I love my morning commute, except perhaps for the fact that it's uphill nearly the whole way. As a result, I get cheers from the gentleman crowd--everything from "strong legs" to "hey gorgeous".
Now, I'd like to point out that I'm usually in work clothes, which means heels and skirts, but that in the summer I'm usually wearing a sundress and Dr. Scholl's (yes, I adore wooden shoes, including the loud "clump clump click click" they make in coridores in the library. Quite zone, my tookus.). In addition to my regular clothes, I have a nifty contraption that helps keep my skirt from blowing up (it's amazing, and I should share the tip with you all some day--call me Heloise) and wear a helmet. Truly, the least attractive safety gear, perhaps ever.
So it was a surprise to me when a guy, on his bike, coming towards me, did his best to impress me. He sat up in his saddle, and put both arms in the air, with his fingers making little "1"s. You know, like the winner of the Tour de France might. Because I was in such a hurry, I didn't stop to tell him what I thought of his outstanding performance.
Here's hoping he reads my blog.
In other news, I'm slowly getting around to writing letters which are...oh...6 months overdue? It's a sad fact of life that I do not keep in touch with those far away, but try to visit them as often as I can. This means a trip (not long enough!) to Virginia was dedicated to seeing those I hadn't seen the last time I was up (in the winter), but that, due to dissertation writing constraints, I couldn't make it to Germany or Switzerland this summer. Eeeek!
Here's hoping that I get this dissertation done, and that I then get a job for next year. I miss my friends out there in the fatherland, and hope to see them soon.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Triathlon
I've finally registered for the triathlon August 15.
The one thing which gives me concern?
On the registration form, you could register as "open", "Clydesdale", or "Athena".
While this would normally not surprise me, the weights assigned to the latter two categories gave me reason to pause: the male requirement for Clydesdale is 200 pounds; the female weight requirement for Athena 150 pounds.
I believe they might just be calling me "big boned".
Now I just have to decide if they are telling me to lose a bit more weight so that I'm a more "normal" triathlete, or gain 12 pounds so that I can compete as a goddess.
The one thing which gives me concern?
On the registration form, you could register as "open", "Clydesdale", or "Athena".
While this would normally not surprise me, the weights assigned to the latter two categories gave me reason to pause: the male requirement for Clydesdale is 200 pounds; the female weight requirement for Athena 150 pounds.
I believe they might just be calling me "big boned".
Now I just have to decide if they are telling me to lose a bit more weight so that I'm a more "normal" triathlete, or gain 12 pounds so that I can compete as a goddess.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Fear the Turtle!: Redux
I know, I know. I'm preoccupied with the turtle. But it roars, can you blame me?
Today I managed about 1/2 mile in the lake, which I feel is quite an accomplishment. As I swam with my head in the water, I kept seeing it swim at me, all brown and green, with mouth agape, bright pink. Why can't I have a turtle shell on my underside? Why do I feel like I must look like a carp floundering in the water?
The second half of the swim, I did breast stroke, which I prefer. I could have a conversation with my mom, and kept my head above water. We figured out that if there are 200 swimmers in the lake for the race, my chances of getting attacked by a vicious turtle are far slimmer than when I'm the only body over 100 pounds in the whole lake.
At least this swim has shown me that I am getting more comfortable in the lake (pools are not a problem), and that I can stay in the water for 25 minutes without losing all bodily control.
Two days ago I went for a bike ride, doing around 35 miles. The ride on the W&OD is peaceful for the most part, although there tend to be a number of intersections so that you have to unclip from the pedals every half mile or so.
The half-way point for the ride was Leesburg, VA, which is really quite pretty:
I asked my mom if I'd ever been there before, since I didn't remember it at all. Every time we go to Leesburg, it's to go shopping in their outlet mall.
Can you guess which version of Leesburg I prefer?
Today I managed about 1/2 mile in the lake, which I feel is quite an accomplishment. As I swam with my head in the water, I kept seeing it swim at me, all brown and green, with mouth agape, bright pink. Why can't I have a turtle shell on my underside? Why do I feel like I must look like a carp floundering in the water?
The second half of the swim, I did breast stroke, which I prefer. I could have a conversation with my mom, and kept my head above water. We figured out that if there are 200 swimmers in the lake for the race, my chances of getting attacked by a vicious turtle are far slimmer than when I'm the only body over 100 pounds in the whole lake.
At least this swim has shown me that I am getting more comfortable in the lake (pools are not a problem), and that I can stay in the water for 25 minutes without losing all bodily control.
Two days ago I went for a bike ride, doing around 35 miles. The ride on the W&OD is peaceful for the most part, although there tend to be a number of intersections so that you have to unclip from the pedals every half mile or so.
The half-way point for the ride was Leesburg, VA, which is really quite pretty:
I asked my mom if I'd ever been there before, since I didn't remember it at all. Every time we go to Leesburg, it's to go shopping in their outlet mall.
Can you guess which version of Leesburg I prefer?
Monday, July 5, 2010
Chinatown Bus
For the last few days, I've been in Brooklyn visiting a good friend from High School. She offered a number of options for getting up there and back, and I, magically, misunderstood the fact that she only provided one link (the link for the Chinatown bus) as a recommendation. Oops.
