something delicious, P.E.

you know what happened the last time I rode a mechanical bull?

Joe and I harnessed the puppies and went for a longer run this weekend.  Four whole miles.  When I use the word "longer" to describe our run it's because our normal runs are only three miles.  In less than two months, we will be running in a 26.2 mile relay on the 5.5 and 6.5 mile sections.  I think I have already mentioned that I have been treadmilling it for the past few months and haven't really minded.  Until Sunday.   Sunday was warm.  Sunday was sunny.  Sunday we ran outside. 

For those of you who don't run, let me try to describe to you the difference between running four miles on a treadmill and four miles along a lake path.  It's like the difference between watching golf on t.v. and riding a mechanical bull on ladies night at the local roadhouse.  It's like the difference between playing canasta with your parents on Friday night and cruising the Mediterranean on a private catamaran with hot Greek man-servants.  Yes, I like running outside that much better.

I've made some progress in both my pace and stamina since my first race experience last May, where I wowed audiences with a heart-stopping 12:40 min/mile pace on a 5K course.  While I haven't been officially timed this season, my Timex ironman thinks our pace on Sunday's run my have been just under 10:00/mile.  So basically my goal for this year has been met and I can coast for the remainder of the season.  I guess now I will work towards staying on that bull for more than five seconds.

Spring-ish

Sunday marked the first sunny spring-like day of the season, with temperatures soaring to the mid 40s.  It was the first time I dared bare my wrists to the outside air in over four months.  Joe took advantage of the "heat" by playing with the ice and puddles in the driveway, chipping at the glacier that had formed in front of the garage and moving pieces of it out into the dry, sunny part of the driveway to melt.  We also took the dogs out for a nice long run.  No hats, no gloves, no jackets.  Our first run together in training for our relay at the end of May and I was pleasantly surprised to see that I was not panting as hard as Joe or the dogs.  Secret treadmill training does have its advantages.

One of the unfortunate side effects of the spring melt is the slow unveiling of little brown dog bombs.  This is not a phenomenon restricted to our backyard.  It happens in the street gutters, along the sidewalk, in the middle of the sidewalk, and especially on paths in the park.  The normal rule is that you pick up after your dog immediately after they go in areas other than your own yard, or else you are an asshole.  There is nothing about this rule that can be left to interpretation, no exceptions.  You pick it up.  The end.  I thought this was universal knowledge, common sense even.  During winter months, some people believe that you can just kick a pile of snow over the turd, and hey, look, I can't see it so it must not be there anymore.  Come springtime, the thaw reveals the discourteous' dirty little secrets.  I guess it's just something we have to deal with until the April showers come and wash the fecal matter into the lake WHERE YOUR CHILDREN SWIM AND FROM WHICH YOUR DRINKING WATER IS DRAWN.

It would be nice if I could blather on about how much I love spring, but I am feeling less than inspired due in part to office gossip (and weatherchannel.com confirmation) of another winter storm waiting to strike this weekend.  At least the skiers will get one last hurrah before the end of season. 

we finally got some snow

Despite my company's somewhat stingy vacation policy, we do get a couple of frivolous holidays each year.  One in the winter - President's Day, and the other in the fall - Columbus Day.  These holidays are normally reserved for postal workers and other federale, but I don't mind sitting home and watching talk shows two days a year.  That's a lie, I didn't watch talk shows this past monday.  I went grocery shopping instead, which was a huge mistake because apparently Monday morning is "restocking" day, so the meager selection of produce was wilty at best.  After shopping, I watched Mr. McFeely tour a trumpet factory on Mister Roger's Neighborhood.  And then I studied on the warm, sunny front porch.

We finally finished shoveling ourselves out this weekend after receiving a mildly amusing 26" of snow in 24 hours, plus driftage.  The dogs have made themselves a little maze in the back yard because the snow is taller than they are.   And now, the photos:

during the storm

dogs love snow

the shoveling effort

R.I.P.

Today was a really boring, responsible adult day, so as an alternative to telling you how I spent a couple of hours putting away summer clothes and taking out winter clothes, I will just post a couple of pictures of photogenic Evvy and of the evil of which she is capable.  I'll even spare you captions that only I think are funny.

NOT!  I love captions.  I am a hilarious person!

R.I.P. humping chihuahua

death plot

I think Olive is trying to kill off Evvy.  Seriously.  They always fight and growl at each other and wrestle in the back yard, but it's generally harmless.  Last night I took Joe and the girls for a trail run at our favorite state park and two things happened that made me think that Olive may have crossed over to the dark side. 

At about half-way through the run, the trail goes by the lake on a nice sandy beach, so we stopped to let the dogs play in the water.  As soon as they got in about knee deep, Olive grabbed Evvy by the nape, and with a twisting motion of her head, tried to get Evvy off her feet so she would go under water.  Olive croc-rolled her.  I wish I had video of this.  Evvy wriggled away from Olive's death grip, but Olive went for her again, this time suceeding in dunking her.  Olive lost interest shortly thereafter and went to find a stick.

