It's a small world!

Today Zdenek and I ran 10 km. The entire time, my stomach sloshed back and forth like the Bay of Fundy (you need to visit to get the joke). It's been only four days, but I have been ingesting insane amounts of food (most of it greasy and/or carb-laden) and an equally insane amount of drink. Isn't that what vacations are all about?

In any case, it's been a spectacular day, and this trip is getting better and better. We had a last hurrah in New Brunswick (through Hopewell Rocks and Moncton) and then headed into PEI. Wow. This island is simply stunning. At every turn we are amazed, and I just can't believe it took me 31 years to see this part of my country.

After checking in to our accommodation tonight, we took our 10k run down a lonely, deserted road (which basically describes most of PEI). It was tough and hilly and we felt like crap (and my stomach sloshed the entire time, which may have been due to the beer and pizza in Moncton three hours prior, or could have possibly been caused by the Tim Hortons I enjoyed along the Acadian coast just before crossing Confederation Bridge). Although it rained most of the time, it was completely cleansing. We both felt refreshed upon finishing, so we rewarded ourselves with another bottle of wine, a pound of PEI mussels, some Newfoundland cod cakes, and a bowl of fresh mussel chowder.

Did I mention that we're eating and drinking an awful lot?

Upon returning back to our B&B tonight, we arrived to find two lovely ladies who, of course, are friends of friends. Canada is small country. It is also a wonderful one. Tomorrow, we'll pay homage to all of it!

Spotted: the Canadian contingent

In 24 hours we have seen: a beaver, a moose, a seal, and a whale! We also saw two 10 pound lobsters hauled in (they were estimated to be about 30 years old)!

New Brunswick is stunning. Later today, we head to PEI.

Having fun in Fundy

We're currently on the Princess of Acadia ferry taking the crossing from Digby, Nova Scotia, to St. John, New Brunswick (sorry, folks, no hyperlinks today; this internet connection on the ferry is much too slow and unreliable to be looking up other webpages). Zdenek and I keep saying to each other that we just don't have enough time! There is so much to see and do and we are barely hitting the tip of the iceberg.

Since I last made my half-drunken post on Sunday night, we enjoyed a great sleep in Lunenburg at the Ashlea House and then headed across the province to Annapolis Royal. We're certainly getting our Canadian history lessons in! Annapolis Royal was a bit of a sleepy town (I think we were one of about 20 people in town), but we had the chance to visit one of the first settlements in North America at Port-Royal, where we practically had the place to ourselves. We also stayed at the most ridiculous Victorian mansion, the Queen Anne Inn, built as a wedding present from a father to a son in the 1800s. Wow, did that bride marry right!

The Annapolis river basin, which opens into the Bay of Fundy, is expansive, lush, and beautiful. We explored a bit by foot yesterday afternoon, taking a five or six mile run around a Ducks Unlimited wetland marsh. Zdenek and I both felt heavy and tired -- it was a run that was sorely needed, but left us feeling pretty sore, too! It's amazing how just two days of booze and heavy food can leave you feeling tired and sluggish. The surroundings were lovely, though -- in addition to the many ducks and birds, we even spotted the Canadian mascot, a beaver, swimming alongside us!

Today we are headed across the Bay of Fundy -- home to the world's highest tides -- to visit the next Canadian province on our itinerary. There is an interpretive program on board and we're told that we may spot several species of whales along the crossing! That would make this $180 ferry ride (no joke) well worth it. We'll spend the rest of the day exploring the Fundy coast, taking a hike in Fundy National Park, and then overnighting at our own private suite in Hopewell Cape. Tomorrow we'll walk on the ocean floor at Hopewell Rocks during low tide (the tides rise 16 meters in six hours) before heading to PEI for some Canada Day fun!

The weather thus far has been drizzly and overcast, but we haven't been stuck in a downpour -- yet! Fingers crossed. While I miss the sun, I'll take anything but rain. I had my first taste of Tim Hortons this morning, and it was as just as good as what we brew up at our place on the Upper West Side.

Off to see some whales now!

So far, so full!

We've been in Canada for just over 24 hours, but it's been a whirlwind adventure of sightseeing and eating thus far. Nova Scotia is simply gorgeous. Zdenek and I have been awestruck at every point along the "highway" (more of a secondary road, really). It is so lush, and there are so many lakes, and the entirety of what we have seen thus far has an earthy warmth to it that makes me feel, somehow, like I am home.

We spent a wonderful night in Halifax visiting the Garrison Brewery and getting to know a few locals over some PB&J (that's the raspberry wheat ale mixed with the nut brown). On their recommendation, we had dinner at the Five Fisherman (which served as the morgue for victims of the Titanic and which, to this day, is apparently one of the most haunted place in Canada), where we enjoyed a truly memorable seafood extravaganza. Too much beer and wine left me feeling a little worse for wear this morning, but we had a nice stroll around the Halifax Farmer's Market (apparently the oldest in North America), grabbed a light breakfast, and were off!

