Motivation

I went out last night and awoke this morning feeling like I'd been run over by a truck. Repeatedly. Not because of some drunken bender, though I did partake of a few drinks, but because of yesterday's lack of a workout. I walked from my house to the far end of the Marina, a nice little jaunt of about three miles along Union St., which included a really nice hill workout. Then I sat in the salon for an hour or so, having my hair done and chatting with the other patrons. After my super haircut, I returned to the Presidio bus stop by way of Chestnut St., another long walk but mostly flat. And then I didn't stretch. And now my ass and calves hurt.

I wanted to get to the gym yesterday. I wanted to stretch and swim and linger in the hot tub for a few minutes. But I also absolutely dreaded any additional physical activity, so I stayed home. This morning I had to force myself into gym clothes, but I knew I'd feel better if I stretched out a little. I forced myself off the couch, and promised I'd just walk and stretch, and be in the hot tub within half an hour.

But once I got there, I spent 45 very enjoyable minutes in the gym before hitting the water. And I'm feeling much better now.

I know I'm tired and emotionally exhausted. I know my body is really still recovering from the Grand Canyon. I know I just need some time to really heal. But I feel like a slug when I sit on the couch; I'm also not too excited to hit the pool. So today I decided I need to be officially gearing up to train for something, and it looks like there are two events on the horizon: Half Dome in September, and the Bridge-to-Bridge race in October. I'm walking a 7 K or 12 K (I haven't decided yet), and after mentioning it to a few people, I now have a team. And maybe team t-shirts are in the future.

Angel Island: Team Hike # 11 and The Final Hike

This hike was on June 7, and I've been thinking for weeks about how to best explain the day and my whole Hike For Discovery experience. The photos are here.

Angel Island, in the middle of the San Francisco Bay, was established as a military installation during the Civil War as an outpost to protect the Bay in the event of invasion. It's been used as a military base and deployment departure point, and was also an immigration station where thousands passed through, and some were detained, on their way into San Francisco. Now it's a state park, and we hiked to the top of it's highest peak, Mt. Livermore.

This hike was pretty relaxed, and lots of friends and family members of my teammates joined us for the hike and potluck lunch. The day couldn't have been more beautiful; clear and sunny and warm, all of which are quite unusual. We had a great time and the scenery was just beautiful; but the day was a somewhat bittersweet. After six months of sharing a crazy and wonderful experience that few others can truly understand, we were about to dissolve our team. Alumni hikes are in the future, and some of us are trying to stay in touch, but the finality of this event was sad. I met a tremendous group of people, and it's hard to no longer have them so intensely present in my life. I learned so much about myself, and how far I can push myself and how much I'm capable of accomplishing. And I learned the tremendous value of physical exertion in the rest of my life.

But I also was reminded of the value of a team, and how important it is to rely on teammates. I always knew that somebody had my back if I got into trouble, or needed an extra snack, or needed somebody to scope out poison oak in the area I wanted to use as a bathroom. I also learned that sharing a burden tends to lighten its weight. In this case, telling my dad's story extended the circle of people who were thinking about him and praying for him and all of us. And I will never be able to forget how powerful that was, and how much it helped me heal.

I started writing about this experience to chronicle it for some of my donors, friends, and for myself. But I also hope that anybody thinking about committing to Hike For Discovery might run across this blog, and might be persuaded to sign up because of my experiences. Despite the fatigue and the frustrations and the rough patches I hit along the way, this was one of the best things I've done with my life so far.

Mars must be in Retrograde, there's just no other explanation. An evening in three acts

Act I
On the way to my friend's house for dinner, I stop at the corner market in her neighborhood to grab some chips and salsa. I call her from the salsa aisle to ask if she needs me to bring anything else. She declines. I hang up and proceed to the chips aisle, passing through the diary aisle and by a guy who seems to be intently examining cheese. I say "excuse me," cross in front of him, and inspect the chips.

He waits a minute, turns toward me and asks, "Excuse me, are you single, because I think you're cute and I'd like to call you sometime."

As this doesn't happen to me everyday I'm a little dumbfounded, and I didn't quite understand him at first (he mumbled a little), so it took a bit for his question to sink in. He introduced himself as Andrew and asked if he could have my phone number. I was able to come up with absolutely no reason why I shouldn't give it to him, so I did. Then wished him goodnight and paid for my purchases. I guess my new haircut is pretty spectacular.

