I'm writing this while sitting in the laundry room of my boyfriend's apartment. You see, there's a tornado warning out there and this is an interior room away from windows. There was somewhere around zero tornado warnings the first 3 summers I lived in Wisconsin, so I'm happy to report that in the first summer when Stephen lives here we've already had a handful. (his first winter here broke coldness records.)

I did make the mistake of starting a load of laundry (when in Rome...) and now every time the washer (which I'm sitting inches from) makes a weird noise (constantly), I perk up thinking I'm hearing a funnel cloud coming through the windows.

In short, I thought it was high time for a blog post.

I crossed something (big) off My 101 in 1001 List: I completed a triathlon!!

I forgot to wear my blue jeans

I tried the Wisconsin Triterium Triathlon in Verona, Wisconsin on Saturday! (results here to prove I'm not lying - and for my dad who surely misses looking at box scores. :) )

Overall, I will say: it was hard. But worth it.

Let's start with the swim. Everyone told me before the race "Open water swimming is really different, you should try it before the triathlon." Did I? Nope. But, it wasn't all because of pure laziness. Open water swimming can be dangerous if you're alone, and, as I knew swimming would be a challenge for me regardless, I was comfortable with practicing in a pool and just mentally preparing for the open-waterness.

For me, the weirdest part of open water swimming is how you are just constantly touching other people. Arms, legs, feet, hands, all flailing around in murky, unclear water. Also, weeds. But, I managed to finish respectably with others in my group. (probably in the bottom third but decidedly in the bottom third). Also, I repeated the mantra "It's better slow and alive than fast and dead" in my head. That proved oddly motivational.

The bike course? I should have tried beforehand. I cannot overstate the number of hills in the 11 mile bike route. Hills on hills on hills. I'm convinced this course is the hilly-est stretch in this mid-western, ostensibly FLAT state. (Hello, tornado warning.) Hills for days.

Biking was by far the most humbling component of the experience. I just kept getting passed. They do this thing at tri's where they marker up your body. They write your bib number on your arm and one calf, as shown:

post race gun show (note: although this pictures suggests otherwise, I was not sponsored by lululemon ;) )

On your other calf they write your age and an "S" for sprint or an "O" for olympic (longer distances). So, I got the joy of watching women pass me on bikes.....and knowing that they were 55 years old. Countless females passed me who were over 40 as I struggled my way up the endless hills. Did I mention there were hills?

Did the older triathletes have road bikes and was I one of few people riding a hybrid? Yes.
Were they also better bikers than me? Absolutely.

my bike and Lake Monona

So, I will say I have a long way to go until the Tour de France but a little dose of humility now and then never hurt anyone!

After the misery of the bike, the run felt much better! Not that I did great (actually, I ran at a pretty slow pace for me), but I got to end on the note of passing people versus being passed.And I was beyond happy to cross the finish line in one piece!

Overall, I enjoyed the experience, and if you're looking to find a new, fun thing to train for that isn't exclusively running, I highly recommend you try a tri. Feel free to hit me up with beginner questions! (I'm no ironman.)

Shout out to my two friends, Ainsley and Fran who completed the race with me! And to Stephen for waking up at 5:20am to come support us! Another lesson learned: next time, we should take "before" pictures.

Monday Inspiration: 101 in 1001

The internet is overly saturated with people absolutely hating on Monday.

Sure, waking up this morning and realizing it was time to go to work felt a lot like watching Portugal score an equalizer in the last second of the USA game yesterday (womp, womp) but, you guys, Monday comes once a week. And I think all the "negative press" about Monday online isn't helping me make it through the day without an exorbitant amount of coffee.

Thus, in an unprecedented move I give you: my best attempt at an inspirational Monday post!

view from Devil's Lake

I have been inspired to compile a "101 things in 1001 days" list. I originally heard of this idea from Mackenzie over on Design Darling and spent about 1001 days thinking about how I should write one. Quite literally. Mackenzie just wrapped up her first list and started her second list, and that's when realized that if I was casually thinking about starting a list for 2.75 years, maybe I should, you know, start one.