The rest of the day saw us in the picturesque fishing village of Peggy's Cove and then in Mahone Bay; the latter was unfortunately a bit too foggy to be properly enjoyed. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in Lunenburg, the UNESCO World Heritage site to which I previously referred. Tonight we dined at Fleur de Sel, named Nova Scotia's Best Restaurant in 2008. It was a culinary experience created especially around local fare -- Atlantic salmon, Lunenburg scallops, New Brunswick cheeses, and Nova Scotia ice wine, to name but a few. This is a restaurant that could certainly hold its own among the best we've dined at in NYC.

I've been saying to Zdenek that the wide open spaces, fresh air, and slower pace of life takes a little getting used to. Coming from the hustle and bustle of NYC, I almost feel out of sorts. But I think I am quickly adjusting. It feels so good to be here. There may be only one Canadian flag on a front porch for every 20 one might see in the US, but there's no two ways about it -- we are in Canada. And it feels like home.

Back to the old country!

After a solid 24 mile ride this morning (what a treat to get up at 6:30 am instead of 5:30 am!), Zdenek and I are headed to the homeland today!

I look forward to enjoying Tim's from the source, visiting my favourite Canadian drugstore, and the ability to look in my wallet and immediately tell how much money I have because the bills do not all look the same. I look forward to visiting a part of my country that, pathetically, I have never been to, and celebrating Canada Day on Prince Edward Island with my fellow Canucks. I look forward to visiting Cape Breton Island and the Cabot Trail (pictured above), and I'm betting this will not be the last time we go. I look forward to spotting whales, seeing the world's highest tides, and visiting one the UNESCO World Heritage sites in North America. And I am salivating at the thought of eating Digby scallops, PEI mussles, and lobster, lobster, lobster!

Off we go!

Learning to love another

The more cycling I do, the more I gain an appreciation for how it differs from running, and the more I'm learning to love it. I've already mentioned the fact that cycling involves a lot of finicky equipment and necessitates learning a disgusting habit or two, and these are two "cons" in the cycling column. But there are two significant physical forces that cycling deals with in a manner that is superior to running: gravity, and friction.

Cycling down a hill is nothing like running down it. Cycling down a hill is fast, refreshing, and fun. It is occasionally scary (mostly because I almost killed myself while doing it about five years ago), but I'm getting better at managing that emotion. Running down a hill is sure way to tear up your quads and strain your knees. It can also lead to other running-only injuries, such as blood blisters and black toenails. As a cyclist, gravity is your friend, but as a runner, gravity is the entire reason that non-runners never tire of lecturing you that "running will destroy your knees!"

Similarly, the friction caused by wind resistance can be dealt with far more efficiently from the saddle of a bike than with both feet on the ground. While running isn't affected on a calm day, a run into a headwind can take far more energy than that saved by running with a tailwind. But for a cyclist, while wind resistance is never a good thing, it can be mitigated by (a) a more aerodynamic position, or (b) drafting! Lately I've learned to love the look of Zdenek's backside, and although he occasionally spits (or worse) when I'm behind, a little saliva to the face is a small price to pay for being able to keep up with him and enjoy our rides together.

Zdenek and I look just like this when I'm drafting, minus the fancy blue shoes, of course

Although my legs were tired and we only had time for two loops on this humid, overcast morning, we made the most of it. We ended up with our fastest cycle yet this season! As usual, I tried to pace myself on the first lap so that I could really work the hills on the second one (one unexplored difference is why am I so much better at pacing myself in cycling than running?). But after reading that six solid minutes of intense effort per week can have the same effect on my endurance as hours worth of training, and that this approach is better suited to cycling than to running, I think cycling may have yet another tick in its favor.

A great word, but a poor feeling

I’ve been feeling rather discombobulated lately, and this is part of the reason for my relatively long absence from this blog. I am hoping that our upcoming vacation (two more sleeps!) will set things straight.

This feeling started, perhaps, early Saturday morning, which went something like this:
6:30 am (this is a Saturday, let me remind you) – alarm goes off
6:40 am – alarm goes off again
6:45 am – Jodi brews Tim’s
7:00 am – Jodi and Zdenek change in to sexy cycling gear
7:20 am – out the door
7:30 am – at the Park!
7:31 am – Zdenek gets a flat (no joke)
8:00 am – Zdenek is still trying to change his flat tire in Central Park
8:15 am – Zdenek gives up after realizing that the replacement tube, which, to be fair, we bought for $2 online, has a faulty valve. You most certainly get what you pay for
8:30 am – Zdenek begins walking home (again; this is about the third time in two weeks). Jodi valiantly cycles home ahead of him to retrieve his flip flops and bring them back, so that he need not ruin his cleats any more than they already are
8:50 am – Jodi has been back and forth between the Park two and a half times, searching everywhere for Zdenek. After the third try, she heads home to find him sitting on the porch
9:15 am – Jodi and Zdenek go for a 5 mile run. The most serious mishap is a small pebble in Zdenek’s shoe

Because we were both exhausted by noon, Zdenek and I watched movie and then took a long, 90 min snooze in the late afternoon. This was not a good idea, because when I woke up at 6 pm, I felt like it must be 6 am the next morning, and it took several hours (and a long walk in a deserted, drizzly Central Park) to reset my inner clock.

