Wednesday, January 27, 2010

I am behind.

Behind on the laundry. (Not that I am ever really ahead on the laundry, but right now, there may be small animals hibernating in the laundry baskets for all I know...or care. I hope at least they're small dogs. Alice really likes dogs.)

Behind on blogging. (Meghan threatened me with physical violence on Facebook if I did not update my blog. Extreme, especially considering I see her every day. She could just ask what is going on with me instead of the punch to my face that she promised would come my way. )

Behind on my workouts. (I missed a few last week. I HATE THAT. This week, all are done. But, then again, it is Wednesday. Big Whoop. Plenty of time left to eff it all up and sleep through my swim or bag the run. Fighting against that scenario though.)

What is taking up all my time, you ask?

Well, besides getting the equivalent of graduate degree in all things "Jersey Shore" (like crack, I must say), my time been has fairly evenly split between Snooki, Pauly D and closet cleaning. Then packing boxes. Then repeat. Ad infintum.

Yep. We're moving.

A whole mile away. Literally, it can't be more than a mile. Same neighborhood. Just a different house.

One that works a little better for us. Open floor plan as opposed to our current one where I can't see any kids from anywhere unless they are literally climbing up my legs to cry and whine and/or screaming bloody murder in some far off corner of the house where after a full on sprint I realize the cause to be Alice is unable to take the child proof caps off the dog's medicine to ingest it as she desires, a nightly scenario.

YAHOO for the new house. YAHOO for open floor plans. YAHOO for an actual laundry room. YAHOO for the second staircase off the master bedroom that the house inspector called the "Jon Benet stairs".

Wait, scratch that last part.

Whatever, this is Atlanta, not Boulder. And I am so excited. Like, dreaming-about-it-at-night-excited. Like, I am-sure-the-current-owner-is-about-to-call-the-cops-on-me- 'cause-he-knows-my-car-and-I-drive-by-about-once-a-day-just-to-see-it excited.

Move is in mid March/early April. From now until then, I will be like out my closet. (That's where the similarity ends misogynistic rapping, Moby feud starting, slapping my mom with a lawsuit outta me. Unless you cross me, Mom.)

It's been too long. Some recent shots....

Alice is happy to help clean the floor for the move. But, apparently, not her mouth.

E's pumped for the new house as well. The new pool table and creek in the yard sealed the deal for her.

Alice's "ankles", if you can call them that. She was standing next to me today and I just had to take a picture of the chub. It will soon be gone and I will forget how exquisite they were.

Mike's really excited about the new house, too. And I think this Wii tennis shot really shows how excited he is that we have a new house and have not yet sold our current house. So exciting for Mike. Yessir. :)

Me. Excited for the house and to be swimming in a suit that does not show everything to everyone in the pool like my suit that I wore all last week only to realize what the chlorine had done to the fabric...too late. Show's over LA Fitness.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

The Competition

90% of my training is solo.

It has to be. I swimbikerun at odd times, my workouts are so specific, I have two little kids, blah, blah. There are REASONS. Good ones. I promise, I have friends. :)

Well, the 90% of the solo training time leaves me a lot of thinking time.


And right now. In the cold, dreary winter. With my next triathlon 3 months away...

My favorite recurring training thoughts are of the girl I am going to beat next year.

Those thoughts make me smile.

A jerky smirk is more like it.

Those thoughts fuel me. They make my intervals faster, they keep me going when my body would prefer to sit on the couch watching "Jersey Shore" instead of running 12 miles in the rain. In January.

This girl is getting her a$$ handed to her at Gulf Coast. Left in the dust at John Tanner. Dropped like a hot potato at ING Half Mary.

The girl? Yeah, she's me. Last year.

2010 Kate's race plan? Kick 2009 Kate's ass.

2010 Kate is kind of a jerk. She's older AND faster.

Eat it, last year me.

Thursday, January 14, 2010


Race applications are digging deeper this year, it seems.

In addition to my name, age, address, estimated swim time, and money, they want to know my triathlon accomplishments (huh?), who is coming to the race to cheer for me (I put "Tiger Woods") and then the kicker, my occupation.

Good question, race director. Good freaking question.

You mean my job, right?

Homemaker? Nah. Sounds too much like I work construction. Plus, I feel it implies an expertise (cleaning, cooking fancy stuff, etc.) and interest (learning to clean and cook fancy stuff, etc.) that I lack.

I settled on "stay at home mom". Sounded accurate. Well, sort of. I am more of a "let's get out of this house before I go stir crazy" mom as opposed to one who stays. Cooking chateaubriand while scouring the baseboards.

Either way, it has been on my mind lately.

Got me thinking and realizing that it has been almost 5 years since the slight cramping in my 8th month of pregnancy with Ella hastened the (dreaded) bed rest and the end of my life in advertising. Just like that....poof!

But, working.
Just not getting paid.

Strange job.
Awesome benefits.

I thought I would go back. Definitely at a year. Certainly at a year.

Then I became a mom.

And all my "ideas" of what I was going to do and what I should do changed. I thought they might. But, then again, I had no idea. I was too pissed that they gave my desk to someone else at work.

Everyone is different. Every family figures out what works for them. This works for us. Won't forever....when that time comes and I've been out of work for XX years, who knows what I will put down on my race apps???

'Cause you know, that is the most important thing. That and payback for whoever stole my damn desk five years ago.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Cold as *%$@

Yeah, it is that cold here. (Fake)cursing-in-a-blog-post-title cold.

My trusty iphone, who accompanies me on most every run, told me that it was colder here in Georgia, than it was in Winston-Salem (believable) AND Boston (WHAT?!?!).

Single digits are in the forecast.

(Where are my damn gloves? I knew I had a pair somewhere around here??)

Seems like yesterday that my phone had enough of the heat. The error message, "TOO HOT. OVERHEATING. WILL SHUT OFF. GET OFF THE BLACK TRACK IN THE AFTERNOON, YOU DUMBA$$" flashed right before the thing shut off until I got it back in the air conditioning.

Temperamental apple products.

I know, I know...we are not really cold like say, the midwest is cold. (Jen, can just stop reading my whines now.) But, we are cold for the South.

(This carseat does NOT fit with that puffy jacket, Alice. And Ella, where is your hat? You HAVE to wear your hat. NON NEGOTIABLE, kid.)

It is really not that bad when you're used to it, and I used to be used to it. Born in Chicago, grew up in NJ. I've had my fair share of snow and ice. But, I don't expect it here. Don't want it. Don't remember how to dress for it. Don't even really have the right clothes to even do it if I wanted to.

I don't own a real winter coat. Fleece doesn't count. I had to make a very necessary scarf detour at the start of my long run yesterday...I thought my face was going to freeze off. (When running in the cold, "your lungs WILL NOT freeze" always goes through my head thanks to my winter track HS coach.) Biking outside is out of the question (and honestly it is until March, at the earliest for me). Hello, trainer.

I am too cold weather dumb to attempt riding when it is below um, 60?

My lungs would definitely freeze then. It's true. Promise.

Unrelated pics of my girls. I have some wintry ones that would make sense, but my computer is too full (damn apple, again) to load them. Instead, here's of my girls making fun of the way I smile. And the 17 month old started this. No kidding.

And here is one of many examples of the girls eating like dogs. Again, this trend can be attributed to Alice. (Although she wouldn't comply for the picture. Go figure.) Woof.