The goal is to come up with 101 new things to try in the next 2 and three-quarters year. So, not quite as dramatic as a Bucket List (death is not the deadline), and not quite as stressful as a post-it to-do list that lingers on my desk and taunts me every hour of every day. I'm all for happy mediums.

I haven't come up with all 101 items yet, but am tracking them on this newly created page of my blog, and wanted to share a few today.

1. Try stand up paddle boarding 

My proximity to beautiful lakes and my negligible amount of time spent doing water activities on said lakes is embarrassing. I'm determined to take advantage of Wisconsin's lovely lakes this summer. And stand up paddle boarding can't be too hard, right?

8. Tour the Madison Capital building

I've taken somewhere between 15 and 987 pictures of Madison's iconic landmark since moving to Madtown in July of 2011. Have I ever gone on one of the free tours offered every hour on the hour? Nope, though I've opted to eat brunch over looking it's exterior countless times. I'm determined to change that (and have brunch after the tour.)

this 8:30pm over-the-weekend picture of the Madison Capital brought to you by the summer solstice

10. Read 20 new books. Including Jane Eyre 

As an English major, the fact that I've never read Jane Eyre is essentially a dirty little secret. I'm pretty sure Bucknell would evoke my degree immediately if they ever found out.

15. Finally watch The Matrix

To indelibly avoid hearing the ever-prevalent question that has haunted my adult life, "You've never seen The Matrix!?!?!?"

21. Visit at least 3 new states 

Using the "if you stepped on land in the state, you were there" criteria, I have 36 states down and 14 to go. Does this mean I might be dragging my boyfriend to Idaho with me soon? Quite possibly.

My goal is to complete my list by the end of June - so be sure to check my 101 in 1001 days page for updates! More posts to come as I finish the list and (hopefully) start checking items off!

Tri, Tri Again

I'm training for a sprint triathlon in June.

I want you to imagine what you think "training for a triathlon" looks like and divide that by 100. That's what I'm doing.

It involves a lot of HGTV. And gelato.

My favorite thing to make for dinner is reservations, but my favorite thing to bring to dinner parties is gelato. When the planning begins for any potluck style event, I instantly call dibs on wine and dessert. And 90% of the time my dessert is of the store bought variety. Talenti sea salt gelato has been a crowd-pleaser even for the most epicurean attendees:

*this post is unfortunately not sponsored by talenti. Though at this rate, they should sponsor my life.

Oh, you grew basil in your herb garden and then used it to make a homemade pesto that we're eating over made-from-scratch linguini? Pass the wine, please. Also, when's dessert!?

Where was I before I began discussing my passion for store bought frozen delicacies? Oh, right. Exercise.

Last week I was in New York staying in a well-placed hotel near Times Square. I decided that I'd wake up early in the city that never sleeps to run through Central Park. You see, the triathalon involves running a 5k as the last event. I'm pretty sure I'll drown before I get to that part, but on the off-chance I survive swimming, and don't wreck my bike, I'd prefer not to pass out half way through a 3.1 mile run.

Our hotel was on 38th & the Avenue of Americas - so it was a straight shot up to Central Park (which starts at 59th) and then back. I tried this on Wednesday morning - and it was awesome! Even early, the city was so alive. I found myself running faster than usual, which I attributed to the fact that I had so many spectators.**

On Thursday, I ventured out for another morning run.  I didn't let the fog hinder me, and as I entered Central Park, a light rain began to fall. Undeterred, I picked up my pace and held my own with probably hundreds of other runners in the park. The energy in the city is palpable.

When it was time to turn around, I exited the park the same way I entered, and began the mile run back to the hotel down on 38th...or so I thought.

It was only when I looked up through the rain drops and saw a sign for 78th street that I began to panic. Apparently my overconfidence from my successful prior run had resulted in my not paying close any attention to where I was. One super disappointing fun fact about me is I have no sense of direction.  If I were born before the invention of the GPS, I'd probably still be aimlessly wandering Manhattan with nothing but over-priced lululemon workout gear and a surely expired hotel room key.

Fortunately, I had my iPhone in hand which was able to confirm just how far away I was from my destination:

**I'm pretty sure the actual reason I felt like I was running faster in New York is my new running app is totally inaccurate. It always says I'm faster than I actually am. I don't hate it.