The rest of Saturday night was spent with good friends but was filled with far too much imbibing. Sunday morning saw me doing an 11 mile run at 11:30 am – something absolutely unheard of in my normal training schedule. When I returned home 90 minutes later, Zdenek was like a caged animal, desperate to get out of the house (I had neglected to take my keys on my run). Later in the afternoon, he and I spent several hours on our back patio, yelling (as much as we are capable of yelling, which isn’t very much) about the most effective way to remove the half-inch of mildew from the cement (turns out bleach is best).

The entire weekend seemed like a bit of roller coaster in terms of schedules and emotions, and while I never look forward to Mondays, I was relieved to see Sunday night come to a close.

The rest of the week, however, hasn’t been much better. Work has had its fair share of stress, my swollen second toe is starting to make a reappearance after two weeks of running without my orthotics (they’re back at the lab), and my running has been all wrong. This morning, I neglected my usual pre-run coffee, and instead got my fluid intake in the form of dense, soupy air that only a New York City summer can bring. I started out aiming for a tempo run, then downgraded this to a “cruise tempo” (in which I take a walk break every 10 minutes) once I realized how heavy and tired my legs were feeling, and then just downgraded it, unintentionally, to a “run.” My fast pace was slow today, or the other way around.

The point is that nothing seems to have gone smoothly in the past week, but I am hopeful that a good vacation can set things straight. Aside from the opportunity to use the word “discombobulated” in a sentence, which is a treat unto itself, this feeling has not been a good one.

Bucket down

I am most definitely not a rain girl. At one time, I used to think I was a rain girl, but this was when I grew up and lived in one of the driest climates in Canada, and so rain was both a rare occurrence and a special treat.

When I was preparing to move to the UK many years ago, everyone warned me that "it rains a lot in England!" Yeah, yeah, I thought. But rain is lovely and comforting and makes you feel warm and toasty when you're at home under a blanket with a big bowl of popcorn watching a movie, and then when you realize you forgot the candy all you do is get in your car that's waiting in your dry garage and drive five minutes to the store, where you park right next to the door and hop from your car to under the store-front awning, dash in and dash out, and before you know it you're back home, snug as a bug, and the next day, it's gloriously sunny and you can go outside and wonder when it might rain again.

But as I learned all too quickly, living in England is nothing like this. Instead it is more like, Oh my goodness, I cannot believe it is raining again because it has been raining every.single.day. for three weeks and I have not seen the sun for more than 45 cumulative minutes in all that time and my skin is turning pasty and gross and every time I go out (on foot!) I get soaked to the bone and then once I get to work I announce to everyone that my "pants" are wet right through, and they all snort and laugh because they're British, and in their vernacular, "pants" means something very different altogether, and now I am both wet and looking like a fool, but I cannot put my shoes or socks over the vent to warm up because this is Britain and they don't have vents, so I will remain miserable and cold and wet and wonder when I will possibly see the sun again, and then lo and behold, on the first full day of sunshine, every British person (or at least it feels that way) runs outdoors and strips off their shirt and lies, half-naked, in the chilly spring weather.

It's been raining a lot in New York lately. It was tolerable for a while, and I appreciate that all this rain is good for the trees and the grass and the flowers, and is indeed the very reason that Central Park is such a lush playground to begin with. But after many days of this, and many days more in the forecast, it's starting to wear a little thin. I believe that Friday is the sole day of sunshine in the forecast between now and when we leave for vacation, and you can bet that Zdenek and I will both be riding tomorrow.

Zdenek and I are incredibly anxious for our vacation to begin. It's been a tough slog in NYC this year and we're both knackered (my inner Brit reveals herself). The forecast isn't meant to be much better where we're headed, but even if it's chilly, I hope that it is dry. Maybe by the time we get back, the clouds over this little island will have cleared away.

My future training partners

I've already made mention of the fact that my sister has the three most wonderful children. I was delighted to talk with one of them last night and learn that they are more than just a collection of adorable faces -- they are becoming athletes! My two nephews are each kicking serious butt in their competitive swim clubs, while their younger sister (seen here at her esteemed preschool graduation ceremony) is apparently happier in the pool than out of it. It seems that they are all taking after their Uncle Zdenek (to whom they have no blood relation, but that's beside the point).

