Must have music

As my training runs increased in length, I realized that it wouldn't do for me to listen to the incessant sound of my nostrils whooshing. I needed music in a bad way, so I made a date with my good friend eBay and scored myself a nice little iPod. I might be the last person on the planet to have purchased one, but that's the way I operate. When CDs started making their debut, I recall distinctly thinking that they were frivolous when I could listen to all my music on a cassette just fine--with the ability to record it right from the radio to boot! (as long as you don't mind a bit of DJ chatter at the beginning and end of every song on your mix tape, it's totally rad.) I also didn't see Titanic in the theatre, and have yet to create a social networking profile the likes of MyBook or FaceSpace or whatever. So you could say I'm a little slow to react when it comes to trends.

The day after my iPod arrived was to be our longest run yet: 4 miles, so I set to work uploading CDs into iTunes. I am a highly organized individual, and I can't stand the thought of just importing entire albums when I might only listen to a handful of songs from each. I don't want my shuffle setting to be an unending skip session--that would be no better than listening to the radio. So I am painstakingly going through each disc and selecting the songs that are worthy of my playlists. I use the present tense because the process is less than half finished. I don't know all the titles of songs I like, so I have to listen to snippets of some before deciding. On top of this I need to create a playlist just for running: songs with a tempo to keep me moving fast when I just want to lie down.

Since I had informed her that I finally jumped on the bandwagon, Margie brought her iPod for the first time too. But when I turned mine on I realized...I had uploaded a bunch of CDs, but had forgotten to sync the player with my computer. So the only music I had on my iPod was a test song I had downloaded compliments of Starbuck's pick of the week. In my humble opinion it sounded like the music I normally hear blasting from the boombox outside a house being framed by a group of Latin-American gentleman. In case you don't walk by construction sites often, it could be the same music playing over the speakers in your favorite authentic Mexican Restaurant. So that wasn't going to happen. I put my iPod back in the car, but told Margie she should still use hers, it was no big deal.

That was a naive statement to make, because that was a horrible run for me. I think Margie was in the zone with her music, and I felt like I was dragging 50-pound weights on each leg. It was a tough run. Our next run was a shorter distance, but listening to music helped significantly. I felt great and finished the run strong. What a difference.

Yesterday I ran my first race since I was 19. It was a measley little 5k. And it really kicked my butt. I am pleased that I finished with about a 9 minute/mile pace, but I would have loved to quit only halfway through. This makes me quite nervous for the 5-mile race I'm supposed to run this Sunday. My friend Anne, an experienced runner, said that I just need to go slower. She also said that I'm supposed to feel that way during a 5k, because "if you run it right, you should feel like throwing up at the end." Hm. By that advice, I'd say I did mighty well indeed.

First half marathon

On Saturday I walked 13.1 miles at the Champoeg Half Marathon. For you out-of-towners, that is pronounced sham-POO-ie, and it is the name of a State Park here in Oregon.

As you know, I've been training to do some beginner running races in the coming weeks. I thought it would be fun to throw this fitness walking challenge into the mix too, mainly so I could take pride in covering a greater distance, I suppose. I wanted a companion, so I sent an email last month to a select group of friends who both a) were in good enough shape to keep up with me for the distance, and b) I could envision sharing a pleasant 4-hour conversation. The only person I was able to recruit was my friend and Curves employee Linda. Now, Linda is almost 60, but I knew she walked 91 miles the week of Relay for Life this year, in honor of her mother who died of cancer at age 91. And I happen to really enjoy Linda's company, so it emerged as a good match.

I haven't been specifically training for this event, since I've replaced most of my walking with running. I do still push MBW in the stroller through my very hilly neighborhood sometimes, but we don't usually cover more than 3 miles at a time. But come on, it's just walking, right?

Well, Linda and I did just fine, but the last few miles were pretty intense. My iliopsoas (front of hip joint) was the most sore, and my back and ankles started aching too. I never felt like I needed to stop or like I couldn't finish it, but was pushing myself through some mild discomfort.