I was done working out, it was time to get ready for work, and I was 40 blocks away from my hotel.



At that point, I decided to turn off my app. Running was no longer simply a means of exercise, a mere way to burn calories to justify future dessert consumption. It was a necessary means of physicial transportation.

With no other vehicle but my own two tired feet, I felt a newfound connection with the caveman who lived before the advent of cars, with Arya Stark who walked for days across Westeros, with the fleet-footed ancient Greecian war messenger who ran the first-ever marathon just to say "Nike!"

And, you know, like all other people who ever walked/ran to get around. In the grand scheme of things, there are lots of them.

Still, it felt primitive. Not running for exercise, but running because my body needed to be in my hotel room 20 minutes ago. I finally made it back, and thanked my athlete roots that I can physically prepare for any event in less than 15 minutes. (business traveler friends: the first step is giving up on ironing.)

Needless to say, I obviously ran way farther than originally planned. But don't worry, I've been making up for my unintentionally long run with intentional extra gelato.

Count the headlights on the highway

If there were two words that could capture the exact opposite of my outward-most being, they would be "tiny dancer."

That doesn't damper my love for the Elton John number, though. Does that song make anyone else want to quit their day jobs and be a seamstress for a band?

In the spirit of appreciating dancers who are half my size, I attended the New York City Ballet last night - and loved it.

The past three years I've been to The Nutcracker around the holidays, but that's been my only recent exposure to ballet. Don't get me wrong. I was a successful ballerina in my youth. OBVIOUSLY.

I conquered ballet, tap, and jazz (all before kindergarten!) and distinctly remember actually colliding with twin sister whilst attempting a ballerina's leap at age 6.

Who knew ballet could be a contact sport?

Of course, when kindergarten came I was forced to retire. It was hard hanging up my Minnie Mouse costume (equipped with endlessly entertaining 4-finger gloves) for life, but I knew I had to move onto better things. Particularly, better things that required less balance and overall coordination. Like math.

Last night, I got to witness those who never did move on from good old ballet. And it was beyond impressive.

While watching, I kept thinking about the time I did Yoga Barre and the evil instructor made me hold onto the barre, stand on one foot, and hold my back leg out for like, five straight minutes. Violent shaking ensued. (More yoga thoughts in this post). And all the ballerinas were holding their knees next to their ears like it was totes NBD. Oh, you want me to twirl around 12 times in a row? Another day, another dollar, yo.

The nice part about the ballet we saw was it had four distinct parts. Since  it was a compilation of different pieces, there was a wide variety of music and dancing. My favorite part? A section called The Steadfast Toy Soldier that was awesome.

SPOILER ALERT: IF YOU WOULD RATHER EXPERIENCE THIS FIRST HAND (by reading the Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale or seeing the ballet personally) PLEASE STOP READING. I'LL RUIN IT FOR YOU. AND I HATE SPOILERS.

I am still holding a grudge against the ruthless person who told me the key character that dies in the fifth Harry Potter book before I could get to that chapter. I'll never forget the moment. I was on the band bus. And I was livid. I'm willing to take that one to my grave.

Anyway, I hope we lost all the adamant fairy tale readers/ballet goers by now. I'm guessing I probably lost just about everyone with that last little blurb but I wanted to do that just to be sure. I'd rather have no readers than have readers who hold grudges against me, you know what I mean? Me neither.

So The Steadfast Toy Soldier starts with a person marching/jumping around dressed as a toy soldier (shocker!) and a doll standing still (that's actually a person dressed as a doll). The plot then progresses as follows:

The soldier dances.

The doll dances.

The soldier dances.

The doll dances.

The soldier and the doll dance together.

The soldier and the doll dance together some more.

The soldier gives the doll a little red heart which she slips in her leotard. (Not as scandalous as it sounds).

The soldier and the doll dance.

The doll gets hot so she opens the window.

Wind blows into the room.

The soldier and the doll continue to dance.

The doll gets blown into the fire place and is burned alive.

The soldier picks up all that remains of the doll (the little red heart).

THE END.

