OH MY GOD I AM MY MOTHER!

There are days when I look like my mother, when I get a glimpse of her in the mirror with me as I'm combing my hair or brushing my teeth. During conversations, I often hear her voice coming out of my mouth. I love my mom, and she is the woman who bought me a refrigerator magnet that proclaims "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I'm like my mother after all." I've given up resisting (hi mom!).

But today, I fell into full acceptance. While I was in the gym of all places.

My gym is not a city recreation facility, or even a YMCA. The only reason it's financially accessible to me is because I get a discount through my employer. And even then it's almost out of my reach. My gym is high end. As a result of that, I think, the decorum in the facility is generally above reproach. People are kind and respectful, especially in the locker room.

Tonight, I'd finished my workout and was going for a swim. I entered the locker room and heard all sorts of commotion. At 7pm on a Friday, when the place is usually empty. Lots of loud, high-pitched voices were squealing about not wanting to change in public. And where were the restrooms. And did I have to wear a bathing suit?

My peaceful changing room, full of old women and young mothers, had been invaded. By smelly 13-year olds. They were yelling and screaming and taking photos and talking on their phones. Those last two items are very much against the rules. They were also laughing at those of us adults who were changing in public. And commenting on the attributes of some of the ladies around us.

I quickly changed and left the locker room, seeking solace in the lap pool and very happy that they didn't follow me. Until about 10 minutes later, when the gang of them made their way to the pool deck, and, without showering or having access to the lane, cannon-balled into the lane next to mine and almost took out two swimmers.

The lifeguards didn't really start paying attention until this brood - coed as it turns out - started diving into the smaller pool and violating the hot tub age limit to take a dip. Then they started pulling people out of the pool, and asking their street-clothes clad friends to leave the pool deck.

I finished my laps, soaked in the hot tub, and went to the showers. Where I encountered a group of these girls showering together, their squeals echoing off the tiled shower stall. The woman in the stall next to mine started to grumble "What is going on with them, they are out of control."

"I don't know, but I'm about to say something to them."

"You go first, but I'm next," she replied.

I was toweling off when a few of them came barreling through the locker room, and I was ready. But the other lady blocked their path and got to them first. She was way nicer than I would have been. And boy did they talk back to her before leaving.

At that moment, I knew exactly what I would have said. And it would have been exactly what my mother would say to my scout troop, when we were misbehaving. I could hear her in my head, yelling "Ladies! And I use that term loosely," before launching into a lecture that would leave us hanging our heads in shame.

Those girls were spared my mother's wrath tonight. But it's good to know I'm prepared if I ever need to unleash on a bunch of disrespectful and obnoxious teenagers.

Homerun!

 

If I ever get married, expect a similar theme. This was the cake at a friend's wedding a few weeks ago. I think the groom needs to work on his stance a little, but I guess those tuxedo sleeves can be a bit constricting.

I'm pretty sure it's an early-onset mid-life crisis

I can happily leap out of bed before sunrise to go for a training walk, or a hike, or to get an early start on a road trip, but I can't drag myself out of bed - long after sun up - to get to work on time.

I will lay out a week's worth of workout clothes, or fanatically prepare my gear the night before a race, or start packing for a trip weeks before my departure, and yet my work clothes rarely get ironed. And I've abandoned all pretense of dressing up, and I now usually wear jeans.

I'm usually out on Monday night at happy hour, where I routinely stay out way past my bedtime without any thought of the consequences come mid-afternoon on Tuesday, when I can't keep my eyes open and I want to nap under my desk.

I could sit for hours writing on this blog, or reading, or practicing my music, cleaning my kitchen or doing dozens of other things, yet my productivity at work has taken a nosedive the past nine months.

I have the intense desire to do something new, but I have no idea what. I want to change everything, but I have no idea what changes I want to make. I'm 32.8, and I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. It's the only answer that makes sense. Except I don't have the structure in place to properly react. I'm not married, so I can't get divorced. I don't have a sensible car I can trade in for a red convertible. I don't speak French, and I really didn't like Paris that much, so I won't be leaving for a year's stay in France anytime soon.

So I'm looking for suggestions. How do I figure out my life? What should I do to take full advantage of this mid-life crisis while I'm young enough to enjoy it?

Countdown

The next few weeks are going to be very busy:

• My first half marathon is in 14 days;

• I leave for vacation in 17 days;
  

• The Great Aloha Run is in 22 days. 