Here are my three favorite stories from My First Half Marathon Ever:

1. The Thirsty Runner

Walkers embarked on the course an hour earlier than runners. So about an hour and a half in, we were being passed by runners. The race brochure promised 3 water stations along the course. After the 5th mile, we still hadn't seen one. Around a bend in the road, we started up a fairly steep hill. From just behind us came a young woman's grunt of agony. She yelled, "Where is the water?" as she jogged painfully past us up the hill. Several people in the vicinity agreed that a tasty drop would be presently welcome.

This woman, now about 15 feet ahead of us, exclaimed between breaths that she was dying of thirst. She seemed pretty miserable, and so I said, "You can have a drink of my water..." The woman pivoted on her heels without delay and jogged toward me, mouth agape like a shark closing in on its prey. But I didn't have a water bottle I could squirt in her mouth, I was wearing my Camelbak, which has a straw-like apparatus attached over my shoulder, and which requires complete oral closure and suction to extract the refreshing water from within.

So we fast-walked side-by-side while she awkwardly tried to position herself in a way to get her mouth on the straw and suckle a sip. I was contorting as well to provide assistance, and explaining the technique in case she wasn't familiar with Camelbak's unique valve. Within a few moments she was off and running again, surely better off for the hydration. I honestly can't remember right now if she thanked me, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt here and imagine that she did.

Linda and I continued walking, taking a few moments to contemplate what had just occurred. I broke the silence by stating my observation that she didn't even hesitate. Roles reversed, if I would consider taking a stranger's offer of water, I know I would say, "Really?! Are you sure you don't mind?" And then, once I discovered that it would be impossible to share the water without a significant exchange of mouth cooties, I might seriously reconsider, thanking the person for their offer without taking advantage of it. Her immediate voracity, turning to me with mouth open wide, made me chuckle all the way until we reached the top of the hill...where we encountered the first water station.

2. Satisfaction Denied

Since I haven't been training for this event, I really had no idea what our mile pace would be. I expected it would be under 15 minutes per mile for some reason, so when Linda checked our time past the 8-mile mark and we were at 2h 15m, I was a little bit disappointed. But I didn't feel like we were walking slowly; we were definitely not strolling. We had not passed any walkers the whole time, and although I knew there were at least a couple of people behind us, I was surprised that we were so far behind the rest of the walking pack.

When we starting gaining ground on a couple of walkers ahead of us, I was pleased. Although I wasn't in the race to win, it would be satisfying to know that we picked up our pace enough to get past someone who started ahead of us. As we approached the two ladies, I noticed they weren't walking very fast at all. As we closed in, it became apparent that one was hunched over a bit, and I realized they were both adorable little blue-hairs, just out for a leisurely morning stroll. These two weren't participants in our event at all, our walking paths just happened to cross. So I flipped them the bird as we blew past them and shouted "So long, suckers!"

Just kidding.

3. Default Ribbon

Talk about a fanfare-free finish. By the time Linda and I pulled into the home stretch, most people had eaten their celebratory Clif bar, stretched their quads, and headed home. As we walked through the finisher's chute at 3h 42m, a young girl unceremoniously handed me a couple of medals, assuming I could do the honor of presenting Linda with hers. I examined the label on the back of the medal as I walked, and just as I asked aloud, to no one in particular, "Why does it say, 'Vancouver Marine Park 2.5 mile--'", I was interrupted by the same young girl running purposefully toward me with a sticker for to place over the existing label, this one printed with the information for the event which we had actually just finished. Leftover medals. Nice.

The announcer was reading off the runners who had placed in each age group as Linda and I rested and stretched on the grass. There were maybe 20 people hanging around to listen. Then he moved on to the walkers, listing the overall winners plus 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place in each gendered age group. He read off the female winners for age 20-24. Then 30-34, followed by 35-39. He skipped age 25-29 completely! So after all the names were read and a couple of people emerged from the remaining "crowd" to claim their ribbon, I approached the table.

"You didn't read the winners for age 25-29," I said politely.

He looked at his papers and replied, "Oh, there wasn't anyone in that age group."

"I'm 27!" I said, with the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning. I just crossed the finish line 15 minutes ago, but it was looking like I won first place in my division.