Act II
Having eaten, my friends and I hail a cab from the Inner Sunset and make our way to Trad'r Sam's. We exit the cab less than a block from the bar, cross the street in the crosswalk, and are greeted by two guys hailing us with "hello, ladies," as they pass us by. One friend decrees that my haircut might be nice, but the obvious reason for this strange encounter is that Mars is in Retrograde.

We establish ourselves at the bar, order a pretty drink in a bowl, make friends with the bartender, and are alternately enjoying our evening out and being harassed by the most forward guys I've run into in a long time. We're at this particular place because it's a stop on a 30th birthday party bus and we're meeting the celebrants. They arrive, drink, and head to their next destination. We're also waiting for my friends. They don't make it. We stay for awhile, being chatted up and having our asses grabbed and called mean names and almost having to kick the ass of some really strange Welsh guy. At this point, it's time to leave.

Act III
We head downtown to meet up with the party bus occupants. They kept saying they were going to the piano bar at Johnny Foley's, but I was pretty sure Foley's didn't have a piano bar. I was very wrong. I don't know if it's officially the same bar, but in the basement of Foley's is a bar/restaurant with dueling pianos, and the singers/pianists will play pretty much anything. We sat until about 1:30 singing along to the best and worst 20th and 21st Century music has to offer, and we did this relatively undisturbed. We watched some swing dancers and the birthday crowd and had a blast. But the night ended with one more dose of strangeness. We stepped out on O'Farrell St. to hail a cab, and none of the cab drivers would take us all home. Yes, it would involve three separate stops, but they were all pretty close together. So, with pleas from my friends to text them when I got safely home, I got in the cab and we cruised up Geary to my apartment, watching all the Tenderloin has to offer displaying its wares on a cool summer evening.

The End.

East Coast Tour Dates (book your tickets before they're gone!)

Bella Cantare and the ladies of the alto section (and Ben) are excited to announce our limited-edition, one-time-only East Coast Tour. We'll be painting Manhattan and the surrounding suburbs red from September 12-18, performing classics like the Star Spangled Banner at both NY Major League Baseball stadiums, and potentially breaking into song in the vicinity of Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, and the Empire State Building.

Between performances, we plan to do considerable touring and walking and eating. Perhaps you'll be able to spot us. Look for the group with the cameras and jackets, even if it's way too hot in NY in September for a jacket. Because late Summer in NY will be a serious culture shock.

Bad Air; Bad, Bad Air!

I'm pretty sure one of the cars parked in front of my building was covered in soot last night. I woke up this morning unclear if the grey skies were fog or smoke. Turns out, smoky fog is much more depressing than regular fog, and not nearly as soothing. Breathing kind of hurts, and the back of my throat and my nose feel sore and a little singed. And the smell hanging in the air is similar to how a campfire smells at the end of the weekend, when you've extinguished it for the last time and then gently poured water over the ashes to make sure they're fully extinguished. It's a smoky, wet, and almost rancid smell that permeates the air indoors and out right now, and it's not getting any better.

Some fires are contained, others are still raging, and the air quality is so bad that I'm abandoning my outdoor biking and walking plans for this weekend, and sticking to the gym and pool. Hopefully this is not a foreshadowing of the entire summer. The driest spring on record has given way to tinderboxes throughout the state, and our fire resources are already stretched to the limit, and it's not yet July. Hopefully, the Universe is paying attention, and will send us some uncommon summer rainstorms. Without lightening.

To the person who stole my desk chair and replaced it with an old, uncomfortable one...

I share an office with three other women. I spend most of my day sitting on an exercise ball, but I also have a desk chair; a relatively new, pretty comfortable desk chair. Last week, in preparation for our office move, I stuck a sticker to the back of the chair. The sticker has my name and new office space written on it in large, bold letters.

Today, when I rolled away my ball to pull up the desk chair, I noticed that my chair had been stolen, and replaced by an old, very uncomfortable one. I flipped out. I cased all of the offices along my corridor for my chair, and, when that failed, I sent an email to my entire floor. In part, it read:


To the person who stole my desk chair and replaced it with an old, uncomfortable one: My chair has a pink moving sticker, with my name on it, affixed to the back. Please return it.