February has a lot going for it. In fact, it may be the best month of the last three years.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness

"The Constitution only guarantees the American people the right to pursue happiness.  You have to catch it yourself," said Ben Franklin, who was by far the most grounded of our Founding Fathers. Franklin was a wealth of wisdom, whose oft-quoted words include "beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy," and “We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.”

In the spirit of catching happiness, I've been tagged by Kathleen to list 10 things that make me happy. So let's make a list:

A long walk in the rain, especially with lots of puddles;
Laughing until my stomach hurts;
The smell of honeysuckle and the sound of crickets at dusk; 
Spending time with my family;
A perfectly toasted grilled cheese and tomato sandwich;
Being healthy;
New adventures;
Singing;
Time spent with friends;
Hiking in the sunshine.

And, in the spirit of passing it on, I'm tagging Steph, the other Steph, Brian, dweebcentric, Ariel, and the Cupcake.

I prefer a nice August fog, thanks

The cherry blossoms are starting to bud on the tree outside my window.

The grass is a brilliant shade of green. The weeds in my building's backyard are thriving (maybe a little too much).

I can see lemons on the tree in the neighbor's yard.

The mud puddles are fun to splash through on my way to the bus stop. Winter here is beautiful. I love watching the rain take hold after all those dry, foggy months. But holy cow am I ready for this week of nonstop storms to be over.

It's only been a few days since I've seen the sunshine. I've been through winter months much worse than this one. It rains here in the winter a lot, and I've had nine years to adjust to that. I knew what I was signing up for when I moved here. But for some reason, this week of downpours has been very hard on me. I want to go out to play. I'm tired of wearing my rain pants to work each day. My rain boots, though cute, just aren't that comfortable for everyday wear. It's cold and damp and even the ants are trying to seek indoor refuge, and I'd rather they lived outside than in my kitchen.

Winter, I am done with you! And making that proclamation in January is bad news, because we've got at least a few months still ahead of us. And the forecast for this El Nino year is not promising. I'm trying to stay positive. I'm trying to look on the bright side. The sun has to come out eventually, right? I know that every gloomy day makes me more thankful for the sunny ones. And I did just buy a new waterproof camera, so I'm getting lots of practice with it. But I'm growing awfully pale, and I think I'm starting to mildew. Can somebody please bring me a sun lamp?

Bridge at sunset

Taken about an hour before sunset from the ferry between Tiburon and San Francisco.

Bad pianos and a lousy margarita

The kick-off event to a friend's wedding this weekend was a Thursday night party at a local piano bar. The bar, below the esteemed Johnny Foley's Irish House, is a blast. Two dueling pianists sit on stage, playing almost any request from the crowd while making jokes, making up obscene words to the songs, and occasionally hurling insults. As long as you're not thin-skinned, an evening at Bad Pianos (hey, what do you expect a basement dive to be named?) is a blast. I also think it used to be a speak easy, and it still carries some of the mystique - a mostly unmarked entrance usually identifiable by a scary bouncer checking IDs, a steep staircase entrance, and what looks like it was once a back door fashioned to make a quick exit.

I walked in, greeted the bride and groom, and went to the bar. I always get the feeling the bartenders here are mad at having shifts in the basement dive, and they're kind of surly. And the service can be inconsistent. I asked the bartender how his margaritas were, and he told me it depended on the tequila and the salt and a bunch of other things. Interesting. I usually ask that question, about a drink, and bartenders around here either say "great, definitely a popular drink," or "they're ok, but why don't I make you a (fill-in-the-blank) instead."

In this case, I should have just ordered a Guinness. Despite the brief lecture on tequilas, I couldn't see what he filled my glass with, but it wasn't anything spectacular. This drink was mostly Triple Sec and ice. And it came without a lime. And I handed him a $20, and got $10.50 back. I almost choked on the salt grains.

I learned a couple of important lessons from this first venture in my quest to find the city's best margarita:

• don't order one at a bar with a large tourist contingent - it'll be way too expensive.
• If a bartender doesn't respond enthusiastically to a question about the quality of his margaritas, have something else.
• I think I need to learn a little more about tequila. Who can give me a tutorial that won't involve a tasting? Hey, BellaCantare, I may be looking at you.