As he was getting ready to hand me my blue ribbon, the last four walkers crossed the finish. No one had come in between Linda and me and these two pairs (which puts us at 6th from last place, woo-hoo!). The man hesitated handing me the ribbon, looking at the final finishers. He wanted to make sure none of them would be first place in my age group. Even though they were all coming in after me.

He said, "What about that girl...no, she's probably over 30." Really?!?!? I don't care if she's 29, but give her the second place ribbon. Clearly she did not beat my time since I am standing in front of you and she is just walking across the finish line! I finally pryed my prized ribbon from the announcer (not really) and laughed all the way back to the car thinking that I came in nearly last place overall but still brought home a blue ribbon.

Walking the Half Marathon was a great experience, and I would enjoy doing it again. Maybe one day I'll run it and get there before all the Clif bars are devoured. Thank you for joining me Linda!Notice the empty parking lot...

My book got published

My book is now a published best-seller! Unfortunately, I won't be getting any portion of the profits, because I did not write it.

In 2001, I had the idea to write this book:

My work-in-progress title was The Psychology of Dining Out: Observations of Social Customs and Quirks, plus 15 tips for getting the best service in fine restaurants. But truthfully, that was simply a fancy way of luring people to read my Waiter Rant! I believed too few people would actually want to read my jaded commentary on the human condition from the perspective of an apron-clad worker. Wish I hadn't doubted myself. The book got its humble beginnings from a sarcastic waiter's anonymous blog. I discovered Waiter Rant's existence for the first time listening to the author discuss it on an evening radio-show interview. I felt just slightly sick to my stomach, a specific emotion that was faintly familiar to me. Soon it dawned on me: I felt precisely the same way when my car was broken into and my stereo and CD collection stolen. So my brain likened the publishing of this book to a thievery of my imagination. Of course that isn't true, and when you snooze, you lose, right?

I didn't follow my idea far, but it was more than a fleeting thought. I scribbled my inspirations in a spiral notebook, including a pocket-sized version that I carried in my servers' apron to jot those hilarious and poignant moments that frequently punctuate a waiter's shift. Here are just a few of those gems that I scrawled before losing interest and allowing a smarter man to abduct my brainchild:

Say PLEASE. Servers are not exempt from civility.

Your food gets touched. By people's hands. Many of them.

Taste the fish before you ask for tartar sauce.

Don't request the dressing "on the side" if you don't want it at all. Just say "no dressing." We won't be offended, and you won't be wasteful.

Six of my favorite material possessions

In no particular order...

1. Marquis Spa hot tub

• incredible neck jets


• sunken in our second-story deck


• amazing after a night run


• perfect for star-gazing


• wonderful in rain and snow

2. Digital camera

• the one I recently bought is not as excellent as I'd hoped


• but in general, the digital camera as an invention, is supreme


• love to take lots and lots of pictures, with no regard for wasting film


• that's the only way to end up with a couple of good shots


• fits in my pocket; I hate carrying extraneous bags

3. Crock Pot

• cook anything while you work, sleep, run errands


• it's like a personal chef for a one-time cost of $40

4. Laptop

• let us just say that I spend many, many hours with this contraption

5. Samsung slider cell phone

• also a necessity for both work and personal life, rarely out of my vicinity


• this is the coolest phone design I've ever owned, and I'll demand a slide-up cell phone forever after

6. Baldwin upright piano

• this is the instrument on which I learned to play and grew up practicing my scales and arpeggios


• now I enjoy my own little karaoke sessions to the scores of Rent, Les Mis, and Miss Saigon

What are some of YOUR favorite things?

The man for whom I would consider leaving my husband

Dennis Miller is intellectual comic genius and strikingly handsome. Gary won't be offended by my saying so, because I know if he had the chance to run away with Dennis Miller, he might not turn it down. So we both have crushes on the guy, which makes it acceptable.

Gary and I had the distinct pleasure of attending Dennis' recent performance at Spirit Mountain Casino here in Grand Ronde, Oregon. I feel like Mr. Miller takes my own political and social views and presents them with the precise cleverness that I can't always manage. I laughed out loud throughout his show, and had the unique benefit of hearing every other joke twice, as the man sitting next to me subscribed to the "repeat everything I think is funny in case others didn't hear it" school of thought.