I was very, very angry, and spent my lunch hour on a walk with a coworker, trying to cool down. I returned to work and was about to change my shoes when another coworker walked by, asking if I'd gotten her email yet, and telling me she hoped I'd see the "amusement in the situation." She had the chair, and was bringing it to me. It turns out, a woman in our office stole my chair and gave it to an unsuspecting new employee, telling him that she couldn't say where she got it, but that it was much better than his old chair. She then put his old chair at my desk. The new employee, upon receiving my email, went to his boss asking what to do. She returned the chair and told me the story of its disappearance, with the caution that I could "do with this information what I felt was right."

I gave my chair the once-over, and noticed that the sticker, the one with my name on it, had been partially PEELED OFF, but my full first name was still visible. I am livid. I sent a thank you message to everyone who had been on the lookout, copying the chair thief and her boss, and noting that it was unacceptable to enter somebody's workspace and take things. I'll be personally taking this up with her boss tomorrow. I am so disgusted and fed up with my coworkers and the personnel situation on my team, and with this woman, who has consistently displayed behavior completely inappropriate in the workplace that I'm actually wondering if I should be looking for a new job. In the short term, however, her boss, who has worked with us for less than a month, will be getting an earful tomorrow.

Suffocating

Since I returned from the Grand Canyon, the stress in my life has manifested physically in a feeling of not being able to entirely breathe. I have felt like there's a shoe standing firmly on my diaphragm, preventing me from full oxygen intake. I've hoped that some of the stressors would resolve themselves, and I'm working hard on the ones I can combat. And since this weekend I have felt remarkably better.

Until yesterday. Yesterday morning I awoke to a full-fledged asthma attack and miserable allergies. I'm stuffy, my eyes itch, and I'm feeling generally miserable. And now I really can't breathe. I'm dreadfully allergic to burning wood, and the city is surrounded by wildfires. The air quality is abysmal, I can smell the fires from all over the city, and the sun is giving off a reddish glow through the haze today.

I'm a huge proponent of medicines designed to relieve these symptoms, so this morning I took additional allergy medicine and a few sprays of my inhaler. But the effects of the inhaler (dry mouth, racing heart beat, and uncontrollable shaking for at least half an hour after use) aren't too comfortable. So now I'm jittery and uncomfortable, and I still can't breathe.

Inertia and a rest day

The bulk of my weekend was spent on three efforts: working out, napping, and spending time with friends. And it was incredibly healing. On Saturday and Sunday, after chatting with friends and working out, I slept for hours. I didn't get much else accomplished, but I'm finally starting to feel better.

Despite the 40 degree temperature plunge overnight Saturday, and the wind and fog, Sunday's 5K was tons of fun, and proved to me that walking a half marathon can definitely be in my future. Maybe the Nike Women's next year. In the meantime, I've abandoned my sprint triathlon plans in favor of hiking Half Dome in September, and I hope to walk a couple of longer races in the fall, too. I'll spend the next few weeks putting together a Half Dome training plan. I think it'll involve some weekend morning Bay to Ocean walks, and I'll need to build in a few hikes that are easily accessible. I think I'll be spending a lot of time in the Headlands this summer.

Seven Words*

In tribute to George Carlin, who died in LA yesterday, I present the Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television. Unless of course you're on cable, in which case, umm, I'm pretty sure you're in the clear.

* shit
* piss
* fuck
* cunt
* cocksucker
* motherfucker
* tits

I remember watching his Seven Words in the very early days of HBO, when he was still censored. He was a tremendously talented comedian, but also a torchbearer for the free speech movement far after it failed to be a movement. And he was really freakin' funny.

*This might mark the first time clairnation tussles with the Internet censors. Anybody want to be a guinea pig? Try logging on from work or a library computer, and let me know if you get a "This site is blocked" message.

Everything, Explained

We're having a heat wave in my normally foggy and cool city by the Bay. It's close to 100 degrees, the breeze is warm, and the sun is shining. It's fantastic, but everything is weird. I don't quite know how to explain it, but it's like a summer fever has made everyone a little antsy, a little more aggressive than usual, and just a little off.

Tomorrow's the Summer Solstice. It's also a full Moon. And Mercury is in retrograde. That explains everything.

Calming the frenzied swarm

My talk with HR was hugely productive, my plan is completely legitimate, and the HR director felt is was totally justified given the current climate in my office and my recent loss. I feel so much better already. Now I just need to write up the proposal for my boss. And hope he reads the email.