Then, on the trail back to the car, we have to cross a small wooden footbridge, that stands maybe 6 feet or so over a creek.  Evvy and Olive were trotting, shoulder to shoulder as they usually do, over the bridge, and when they got to about the halfway point, Olive changed her course and tried to bump Evvy off the bridge!  Her plan was foiled by Evvy's quick footwork.

I'm going to have to keep my eye on those two.  Although Evvy may get to herself before Olive does, as she darted across the road after a squirrel this morning--without first looking both ways.

Olive!  What have you done?

we did not capsize, but that isn't to say that it didn't almost happen

My second consecutive weekend of paddle sports has come to an end.  We had our fourth (!) annual camping trip this weekend at Knight Island State Park.  For those of you who don't know, Knight Island is a small island (duh) in the middle of Lake Champlain with a handful of "primitive" campsites (outhouse, but no water), and the only access to the camping on the island is via your own private boat.  Since none of the members in our party are yet successful enough to own anything more sassy than a canoe, that is the means of transport we use.  Oh, and because we're nuts--there have been several crossings that required us to battle with 3 ft waves, which doesn't sound like much UNLESS YOU'RE IN A CANOE (btw, we won...every time).

Somewhere over the years, our canoe picked up the nickname "The Flesh Pony" due to its (caucasian) flesh-tone paint job and its...umm..."canoe"-like shape.  Boats are supposed to have names, and they're usually female, but we're making an exception.  The Flesh Pony is a lovely Kevlar masterpiece with caned seats, weighing in at a whopping 51lbs, but whoever selected the paint color should be spanked--and not in a good way.  The ugliness actually worked to our advantage as we bought it on super-ultra-reduced-i'muglyandnooneisbuyingme-clearance.   Canoe #2 in the fleet goes by Red Rocket (it's red)...we have a little theme going.

here birdy birdy...I just want to tell you a secret...(and then eat you)

This year the stakes were raised by the addition of three dogs to the camping party.  Two of the three dogs were in our canoe.  Enter Evvy and Olive:  The dogs who are afraid of boats...especially easily capsizable canoes.  Thank GOD we bought them life vests with handles, for easy lifting into and out of the boat.  Yes, we bought life jackets for dogs.  Admittedly, I am a little embarrassed by this, but I do not regret it because the handles were necessary more than once.

Evvy spent the whole trip over to the island sitting behind me, with her little chin resting on the gunwale, gazing longingly at gulls, a throaty whimper escaping her chops every now and again.  Had she not been so petrified, she would have probably tried to prey upon the rat-birds, which would have been catastrophic (not for the bird, rather for us, and all of our stuff).  She was feeling a little braver on the return trip, and therefore she was placed in front of me, with her shoulders firmly wedged between my knees.  She didn't even seem to mind much that I kept bonking her in the head with the shaft of the paddle.

how fabulous do we look?

We all stayed dry, aside from a couple of rogue waves that washed over the side of the boat on the return trip.  The weekend as a whole was delightful and I think we have the perfect, humidity-free weather to thank for that.  Besides relaxing, the only thing I did was trip over a log.  Photos can be viewed here.

Rafting III: The Last Stand

Saturday morning before the river run, I awoke earlier than my roommates, so I decided to sit on the front deck and watch the mist rise off the river while I waited for them to wake up.  The serenity of the crisp morning was interrupted by rude snorting and grunting coming from around the side of the roadhouse.  I was immediately grossed out because I thought it was one of the drunkards from the night before yakking jagermeister all over the side of the house, so imagine my relief when I discovered it was only a couple of pigs.  Wait a minute...pigs??  Where the HELL did those things come from?

My first instinct was to run, because they were quite large, and we all know how dangerous pig pack mentality is.  However, the budding photojournalist in me knew better and thought this would be the perfect opportunity to capture a rare image of two large pigs in their native habitat.  I grabbed my camera and crouched behind the railing so they wouldn't see me and managed to snap a couple of action shots before I alerted them of my presence by elbowing a teetering can of Budweiser off the railing.  Instead of scattering, the pigs came over to investigate the sound that interrupted their wallowing.  They saw me and picked up the pace, trotting faster toward me.  Seeing the charging pigs automatically put me into survival mode and since I didn't have a poison blow dart handy, I got the hell out of there. 

Of course, once inside, nobody believed that I was charged by domesticated pigs, or even that there were pigs in the yard for that matter.  But I have evidence.  Behold, the pigs:

mmm...mud...

wallow, wallow, wallow...i love to wallow...

I hear something, let's check it out!

a human!  CHARGE!!!!

On our drive back to VT, I wouldn't shut up about how badly I wanted to see a moose.  A real live moose, not a dead bloated-in-the-ditch moose.  And, well, guess what?  WE SAW A MOOSE!!!  I was so excited I was shaking.  We pulled the car over to the side of the road and I hopped out for a quick photo shoot.  Since I did not have a very zoomy lens, and "A charging moose often kicks forward with its front feet, knocking down the threat, then stomping and kicking with all four feet", these are the best pics I could get:

nothing to see here guys, just munching on some apple cores

"mom, can we take that thing back to Jersey with us?"

I'd rather put my antler through your windshield.

crap, I've been spotted.  photographer, out.