It totally took an unexpected turn for the worst, right?! Who knew Hans Christian Anderson could pull a George R.R. Martin like that? I actually found it very hard not to spontaneously burst out laughing throughout the rest of the show because I kept wondering if any of the other ballerinas in any of the other dances were, you know, going to die. But nope - only the doll! I'm happy to report no one else was murdered or injured during the rest of the performance, and I highly recommend seeing it if you find yourself in the Big Apple!

Crows having dinner

Sometimes, for work, I fly on Sundays. When that happens, I have to find something fun to do on the plane to prevent me from dipping into a crippling state of depression. I always get the Sunday night blues (think: last day of summer break. times ten. every weekend.) So when I travel on Sundays, I have to work extra hard not to get down. Since sitting in a seat on a plane is not unlike sitting in the back of cozy coupe and being 6 feet 2 inches tall, my options are limited.

Were planes made in the dark ages when the average height was 5' 4"? Do midgets walk on planes and feel at home? How does anyone taller than me POSSIBLY fly? Do you really have to make 100 screeching loud announcements about the weather? Do you not see I'm trying to listen to music? Does anyone, except perhaps professional golfers, even remotely care about the direction of the wind at their destination?!

Sorry for the outburst, internet. I blame Delta. (and Delta's my favorite! Of course, being my favorite commercial airline is like being my favorite terminal disease)

So, this Sunday, before being boxed up and shipped out East, I entered the Madison Airport gift shop, which is primarily stocked with "Drink Wisconsibly" T-shirts and cow and cheese paraphernalia. 

obviously these come in badger red and packers green and yellow - what else?

I desperately searched a book display so disorganized that it gives my bedroom a run for its money. And my desk throughout college looked like this.

Who needs to alphabetize when you can put 100 books on a shelf willy nilly? Every other book is a young adult dystopian novel, so what difference does it make?

When I started to risk missing my flight, I caved.

Me to cashier: Do you guys have any George R. R. Martin books?

Cashier: looks at me as if I am speaking in foreign tongues 

Me: Game of Thrones?

Cashier: Oh, we only have one - something about dinner for crows...

Me: THAT'S THE ONE I NEED!

Thus, A Feast for Crows was procured, a flight was caught, and an obsession was rekindled.

It's been about a year since I visited Westeros, and I've read many great books in the interim. I dabbled in nonfiction more than ever before - thoroughly enjoying Onward by Howard Schultz, Open by Andre Agassi, and Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg.

I loved Open and Onward - however, whilst reading Lean In, I had to simultaneously consume Lev Grossman's The Magicians in order to ensure I was being thoroughly entertained.

Despite other successful reads, the land of dragons, knights, incest, murder, and one particularly cunning dwarf was calling me back.

So, as fair warning, I may be preoccupied for the next few months. And I can't promise my blog won't suffer. I mean, my personal hygiene might suffer.

Everyone says the fourth book is the worst book in the series, but being the worst Game of Thrones book is kind of like being the worst candy. Which, for the record, is way better than being the best airline.

Melted

Today the high in Madison is 55 degrees.

Can you hear the angels rejoicing? I don't think they've been this excited since a virgin gave birth in a manger a couple thousand years ago.

I grew up in Pittsburgh, so it's not like I never saw snow before moving to Wisconsin. I was accustomed to 2-hour delays, the occasional snow day, shoveling (read: watching my parents shovel), and sledding. All of those things are nice components of winter (unless you're actually doing the shoveling, I would suppose, not that I would know), and I'm a big fan of seasons.

But after this winter in Madison, I'm all for the permanent eradication of winter.

IT.

WAS.

SO. 

COLD.

Like can't start my car, don't go outside with any of your skin showing due to immediate frost bite risk, cold.

Every single flight delayed for the entire winter, cold.

If you ever go outside without a hat, even to walk 4 blocks, your ears hurt for hours, cold.

WHY did ANYONE ever CHOOSE to settle in this part of the country, cold.

You're driving to work and it's negative 19 degrees; but feels like negative 45, cold.

the lakes freeze every year, but this year was no exception (source of picture)

I heard that this is the 10th coldest winter in the history of Wisconsin since they, like, started recording this stuff (centuries ago?) - and it's the coldest in my company's history (since 1979).