I've been doing a little research on margarita recipes. Anybody have a good one they'd like to share?

Surf's up!

I realize these little waves don't look too big, but consider this: last week, the water in the Bay didn't reach the bottom step here. On Tuesday, the water was choppy and angry looking, and the waves easily and frequently crested over the top step. We're not getting a whole lot of rain,  but the coastal flood and high surf warnings will keep my on shore for awhile.

More Margarita Madness

I went to a lecture last night on setting goals for the new year. I went in with my list of things I'd like to accomplish this year, and listened to what others hope to get done in the next several months. But this post, and the conversation started by this one, got me thinking: ultimately, my goal for 2010 is to have more fun. I've got a few years to make up for, and I'm already on the right track.

Our post-meeting happy hour place used to be a pseudo-Mexican place on Union St. The bartender made a great margarita and they served us free chips and salsa. But they closed at the end of the year. Last night was our first trip to La Barca.

As we walked to the bar, two friends and I talked about the new location. They've got an awesome $5 Monday night dinner special, and they have $5 margaritas. "Are they good?" I asked, "because I think I'd like to try to find the best margarita in the city."

This got us talking about places in San Francisco that make a fantastic margarita, and what might qualify a margarita as particularly above average. We talked about a few spots that are known for their margaritas, and where you could get good value for your money.

"You could even blog about your search," a friend remarked.

And so I will be. It's going to be hard work, and I'm hoping to have some help along the way, but I think my quest for San Francisco's best margarita will be a lot of fun. I started last night. It took two margaritas, a considerable amount of analysis, and some careful observation of the bartender to determine that La Barca has a pretty good $5 margarita. So who's in for happy hour?

The case of the traveling microwave

In October, while my sister was visiting, my microwave died. It was an unexpected and quite sudden death. One day it burned bacon, and the next it refused to heat leftovers. Since the keypad still worked and the lights went on and the turntable continued to rotate, it took me awhile to catch on to the fact that it was no longer reheating food. I even tried a few different outlets in the kitchen, thinking perhaps that some of them weren't working. But no, the microwave is dead.

For Christmas, my mom bought me a new microwave. Given the logistics of gift shipping and travel, we had it shipped to my office. It arrived last week, and I got an email from our receptionist that I had "a delivery in a microwave box."

I went to the front desk to retrieve my large box, and the receptionist commented on the size of the box and asked how I was going to get it home. I told her I'd take a cab.

"Don't you have a friend who owes you a favor who can pick you up? That's too heavy to carry by yourself to the curb." We talked about that for a few minutes. She wanted to make sure I wasn't going to try to carry the box alone and hurt myself getting out of the cab. It's not that heavy, but it is kind of big.

I loaded the box onto a dolley and rolled it around the building. I wasn't five feet from the receptionist when a coworker started following me. "Is that a microwave? Is that a microwave for here, or is it for home? How are you going to get it home?"

I explained that I was going to get a cab as I rolled the box to my desk. I slid it under the desk and hoped she didn't start spreading tales about me using a microwave in my cube. I'm pretty sure that violates lots of fire codes.

A third colleague heard me tell the story of the first two and their interest in my microwave, and she asked how I was going to get it home. And she's continued to ask about the microwave. Every. Day. And loudly enough that another colleague - one who knew nothing about the delivery of my Christmas gift - stopped me in the hall the other day.

"I've heard D ask you about a microwave a half dozen times this week. Did you get a microwave?" I told her the story about the my Christmas gift and the nosy colleagues.

"Oh, you should leave it under your desk for awhile, just to spite them."

And that is exactly what I'm doing. At least until a friend with a car can give me a ride home some night. In the meantime, in case anybody hasn't heard, there's a microwave under my desk. And I'm going to twitch my nose and have it magically appear in my kitchen.

15 miles: the "why are you doing that?" walk

I realize I've been kind of slacking with the training reports, but with slightly less than a month until my half marathon, my training is going really, really well. In New York, I managed nine miserably cold miles just before a huge snowstorm, and then 11 miles in temperatures rivaling San Francisco.  Last weekend, I walked the half marathon course in reverse, along the Ocean and then up through Golden Gate Park. I made it 13.5 miles, including the beautiful four mile leg from my house to the beach.