The frenzied swarm of butterflies in my stomach

In half an hour, I have a meeting with our HR director to discuss my options for extended bereavement leave or personal leave. I realized yesterday, after I almost exploded during a meeting here, that I am entirely too stressed out by my life to handle the bad dynamics of my job, and I need to take a week off. Not vacation, but a week to get my head together and deal with the grief of losing my grandma and KC, and I can't do that while I'm at work.

After I talk to HR, I need to write up a proposal for my boss. This is not the best time to announce that I'm taking a week's leave, but it's absolutely the best thing that I can do for myself, and that has to be most important. I'm a little scared.

Police Action

I sat on the bus this morning listening to my iPod and looking out the window. The sun was shining and a light breeze swayed the branches of the street trees in the Tenderloin. As the bus strained up Post St. I saw several people gathered outside the coffee shop near Leavenworth. Could they all be waiting for the bus? Why did they appear to be wearing matching outfits?

BECAUSE THEY WERE DEA AGENTS, and about 12 of them, along with at least one dog and several vehicles, seem to have been at the end of some sort of action in the apartment building next to the coffee shop. Many of them were still wearing their oxygen tanks, and they seemed to be helping an elderly man in a wheelchair back into his apartment. Presumably, he wasn't the guy making meth or hoarding coke in the building, but in San Francisco you never really know.

Fast forward to lunchtime: I'm in the Inner Sunset having lunch with co-workers. There are several people standing outside of Starbucks, but they don't seem to be in line for coffee. They're not; they're watching six cops investigate a one-car accident that left the car sitting on the sidewalk, after it knocked over one street sign, one parking meter, and several newspaper racks. The car was "parked" at an odd angle directly in front of Yancy's Saloon, almost through the front window of that fine establishment, but there was no driver in sight.

In my seven years here, I've seen one arrest, two hit and run car accidents (both from the window of an apartment), an iPod mugging, and the end of a bar brawl, and I've been the victim of one car accident and a burglary. Today was a banner day, and I didn't have my camera.

Reasons

Lots of people ask why I push myself so hard to work out; why I occasionally pass up the burger for the salad; why I try to sleep well and take my vitamins and work so hard to take care of myself.

The answers are plentiful: I feel great after a long swim; I like being strong; I look better in my jeans; exercise is a good way of relieving stress, I live in too beautiful a city not to take a walk or bike ride or hike outside. And these are all perfectly legitimate responses, but the reality is much more serious.

My genetic makeup isn't the greatest when it comes to good health, and my risks for diseases like diabetes, cancer, high blood pressure and a host of others are, based on genetics and family history, a little higher than I'd like. While I can't control the future, I firmly believe that what I do today can impact my health for decades down the line. And finally, science is catching up, and initial studies indicate that perhaps our current behavior can actually change our genetic makeup. Bike ride, anyone?

Change Lifestyle, Change Genes
June 17, 2008(WebMD) If you change your lifestyle, you change your genes.

You can't get different genes, but how you act can change how your genes act, report Dean Ornish, M.D., and colleagues at the University of California, San Francisco (UCSF).

Ornish is a clinical professor of medicine at UCSF and also a diet guru who's been telling us for years that by improving our lifestyle we can prevent and even reverse many chronic diseases. And Ornish has been putting his money where his mouth is, backing a number of scientific studies that support his arguments.

Now, in a new kind of study, Ornish is joined by UCSF professor and chairman of urology Peter Carroll, M.D.; UCSF prostate-cancer geneticist Christopher Haqq, MD, PhD; and others. The goal of this pilot study was to see whether the Ornish lifestyle could help 30 men with low-risk prostate cancer who chose not to undergo treatment unless their cancer got worse.

It's too soon to say whether the men's lifestyle changes kept their cancer at bay. But genetic analysis revealed profound differences in noncancerous prostate tissues in just three months.

More than 500 genes changed the way they worked. Genes with beneficial effects, including some tumor-suppression genes, became more active. Genes with deleterious effects, including some cancer-promoting genes, were switched off.

"It is absolutely intriguing this lifestyle change can have as much effect as the most powerful drugs available to us now," Haqq said in a news conference. "We medical oncologists are always looking for drugs that can do this. It is delightful to find that diet and lifestyle can have profound effects and work as well as drug therapies with fewer side effects."

Ornish says the findings may motivate people who think there's nothing they can do.

"People say, 'Oh, it is all in my genes, what can I do?' That's what I call genetic nihilism," Ornish said in a news conference. "This may be an antidote to that. Genes may be our predisposition, but they are not our fate."