I should be filling out my PE application right now

My application for a Professional Engineer license is due next Thursday.  The license that gives me the power to design things--by myself.  The license that lets people sue me when I make mistakes.  The license that gives me a fat raise and an extra 5 days of vacation. 

I'm getting ahead of myself.  First, I need to actually START FILLING OUT THE APPLICATION.  All of the items that are the responsibility of others-- the five professional references, the proof of education, notice of passing score on the FE, etc.-- are taken care of, but the items that I'm in charge of--namely the outline of my past 5 years of work experience--still sit waiting for me to touch them. 

I feel like the worst professional ever.  I'd honestly rather be watching RockStar (Josh sucks, he's a creepy Backstreet Boy, not a rock star) than working on something that will further my career.  I do wish I cared more. 

This weekend was 95+ degrees, which would have been the perfect opportunity to sit my ass in front of the computer and crank out five or six pages of work experience.  Instead, I went shopping and bought this:

The most gorgeous book cabinet in the world on extra-reduced clearance at an "all discontinued items" tent sale.  It has drawers on the bottom for my laptop and associated power cords.  Joe was kind enough to drill a small hole through the back of the drawer so I can charge my laptop inside the drawer.   In my defense: tent sale.

Day two of the hotty hotness would also have been a fine time for career-furtherin', but I chose instead to hike with Joe and the pups to our secret swimming spot on the lake.  After four miles of sweat dripping in the eyes and bugs sticking to the sweat, we arrived at our spot only to find five yachts (gasp!) tied together and anchored in the cove, and dozens of beautiful, well-groomed folk with their squealing, privileged children enjoying the lake.   Evvy had no problem crashing the party (PEOPLE!  I LOVE PEOPLE!!  I NEED TO GO LICK THEIR LEGS AND DO MY BOUNCY DOG DANCE FOR THEM!), but I was smelly, muddy, and was wearing the old bathing suit that is beginning to wear thin on the right butt-cheek, so we called her back and moved on to a less desirable, but equally refreshing swimming location.

My point is, why can I not focus on what most people deem one of the most important aspects of their lives?  Eh, careers.  Like now, for instance:  I am typing stories and questions when I should be describing to the VT Board of Professional Engineering how I designed a stormwater treatment facility for a small commercial office building back in November of 2002.

Enough self doubt for now, this chick is going to go decorate a cake.

this post is brought to you by the letter L

I did not lay them out like this.  They like arrange themselves in body letters when they're sleeping.  They also do T, I, K, V, and are working on W.

ball scratchers

This evening marked the first softball game played in the IBM softball league, 2006 season--a delayed start resulting from 5 consecutive mondays of rain and one national holiday.   Thanks to my new "wife" status, I am now eligible to play in the many sports leagues offered and organized by Vermont's largest private employer.  It was a lot of fun, we had a double header and now the back of my neck is a nice, crispy red.  Let me tell you a little about my team.  Eight men and eight women ranging in talent from one large, heavy hitter with an arm like the hulk, to an eighty pound giggler who skips around the bases.  Everyone else exhibits mediocre skills.   Just a ragtag bunch of statistics-loving engineers, wives, and wife engineers who happen to not be employed by IBM.

Now, let me tell you about the first team we played this evening.  For starters, they were clearly NOT engineers and I'm pretty sure their smallest player was bigger and badder than our largest player.  I would have been scared had I not been so entertained by the seriousness with which they played.  Dudes, this is a recreational work league, not the minors--do you really need to use the nose touch and ear wiggle signals?  These guys were ball scratching, tobacco chawing, outfield pointing, meatheads.  At least six of them were wearing what I call "coach shorts", which are polyester shorts, usually in sheet-rock gray, with a wide waistband for extra beer gut support.  Generally, these shorts are worn a size and a half too small, to accentuate the presence of an athletic supporter, or cup.  Two of the players were wearing gold chains on the outside of their shirts, and one of them even kissed it when he got up to the plate to bat. 

Needless to say we lost that one--by a point spread larger than my age.  OK, we were creamed (pronounced ka-reamed, accent on the second syllable, because it was really, really bad).  It was pretty much batting practice for the other team, a contest between them of who could hit it further out of the outfield.  I managed one hit, got walked twice (come on mr. pitcher, how hard is it to throw a decent pitch in softball?), slid into home (WAY fun) and made a few plays at third.   Joe brought the puppies down to watch for a couple of innings but they had to be banished to the car because Evvy wriggled out of her collar one too many times to greet me on the field.  We could have used the extra fielders, but I think I've mentioned before that she doesn't have the "bring it back to me" part of retrieving down yet.  Plus, I don't think that Team Serious would have found it amusing.

The evening is supposed to end with a trip to the local watering hole that offers $1.50 drafts on mondays (I didn't say monday nights because I'm pretty sure they open at 9AM, so the special runs all day), but Joe and I decided to play the "dogs need to get home" card so we could order a pizza and watch t.v. in the comfort of our own living room, where our shoes don't stick to the floor.  And we did, and it was good, but now it's time to hit the showers and try to scrub a double-header's worth of grime off of my feet that had to go sockless on a dusty ball field because I woke up late this morning.

There really are two dogs in this picture.