Today marked my last long walk. I'm going to a wedding next weekend and then I start tapering, so I wanted to make sure I got in a quality workout today. When I mentioned to friends that today's plan included 15 miles, every one of them asked why. I guess it's a legitimate question, but it seemed pretty obvious to me that I needed to make sure I could exceed the 13.1 mile race distance. What if the mile markers aren't correct? Or if I have to hike a few miles to the bus after the race? I needed to know I could safely walk further than 13.1 miles. And, if I'm even toying with the idea of walking a full marathon, it seemed like a good idea to get an idea of what training for that would feel like.

I left my house and headed towards the Presidio. After a brief stop at Sports Basement, because I'd run out of Gu, I walked to Ft. Point and the base of the Golden Gate Bridge. From there I turned around and walked back along Crissy Field and Marina Green to Ft. Mason. After hauling myself up the hill above Ft. Mason, I cruised through Aquatic Park, and watched the wetsuit-less swimmers in the Bay. I decided I'd like to swim there someday. But I'd like to do it in a full wetsuit. On a warm and sunny day.

I walked through the very touristy Pier 39 and past the Ferry Building Farmer's Market before turning around at the ball park and making my way back to the bus stop in the Marina. Along the way, I realized how truly spoiled all of us San Francisco athletes are. We have consistent access to clean and safe public bathrooms. We can walk along the water for miles - 15.35 in my case - and that was only along the Bay. I didn't make it anywhere near the Ocean this week.

I walked in the shadow of three bridges today. I saw several street performers and a couple of bands. I saw Jesus freaks and protesters for peace in Israel and all sorts of political leafleteers. I walked through three national parks/historic sights. I walked along three public fishing piers and two marinas. And I saw countless other athletes and weekend warriors out walking and running, on bikes and skateboards, and, yes, even a unicycle and some pedicabs.

And then I came home and took a nap. I could have spent all day people watching, marveling at how lucky I am to live here, but I really needed to put my feet up.

Margarita Madness!!

Grand Central Station may not seem like the obvious choice for fabulous happy hour margarita specials, but if you have the chance, stop into the Mexican place in the food court. We could have spent days there.

Begin as you mean to go on

I'm not one to make New Year's resolutions. I'm a pretty resolute individual by nature, and I tend to stick with anything I resolve to do at any time of year, so a whole list on Jan. 1 seems somewhat pointless to me. And I seem to be doing what scores of people resolve to do every January. On New Year's Day, I went for a bike ride and to the gym. On Jan. 2 I walked 13.5 miles. On Jan. 3 I went for a swim. Today I lifted weights and started the long process of reclaiming my abs. And I don't smoke.

So, absent all the usual vices and bad habits, I won't be setting any resolutions, but I do like to set goals each year, for things I hope to accomplish in the next 12 or 24 months. On January 1, 2009, I weakly proclaimed to friends - from where I was lying inert on the couch - that I'd do the full Mermaid in September. And considering my year, completing one third of the race is pretty damn impressive. I had some other goals for 2009 that I missed out on, but rebuilding my life took precedence. But now that I'm upright, 2009 left some unfinished business I need to wrap up.

I'll be walking a half marathon on Feb. 7. And maybe another one later in the year, to make up for the one I missed last spring.

I want to travel more, and not to NY to visit my family. I used to take a lot of weekend road trips around CA, and I'd like to get back into that. My summer plans to go to Maine may fall through, but I'm heading to Hawaii in six weeks, and I'm excited to the point of distraction.

I'm working on a job application as I type this, and I'm hoping 2010 is the near of a new job. If I visualize nice, competent colleagues, and a pleasant work environment, and a living wage that won't be hacked in the name of cutbacks and avoiding layoffs, it'll happen. Right?

I'm toying with the idea of considering maybe possibly walking a full marathon in 2011. Because if I can walk 13 miles, why not spend another three hours on my feet. 

I used to be really good about calling friends and writing letters, and for a lot of 2009 I just didn't have the energy to do that. I recently realized that my phone doesn't ring so much these days, because I'm not reaching out to anybody. And my mailbox is mostly a repository for bills - with the exception of one fabulous friend who just keeps writing, despite rarely getting a response. So I've got some calls to make this week. And I need to find the bag with all my stationery in it. And then I need to use it.

And, finally, I need to hike more. But probably not on the same days I walk 13.5 miles. On those days, I'll put my feet up and enjoy being lazy. I need to remember to build some of those days into my year too.