Motivated by having prostate cancer, the men in the study went all the way with the Ornish diet. They ate a low-fat, plant-based, whole-foods (minimally processed or refined foods such as whole grains) diet. They walked at least 30 minutes six days a week and walked at least an hour three days a week. Every day they did an hour of simple yoga-based techniques including stretching, breathing, meditation, and imagery. And they participated in a weekly support group designed to increase intimacy and social support.

Whenever Ornish lays out his full program, he sees people's eyes glaze over. Most people are not going to be able to make this kind of a change overnight, if ever. But Ornish says it's silly to defeat yourself with an all-or-nothing approach. Adopting just the changes one can make, and making more changes only when you're ready, is a much more realistic path to health.

"People have a range of dietary options," Ornish says. "Because these men had prostate cancer, we put them on the more intensive regimen. But the more people change, the better the outcomes. It may not be necessary to make changes to this degree for people who do not have cancer to begin with."

Perhaps the most surprising thing about the study is not that the men changed their genetic profiles, but that they changed them so quickly.

"People say, 'Why bother about it? But when they see that in just three months these changes can make a difference, they may change their minds," Ornish says. "It is not really so much about risk-factor reduction or preventing something bad from happening. These changes can occur so quickly you don't have to wait years to see the benefits."

Ornish and colleagues report their findings in the June 17 issue of Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.


By Daniel DeNoon
Reviewed by Louise Chang
©2005-2008 WebMD, LLC. All rights reserved.

Conceited and Stupid, or more coworker tales of doom

I'm having some problems on the work front; rather, people around me are having problems that directly impact my ability to work in a kind, productive, and intellectually safe space. Part of this is because of a lack of intellect. Part is because of an overdose of hubris. For example:

A coworker comes barging into my shared office space this morning, asking me to help her. Her frantic look makes me think her computer has exploded. No, she assures me, she just needs help deciphering the time of the meeting request she was just sent. What is GMT*, why does it appear on her Outlook invite, and is the meeting actually at 11 am? She doesn't want to appear dumb by calling the meeting organizer to clarify. Yet she seems to have no qualms about exposing her stupidity to a colleague. But wait, I already knew.

I go out to lunch with a colleague shortly after he joins our office. Our entire conversation revolves around his anger with the Catholic church, and how he hadn't been to confession, and therefore hasn't received Communion, in five years. Until just recently, when he swore that the entire parish was watching him as he waited in line to receive. Like the rest of people at Mass weren't, I don't know, praying maybe?

*Please, please tell me others out there are familiar with Greenwich Mean Time.

All hail the padded bike shorts

After my rather uncomfortable ride and recovery days last week, I went to Sports Basement and tried on lots of padded bike attire. I settled on a pair of Sugoi bike shorts, and they are fantastic. Post-ride yesterday I was not saddle sore, and, though lots of muscles hurt today, my saddle continues to feel just fine.

I really wanted bike pants because it's so cold and windy most of the year, but I couldn't find any that I liked. They were either too short or too fussy, or the padding was lacking. And if I'm going to ride around this city in unattractive skin tight pants, then they need to at least prevent the pain in my ass.

They fit snugly without feeling binding, they don't move at all while I ride, and they come up high enough in the back to avoid exposing my rear as I'm hunched over on my bike. All in all, a ringing endorsement. And, even with the wind, and the fog, and the wet, and did I mention the wind? my legs stayed pretty warm. And if the sun ever comes out again, I may even get a little tan.

Lazy Sunday Afternoon

What did you do with your lazy (and in my case, foggy) Sunday afternoon? I did this. Check it out!

Thinking it's good that I live by myself

During my hike season, the hiking gear came close to taking over my kitchen. I stored my pack, my poles, my boots, my hydration bladders, and some other essentials there, and by the end of the season my kitchen looked as thought REI had thrown up in it.

Sadly, the end of the season hasn't changed the condition of my apartment. Today, my bathroom is so afflicted.



In case you can't make all of that out, I have two swim suits, my swim cap, and goggles hanging on the towel bar, with my sneakers and bike shorts on the floor. I intend to do some cleaning today, but I need to get rid of lots of stuff to make room for the gear. It's really good that I don't share my apartment with anyone. The gear really needs its own room.

Accidental Triathlete

Last weekend, I went for my first bike ride in two-and-a-half years. My knee problems seem to have stabilized, if not completely gone away, and there's no reason for me to stay off the bike. Unless, of course, I experience more intense pain after riding. But I'll get to that in a minute.