Getting up there was quite easy: show up to Chinatown in DC, hop on bus, appear 5-6 hours later in NYC's Chinatown. Finding the subway line was also quite easy, helped by lyrics from a Regina Spektor song. A few stops down, and I was in Brooklyn.
The next two days were fun, relaxing, and a good reminder of why I stay in touch with my friend. Episodes with cockroaches (I'm convinced she has other people kill them so she's not reincarnated as one--she's Indian), calls to the police because of disturbance of the peace (her neighbours regularly play loud music on the front stoop past 1 am), and falafels made the visit.
But the most memorable part of the visit was probably trying to get the bus back to DC. We miss the 6.30 bus by a few minutes, and wait for the bus to come the next hour. It pulls up...nearly full. The five free seats quickly get filled, and two more stand empty. The women sitting next to the seat pretend not to understand a word. We get off the bus, assuming they are saving the seats. People with babies get on. They aren't allowed to sit in seats, as they are at the front of the bus and therefore deemed unsafe. Ugliness ensues.
Several more buses depart, but for Philly. People desperate to leave the city push to get on each bus that pulls up, as there is no system for queuing. Push, push, yell, yell. The woman at the station continues selling tickets, and also keeps saying that the next bus is coming in five minutes.
8:30; we've been there nearly two hours. A bus pulls up, and my friend and I put the system to the test. She's five feet tall, and more forceful than me. I deal with the bags, she pushes forward to get two seats.
The bus is full, she's on, and I'm outside. She calls to tell me to get my @$$ on the bus, as she is holding a seat for me. People will not let me, nor the man whose wife and baby are on the bus to get on.
Panic.
Bus driver comes forward, after I've yelled out (to no one in particular) to please let me on; my seat is on the bus. No movement, just blank stares. He points to man, says, "wife?" The man gets on. He looks at me. "Friend?" "Yes, yes, my friend is on the bus and has a seat for me!"
I get on.
People shoot me stares of death.
They have not been there for two hours like we have.
The ride home is punctuated by rudeness from the family seated around us; passive aggressive remarks and actual pushing of my friend occurred. Apparently one woman was mad at my friend for holding the seat for me. B, clever girl, asked the woman what she would have done if she were traveling with her family. "Hmfff" came the singular reply.
Sadly, that ride was also racially charged. So much of the bus ride proved that different groups of people have different ways of dealing with these things. Behaviour that's common in Asia is not tolerated by the non-Asian riders here. Several groups expected service, even though they only wanted to pay the $20 for the ticket. And me? I longed for timely, calm Swiss transport.
Yep. You read it here: I wanted order, timeliness, kindness. Foolish me for riding the Chinatown bus.
Getting up there was quite easy: show up to Chinatown in DC, hop on bus, appear 5-6 hours later in NYC's Chinatown. Finding the subway line was also quite easy, helped by lyrics from a Regina Spektor song. A few stops down, and I was in Brooklyn.
The next two days were fun, relaxing, and a good reminder of why I stay in touch with my friend. Episodes with cockroaches (I'm convinced she has other people kill them so she's not reincarnated as one--she's Indian), calls to the police because of disturbance of the peace (her neighbours regularly play loud music on the front stoop past 1 am), and falafels made the visit.
But the most memorable part of the visit was probably trying to get the bus back to DC. We miss the 6.30 bus by a few minutes, and wait for the bus to come the next hour. It pulls up...nearly full. The five free seats quickly get filled, and two more stand empty. The women sitting next to the seat pretend not to understand a word. We get off the bus, assuming they are saving the seats. People with babies get on. They aren't allowed to sit in seats, as they are at the front of the bus and therefore deemed unsafe. Ugliness ensues.
Several more buses depart, but for Philly. People desperate to leave the city push to get on each bus that pulls up, as there is no system for queuing. Push, push, yell, yell. The woman at the station continues selling tickets, and also keeps saying that the next bus is coming in five minutes.
8:30; we've been there nearly two hours. A bus pulls up, and my friend and I put the system to the test. She's five feet tall, and more forceful than me. I deal with the bags, she pushes forward to get two seats.
The bus is full, she's on, and I'm outside. She calls to tell me to get my @$$ on the bus, as she is holding a seat for me. People will not let me, nor the man whose wife and baby are on the bus to get on.
Panic.
Bus driver comes forward, after I've yelled out (to no one in particular) to please let me on; my seat is on the bus. No movement, just blank stares. He points to man, says, "wife?" The man gets on. He looks at me. "Friend?" "Yes, yes, my friend is on the bus and has a seat for me!"
I get on.
People shoot me stares of death.
They have not been there for two hours like we have.
The ride home is punctuated by rudeness from the family seated around us; passive aggressive remarks and actual pushing of my friend occurred. Apparently one woman was mad at my friend for holding the seat for me. B, clever girl, asked the woman what she would have done if she were traveling with her family. "Hmfff" came the singular reply.
Sadly, that ride was also racially charged. So much of the bus ride proved that different groups of people have different ways of dealing with these things. Behaviour that's common in Asia is not tolerated by the non-Asian riders here. Several groups expected service, even though they only wanted to pay the $20 for the ticket. And me? I longed for timely, calm Swiss transport.
Yep. You read it here: I wanted order, timeliness, kindness. Foolish me for riding the Chinatown bus.
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