Don't worry, Gary, you're still stuck with me for now. But I might just vote for DM as a write-in this year. Refreshing.

PS: We won $125 at the Blackjack table too. I love that game!

$9.75 zoo, expanded version

I posted some words about our recent zoo excursion on MBW's blog, and was encouraged to elaborate here. Read on for more ranting and fewer cutesy photos.

My toddler loves looking at the different animals in her books and can identify several of them, so I thought it was a good time to take her to the zoo to see some in real life. Only I forgot how rare it is to actually see live animals at the zoo. And even then, they are usually asleep, which to a toddler's eyes may as well be nonexistent.

Then there's the price. Madelyn's admission is free for a few more months, which is ironic because we go there primarily for her enjoyment, but pay only for our own tickets. I laughed out loud when I read on their website, "25 cents of the admission price helps fund regional conservation projects through the zoo's Future for Wildlife program." Wow, twenty-five cents out of nearly ten dollars, huh? An organization's touting of its benevolent contributions should relieve initial sticker shock. You know, the "Oh, I see, well if it's for a god cause..." I'm glad the Zoo is contributing to whatever cause it has deemed worthy. But I think they would have been better served by writing "Two and a half percent of Oregon Zoo's admission revenue helps fund..." A quarter just sounds so insignificant.

After nearly a half-hour at the zoo, our animal viewing consisted entirely of: creepy-looking salmon in murky water, several types of duck, one playful river otter (the highlight!) and a variety of other water foul. You can always count on fish and birds at the zoo!

In my opinion, the polar bears rank as one of the zoo's most entertaining exhibits. However, when we came by they weren't out to play. We watched a video about polar bears instead. My head is shaking in disgust.

My dear husband waited in line for probably 15 or 20 minutes for a dang elephant ear, but that was nothing compared to the line to get in to see the new baby elephant. We declined to stand in what looked to be a minimum 30-45 minute line (there are few things for which I'll wait in significant lines--a really good elephant ear among them), but the weird thing is there were roped-off zig-zags indicating that the line may well have extended as much as three times its current length! Who are these people? Clearly more elephant-calf-enthusiast than I. However, I did vote for the calf's name online, carefully choosing the least lame-sounding option: Samudra (yep, the other choices were worse).

It's not that we didn't see any cool animals. There were certainly a few. Such as bats, naked mole rats, and sleeping hippos (well, we could see their giant butts, anyway). The tiger was probably our most magnificent sighting, because s/he actually got up and walked around. This accentuated my belief that I've ever seen a wild cat awake at the zoo, because I found her movement mesmerizing.

Gary told me that there is a push for legislation to have tax dollars subsidizing the Oregon Zoo. On the one hand, I was appalled to hear this because the Zoo charges admission, operates an over-priced gift shop, restaurant, and several snack/souvenir kiosks. They are like any other business in our capitalistic society and should be supported by their patrons. On the other hand, in spite of any shortcomings, I think properly-maintained zoos with well cared-for animals offer a unique educational opportunity. I haven't the faintest clue what the operational costs might total, and if their admission/food/souvenir revenue doesn't cover it...I would hate to see the zoo become severely substandard, or disappear altogether. On a third hand (?), every business has to watch their bottom line and make adjustments accordingly. Perhaps if their revenue isn't paying the bills, they should explore some methods of decreasing expenses and/or increasing income. That is the way the rest of us do it, for Heaven's sake. Take a look at payroll and executive salaries, food and energy costs, expenditures relating to facility improvements whose necessity should be based upon funds available. A blank check from the government (aka my pocket) is NOT the answer (and it never is).

Oversight or strategy?

We drove out to the Gorge with some friends last week, and when we pulled up to a stoplight, my husband and I simultaneously broke into laughter. I immediately knew we had both spotted the same trailer ahead of us. I wasn't in a place to take a photo of it, but we all enjoyed a good laugh. Then yesterday, the very same trailer was parked in front of my next-door neighbors' house, fixing their deck leakage problems obviously. So I was afforded my photographic opportunity under the guise of nonchalantly fetching my mail.

So the big question is, is the intimate reference an intentional marketing tactic? Or is it possible that the person(s) in charge of creating their company name and slogan is too naive to get the double entendre?