What a great time to live in the cheese state! And a good first winter for Stephen to live in Madison! The way guests will describe trips to Madison is, "It's a whole different type of cold here."

There was also an trip last year where we were trying to walk to a piano bar, but starting running because we were freezing. Becky infamously proclaimed, "My eyes are cold." Which truly is how it felt most of this winter. Parts of your body you didn't even know existed were cold.

Although I've heard great things about the movie about "Frozen", I didn't see it because I thought the title hit a little too close to home. I think its sequel that clearly should be called "Melted" will be more up my alley.

But, now, there are signs of spring! I can see grass! The sidewalks aren't entirely covered in a treacherous layer of ice! I ran outside yesterday and didn't contract frostbite! I didn't wear a coat to work today (just a warm sweatshirt)! There are birds. There is life. There is hope. 

And, although all "sconnies" know that it will likely snow again, I'm hopeful we won't hit negative 19 in March or April.

I am happy to report, in honor of these warmer days, I may be changing my family motto to the most uplifting phrase I can think of right now: Winter is leaving. 

don't hate it cause you ain't it

Ahhh I've been gone for over a month. In my defense, February is the shortest month. Also, I went to Lewisburg, PA and San Juan, Puerto Rico during February! (Among other predictable work trips.)

For a nice juxtaposition, here are a couple pics:

the library on a snowy grey day in central PA (Ray Bucknell!)

mom and sis on a stroll near our hotel in San Juan

view from the balcony one morning!

I cannot post any more Puerto Rico pictures here because I haven't even managed to post any to facebook yet (sorry, Beck!). I can tell I'm getting older because I'm becoming increasingly worse at social media. Pretty soon I'm going to be tagging other people's photos and commenting on relationship break ups with "What happened???!"

Anyway, I do this thing where if I don't blog for a while and want to write a new post I feel like I have to post something awesome. Then I can't think of anything awesome, so I delay even more. The more I delay, the more awesome I feel the post needs to be, the less ideas I have. And so on.

This could be the basic infrastructure for most vicious cycles of unproductivity in life.

It gets to the point where I feel in the next post I either need to give each of my readers a free trip to Hawaii, or never ever blog again, and potentially we should just turn off the internet, you guys. Who needs it?

I struggle with extremes.

But then I reach the extreme where I'm like "anything is better than nothing" So, speaking of nothing, I decided to write to you about the goals I set last week.

I was traveling to South Dakota solo so wanted to spice things up. I decided to set 2 goals for the week:
1. Say "don't hate it cause you ain't it" three times in a professional setting
2. order some nice, comfy pajama pants online

WHOA. DREAM BIG.

I accomplished neither. The pursuit of number 1 is still ongoing - I decided to extend the timeline, as it turns out there aren't all too many chances to squeeze this stellar gem into conversation in an appropriate way. But it is one of my all-time favorite cocky phrases. Others in the top 10? "if you got it, flaunt it" and of course, the infamous, "it ain't trickin if you got it."

I do this thing where I continuously lie to myself about the affordability of J. Crew, so, in pursuit of number 2, I was trying to shop for pajama pants on J. Crew's website.

So glad I did. Because this:

Twelve hundred dollars. On an article of clothing that, by the way, you don't wear OUT OF THE HOUSE. This totally made me have flashbacks of my Bitter is the new black fashion post from a couple years back. Because, really, the only question in this case (to quote family guy) is HHHHHHHHHHwhy?

My favorite part? For $10, you can add a monogram. What's $10 to someone who's buying a $1,200 cashmere robe? I mean, that's 0.83% of the cost. If you're willing to spend hundreds of dollars on an accessory to your pajamas, why wouldn't you get it monogrammed? Might as well get it plated in 24 carat gold and while you're at it, where is the servant that can bring me my diamond-studded slippers? I can only sit at my table Saturday mornings drinking coffee if I know the clothing I'm wearing exceeds most people's weekly income.

This caused me to make goal #3: I just want to find the subset of the population who orders these robes, force them to watch endless videos on world hunger, buy them all snuggies, and call it a day. I am of course fearful that one of the cashmere-clad group will combat my effort with a sassy "don't hate it cause you ain't it." At which point, I'll be at a loss.