A co-worker of mine lives close by, and has started riding pretty seriously. She recently tweaked her knee, and has cut her four-hour Sunday morning rides to about two hours until her knee is healed. We decided to go for a ride in Golden Gate Park, and she met me at about 9 am.

After explaining my concerns about a long ride, she agreed to abandon her thoughts of riding through the park, along the beach, and around Lake Merced. And then riding back home - a ride of at least 15 miles. We agreed to go through the park and along the beach, and to see how I was doing along the way.

It was sunny and 70, and armed with my new Hike For Discovery camelbak hydration pack, I felt pretty good. Riding down Masonic to the Panhandle was a little scary, but my share-the-road instincts came back pretty quickly, and I safely navigated myself to the part of the park where the roads close to cars on weekends. We rode leisurely, chatting as we went. We were a little confused when we hit more road barriers. And then we saw the race staffers: tons of volunteers in matching t-shirts cheering on cyclists and tossing them water as they went by. We had just come upon the cycling portion of the Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon. And we could either turn around and head home, or plunge in and join the cyclists on their route towards the beach.

We waited for a lull in the traffic, and jumped in. Cyclists whizzed by all around us, but we held our own, and my co-worker even got an Alcatraz water bottle from one of the race volunteers. We rode with them for a mile or so before being forced off the course, and riding another route to the beach. We rode the full beach trail, stopped for a cup of tea at Java Beach, and returned home through the park.

We were out for about three hours and covered 11 miles. And my knee felt great - thanks to the patella tendon strap I bought last week. It wraps around the base of my knee cap and forces the patella tendon to work properly. My knee cap tracks like it's supposed to, and my right knee felt so good that I'll be buying one for my left knee.

I felt fabulous. Very saddle sore, but fabulous. This ride marked my return to my bicycle, and I followed it with a quick swim and a lot of ice. Other than the serious saddle soreness, I felt great. Now, it's time to invest in a pair of padded bike shorts.

Endorphins: Cheaper than therapy, longer lasting than booze

Having just completed an endurance training hike through the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, I'm in great shape and I feel terrific. So I need to keep going. But what's next? Possibly the Mermaid Santa Cruz sprint triathlon in September. Tentatively a few 5K walks over the course of the next few months. Definitely a lot of time spent on my bike, or in the pool, or walking and hiking throughout this beautiful city.

Realizing that my regular readership might not be too interested in my training pursuits, I decided it was time to take them elsewhere. So here I am. Enjoy!

On retreat; alternately titled: The price of speaking your mind

The team I work with went on retreat yesterday. Half the team of seven doesn't talk to one another and the rest of us are walking on eggshells around some pretty hard to navigate personnel issues.

But we went on retreat anyway, spending all day sitting around a small table in a tiny conference room on campus. We started the morning with a lame team building exercise before a morning-long discussion of our strengths and weaknesses as a team and our priorities for the year.

With the big white elephant of our personnel issues sitting in the middle of the table, we talked about our team's assets, some things we could improve, and our fundraising priorities for the coming year. Things were tense, but going better then expected. One of my significant complaints about a relatively new coworker is this person's consistent interruption of people mid-sentence, and his inability to speak to people without putting them down. In mid-statement during our discussion, he did it to me. And I reacted without thinking.

"I'm not finished," I said with the vehemence of a surly teenager being cut off by a parent during an argument. I quickly realized that I was an adult and in the presence of colleagues, and I told the table I wanted us all to remember that we need to speak civilly to one another, and let each other finish their thoughts uninterrupted.

The whole table held their breath for a second, and the guy I don't really like, who had been standing up and pontificating, defeatedly sat down. For the rest of the day, everyone raised their hands in order to participate in the conversation.

During the afternoon session, the colleague who organized this retreat passed out some prizes, and she awarded me one for risk-taking, in telling everyone to wait their turn to speak. Inside the gift bag was a small batik-print makeup bag and a $5 gift card to Jamba Juice. Apparently, among my colleagues, speaking your mind is only worth $5.

