Portland winter weather. My dad called my cell phone and said he was in Canada for a med school reunion. He had been chatting with an ex-girlfriend and her husband, who was on the Canadian Film Board, and the husband said he might be able to get my dad two tickets to the Academy Awards. Would I be interested in going as my dad’s date?

We bought tickets to LA, I bought a marked-down prom dress at Macy’s and my dad rented a tux. He is morally opposed to patent leather, so he shined his best black shoes a little too much and wore those. We had heard on the radio and TV that the red carpet would be significantly shortened this year and the mood would be somber, to honor and acknowledge the war in Iraq that had just started. We took a cab to the Kodak theater. On the way, my dad explained to me that one of the tickets had his name on it, but the name on the other one was that of the man who got the tickets for us. Since the security measures had been tightened for the event, he wanted to warn me they may not let me in. I told him I understood but that if they didn’t I wanted him to go without me. He pretended to object, but then thanked me.

Sure enough, when we showed our tickets and our ID’s didn’t match, we were led to another room so the ticket taker could ask her superior what to do. When the ticket taker began explaining the situation to her superior, my dad began talking over her, not really saying anything. Repeating the same things. Not letting her make her story clear. The superior waved us off and said she didn’t care if the person invited had a different guest than he had originally planned. By this point, the ticket taker was too frustrated to try explaining for the fourth time that it was the guest that had decided to bring a different date. We were in.

The night was a blur. We stood in a large foyer with thick, plush carpet and watched the guests enter after they had been interviewed outside. I didn’t know what to do; I had never felt so awkward. People in tuxedos walked around with trays of hors d’oeuvres and martinis that were lime green or candy apple red. I reached for a lime green one and my dad took it out of my hands. “Do you know what that is?” he said, making a face, “Apple martinis are not good.” He didn’t even argue that I was only 20 (and barely).

My dad almost fell over when Meryl Streep walked in. “She’s, like, it for me, Meg.” I was in awe of Queen Latifah, although my dad and I agreed that someone lied to her about her dress. I saw a cute brunette I didn’t recognize in a beautiful sparkling baby blue dress with spaghetti straps that were digging into her shoulders and thought, clearly she’s not an A-lister or her dress would fit better. I was floored when I went to the bathroom and found that not only was there a person to hand you a towel after you washed your hands, there were lotion bottles and every type of spritz or spray you could ever need to freshen up. They also had a glass canister full of tins of mints like they sold at Starbucks.

We found our seats. We were on the left side of the stage about 10 rows back. The woman in front of me had a gravity-defying updo that commanded my attention. Steve Martin was hosting. Mickey Rooney stood up in the crowd to be introduced at one point. He was on the right side of the theater, about five rows behind us.

Michael Moore won for Best Documentary and started his speech talking about false election results. The crowd booed. The orchestra tried to force him off the stage, but he just talked louder. After the break, Steve Martin made a joke about Michael Moore being helped into the trunk of his car outside.

Peter O’Toole received the Academy Honorary Award. Watching the clips from his movies and the interviews in the montage before the award presentation was truly moving. He was incredibly gracious and funny. I couldn’t believe he’d been nominated so many times and had never won.

The Pianist won Best Director and the people seated directly in front of us all stood to clap. The woman’s hairdo didn’t move. At one point, an actress I didn’t know, Jennifer Garner, was introduced to present the next award. I recognized her baby blue sparkly dress.

Chicago took Best Picture and I was thrilled. We filed out of the theater and tried to find a cab among the limousines. We went out to a fancy sushi place where you sat on mats at a low table and the service was terrible. I was still so excited I didn’t notice or care. I could barely walk in my heels anymore and my dad still had a Meryl Streep glow. It was an amazing day, to say the least.

Remember when I told you about my annual family reunion at Waterton? About how my family has been staying in the same hotel (some of us even in the same room) for 62 years?

Well last week that hotel, the historic Kilmorey Lodge, burned to the ground. It was a very, very sad moment for me, for the rest of my family, and for everyone who had visited the city and stayed at the hotel.

After my dad sent out the email announcing the fire, we all started responding. In a matter of hours, the emails being exchanged amongst cousins, aunts and uncles went from shocked to sad to hopeful. I was surprised by which of my relatives reacted strongly and which ones seemed hardly affected. In the end, though, my uncle Gerry was right – we don’t go back every year because of the hotel. We go back because the drinking age is 18. Waterton is where our family gathers to celebrate and continues to make wonderful memories.

Thank goodness I was past the emotional stage (and therefore was able to laugh) when I received an email from my aunt Sally with this announcement:

“The Cardston fire department has done a thorough investigation and has determined that the cause of the blaze was spontaneous combustion. They have concluded that during the evening of Monday Feb. 19th a load of laundry was completed and folded while still warm and placed in a cloth tote bag. The combined heat generated in the bag was sufficient to start this laundry and tote bag on fire. The fire quickly spread to engage the entire wooden structure resulting in the destruction of the Kilmorey Lodge in Waterton Lakes National Park.”

After I stopped laughing, I had a few follow-up questions. Aside from getting the date wrong, I don’t feel that they have sufficiently explained how this hotel caught fire in the middle of a cold, snowy, Canadian mountain village. I mean, what sort of laundry spontaneously combusts? And what can I do (and what HAVE I been doing) to keep this from happening to me?

(It reminds me of a Simpsons episode in which a salesman says to a group of people, “Folks, how often have you opened the morning paper only to have the rubber band fly off and hit you right in the eye?” Marge enthusiastically responds with, “Never. But it’s my number one concern.”)

Waterton won’t be the same without the Kilmorey, but I’m glad they at least found out about this very alarming laundry vulnerability somehow. Hopefully when they rebuild it they will learn from past mistakes.