In memory of the nicest, most lovable dog in the world

About ten years ago, my parents adopted two Jack Russell Terriers. First, they adopted one, but then, after taking a second puppy for the weekend to relieve the overwhelmed owner of a litter of 10, they ended up with two. Baxter and KC. Baxter is kind of a jerk, but KC is the nicest, kindest, most lovable dog ever. She'd been unwell recently, and had spent the past several weeks in and out of the vet's office. We thought she'd been having seizures, but the vet thought her only problem was a slipped disc or something. You can read more about her initial health problems, and see photos, here.

KC died this morning, a day after coming home from her latest trip to the vet. She died on the floor of the porch, where she liked to spend a lot of her time napping, watching tv, and waiting for whomever she was sitting with to drop crumbs. My dad was with her at the end, keeping her company as my mom ran to get help from the neighbor-vet who lives around the corner.

Baxter and KC moved in the summer I permanently changed my mailing address, so I didn't live with them on a regular basis. But they knew the sound of my footsteps on the front stairs meant only one thing: walks. Lots of long walks. The would sit for hours staring at their leashes waiting for me to take them out. Baxter's in pretty good shape, but KC is obese, and she'd have such a hard time keeping up with us, but she was pretty persistent, and she'd tag along, huffing and puffing and bounding along, often stopping to sniff the flowers, or the trees, or an interesting-looking pile of dirt. She particularly liked jumping into leaf piles. And she was always ready to bark and growl at any dog who crossed our path.

KC wanted nothing more out of life than a comfortable lap to cuddle in and maybe the ice cream left over in the bottom of the bowl.

FINISHED

After too many miserable weeks, my dad finished his prostate cancer radiation treatment today. Radiation made him tired and achy and awfully pale, but hopefully the cures will be worth the treatment.

The healing power of endorphins

I'm still sad, but after a 15-lap swim and some sit-ups and stretching and lifting a few weights, I'm feeling a bit better.

This week has had a few positives that are noteworthy:

On Sunday I went on my first bike ride in 2.5 years. I was afraid I wouldn't last very long; that my knee would give out and I'd be faced with the reality that I would have to sell my bike and give up riding. I rode in Golden Gate Park. For THREE HOURS. All the way to the beach, along the beach, and then home. It was an 11-mile ride, and my knee feels just fine - or at least no worse than it has since my injury of undetermined origin sidelined me in January, 2005. This is fantastic, and I will be riding again this weekend. There's more to that story for another day.

I entered a writing contest. In two categories. Special thanks go to the Stephanies in my life for their encouragement, and for helping choose the blogs I entered.

None of my coworkers have killed each other yet, and nobody else has gotten caught in their nasty crossfire of words. This is a miracle.

I had a nice lunch with a new friend today.

I haven't run into any people dressed as produce in quite awhile, but I did encounter a man dressed as a king last week - complete with a staff, and wearing odd bling, including a life size handcuff around his neck. You can read more about that here.

Grieving Out Loud

Clair is sad today. She found the birthday card her grandmother sent her buried underneath a pile of papers on her kitchen table, and she cried so hard she washed off all her makeup. Her grandma died before Clair could call to say thanks for the birthday wishes.

Clair is also sad because two people she thought were very close friends haven't gotten in touch to say sorry about her grandma, or congratulations on her hike, or happy birthday. Clair's beginning to think they're not friends anymore, and this is breaking her heart.

She's sad that things at work are crazy, and that a coworker showed up at work this afternoon bawling her eyes out (which Clair tries to refrain from doing at work, mostly because she is not an attractive bawler, but she's starting to wonder if she'll get some attention that way - perhaps they'll see she's sad and give her a hug. Or maybe they'll stop hassling her with stupid personnel issues. Ideally, they would all grow up and start acting like respectful adults in the workplace, but Clair is not holding her breath).

Clair thought that addressing this in the third person would maybe make her feel better. She was wrong.

Things you never want to hear at happy hour

The scene: A bar in the Marina your fearless blogger goes to at least once a month following a Monday night event.

The time: about 10 pm. The weather is spectacular, and lots of people are still out in this neighborhood.

Bar patron: "Can I have a Hefeweisen, please."

Bartender: "We have no draft beers."

Bar patron: "You have no draft beers?"

Bartender: "We have. No beers. On tap."

One patron to another: "This is a beer emergency. Shouldn't they close the bar?"

Disjointed

I realized today the full impact of the past month when I heard on the radio that my Yankess are in town, playing three games against the Athletics across the Bay. I'm ashamed to say that I missed this; that I had absolutely no idea my boys in pinstripes were in town, and I don't think I'm going to try to get tickets.

*****

I must be grinding my teeth at night lately - an ugly result of the work stress of the past few weeks, perhaps, or my subconscious way of saying I've got too much to deal with right now. I haven't had any significant TMJ problems since high school, and I'm kind of insulted that they may have started up again - I don't hike and swim and walk miles a day just for fun, but for stress abatement too. Last night, I opened my mouth, and realized that my jaw had popped just slightly out of place. It doesn't really hurt, but it feels a little awkward, and makes chewing a little complicated. I'm hoping it'll pop itself back in, because I'm not quite sure what to do if it doesn't.

*****

I had a very serious, rather difficult conversation with my boss on Friday. I was much more confrontational than my usual manner, and I aired some ugly thoughts pertaining to a coworker. But I seem to have gotten both his attention and some tentative results. There might be improvements and changes on the horizon, making all my rehearsed-to-myself speeches worth the effort.

Contest

BlogHer is sponsoring a contest. Submit your best blog from one of five categories, and the four winners in each category will get to read their entries at a keynote event during the conference. I haven't entered a writing contest since my senior year of high school, and I was motivated more by the extra credit points than by the possibility of winning. But I was one of 12 winners from the New York tri-state area, and my framed certificate is almost as valuable as my college diploma.

So, figuring that I've blogged about some pretty amusing experiences over the past few years, I just emailed my favorite blog for the humor category. I have butterflies in my stomach and my finger briefly hesitated above the send button. BlogHer doesn't seem to have a limit on an individual's number of entries, so, if anybody out there has a particularly favorite clairnation post I should submit, let me know. The deadline is June 13, the notification is July 8, and the categories are:

Best Rant
Blogging About Blogging
Humor
Letter to My Body
Parenting

Wish me luck!

Eating yogurt with a fork

I eat yogurt at work several days a week - usually as a mid-morning snack. Often, by 10 am, we've run out of spoons in the kitchen, and I'm forced to eat my yogurt with a fork. This isn't the most entirely satisfying experience. It's challenging, and frustrating, and I always end up leaving yogurt in the bowl because I can't scoop it up with the fork.

I realized today that this situation perfectly sums up my current employment experiences. I have the tools, training, supervision, and ability to do a good job, but I'm lacking the things that would allow me to get all the yogurt off the bottom of the bowl, or allow me to do an outstanding job.

I've tried really hard lately not to let a bunch of work issues get me down, especially since have so much ugly family stuff that will be playing itself out over the next year or more. We have some ugly personnel matters in process that won't have good outcomes, and morale on my team is in the toilet. Today I'm just disgusted. I work really hard and put a considerable amount of effort into meeting often ridiculous deadlines. And today I discovered that work I completed months ago has yet to make it to the faculty who've requested it, because my boss has yet to finish his part.

The impact for this on my own reputation could be disastrous, except that many of the people here recognize that I'm swamped in an inefficient system, and that I'm doing the best I can. But the whole situation is really getting out of control, and I am currently powerless to do anything to create change. And that is very frustrating.

Team hike #11, before which your intrepid hiker almost has a heart attack upon realizing, at the park entrance, that she's left her camera home

Yes, I'm still hiking, though after a wet and dismal four-hour tour through Muir Woods and Mt. Tamalpais two weekends ago, I was unsure if I'd return for another hike on Mt. Diablo. But my arms were twisted, a carpool was arranged, and I met friends in the Presidio to begin an hour-long journey to the Mitchell Canyon trailhead. The sun was shining, the weather was pleasantly warm, and, as we pulled into the state park entrance, I realized that I'd left my camera home. On the kitchen table. Where it was useless. I almost died in the back seat of my friend's Subaru. I was in actual physical pain for a moment, and I made such a sound of pain that the person in the passenger seat was actually a little startled. But I'm over it now, mostly. It was a beautiful trail on a gorgeous day, and we saw flowers and butterflies and a few cool bugs and even a little snake.

This was our last big team hike, and I'm sad that the season is about to end. On Saturday we will bid farewell to the team heading to Yosemite National Park. We'll have a short hike and a potluck lunch, and then we'll be done. I can't say enough good things about this experience, all I've learned in the past few months, and the incredible people I've met. I can say that I'll be back next spring, hopefully as a volunteer mentor for the team. I can also say that I'm not quite ready to hang up my hiking poles yet, so as I train to hike Half Dome in the fall, I'll be looking for hiking partners. Anyone?