And so, I dedicate today's post to these future athletes (which -- let's be honest -- also seemed like a good way to post some cute photos). I am thrilled that they have found such pleasure in physical activity, and though I know that the hard work and committment is only just beginning (for both them and their parents), I am rooting for them from afar!

The making of that cyclist

I've finally become the cyclist I never thought I would become. It was a gradual process that has crept up on me over the course of logging many confidence-boosting miles, and no, I'm not referring to the fact that, for the first time ever this morning, I both pedaled hard down the winding Harlem hill and managed to pass two other, relatively fit cyclists on the way down (although this was definitely a significant "first").

For a long time, I thought there was no way I would ever be that cyclist, because I'm simply not capable of such obvious displays of self-assurance. I'm not that cyclist, who can hold an unwavering focus and block out everything and everyone else on the road. I’m not that cyclist, whose only concern is to maintain my cadence and seamlessly shift between gears. Surely I'm not that cyclist, who can forget, in one split second, every manner my mother ever taught me and thumb my nose up at proper social etiquette. But I've had too many rides on which I've preemptively stored tissues in the back of my jersey and awkwardly reached for them while on a straightaway, trying daintily to wipe my nose with one hand and not let the tissue blow away altogether, or on which, after giving up on the tissues, the terry cloth patch of my cycling gloves simply ends up sopping wet within 20 minutes.

Proper manners or not, necessity has turned me into that cyclist. I guess it's in keeping with this week's theme of just letting go.

Unfettered

It's been just over one month since the marathon, and I must say, flexibility is a wonderful thing. I think I've cycled and run more frequently than I ever have when on a training plan (though perhaps each individual workout is not as long), mostly because I don't need to worry about scheduled rest days or how one workout might affect the next. If I'm tired, I go slower. If I'm feeling good, I go faster. If I have time and the Park is empty, I go longer. It's been a relief to let go of all the rules and restrictions that come with trying to achieve a specific goal.

My entire weekend was filled with such moments of careless abandon, and I think this could explain why it was so enjoyable. On Friday night at around 9 pm, I decided, on a whim, that my stub of a new fourth toenail deserved some polish, and I headed out the door for a late-night pedicure. On Saturday, after a solid bike ride in the Park, I learned over my morning cup of coffee and newspaper that the Central Park Zoo has its first new exhibit since 1988 -- a pair of snow leopards! Neither Zdenek nor I have ever been to the Zoo, a somewhat odd fact considering that it is a 20 minute walk from our house. Though I knew it would be filled with tourists, baby strollers, and screaming children, we decided to have a go. And indeed, I'm happy that we did. The leopards, monkeys, and penguins did not fail to disappoint, and it was an unusual and refreshing way to spend the afternoon.

The main attraction

Saturday night was truly the icing on the cake. Zdenek and I enjoyed a three hour eating and drinking extravaganza at a neighborhood restaurant, Dovetail, that we have been meaning to try for months. The tasting menu, both in terms of quantity and price, was quite simply over the top. It was definitely an experience that comes around every few years, if that, because to do so more often would somehow detract from the luxury of the experience (not to mention put a serious dent in our pocketbook). The highlight of the evening was, without a doubt, the sautéed foie gras served with huckleberries, fennel, and a graham cracker puree, paired alongside a sweet chenin blanc. If it's possible to experience a food high, I did.

The next morning, during our 12 mile run (through which we may have just barely worked off the foie gras calories alone), Zdenek and I saw several extraordinarily fast men and women who were displaying rippling six packs and toned legs. As I trudged along in my oversized tank top and shorts, sweating like a pig in the 100% humidity, I knew that I will never look like those uber-fit speed demons (let alone run as fast as them). That reality didn't really faze me, however, because dammit, I can have my foie gras and eat it, too! The weekend was capped off with a Sunday evening rooftop garden party on the Upper West Side, where a few of the who's who of the literary, publishing, and fashion worlds mingled beside me in my Banana Republic dress. But I wasn't really bothered, because it's been far too long since I've sipped Pimm's outdoors.

I managed this weekend to also let go of something that's been nagging at my emotions for quite some time. I did this in a rather unexpected way -- I simply let go, and then didn't consider it again. I think this allowed me to truly concentrate on and experience the rest of the weekend's delights in a way that would not have been possible, for example, last weekend (or the one before that, or the one before that…).

I acknowledge that my entire weekend could be described as one of self-indulgent luxury, and, in case my mother is reading this, she should know that the fact that I am truly blessed is not lost on me. But while the foie gras and the Pimm's were a treat, they weren't absolutely necessary to reinforce that, by definition, letting go is liberating.

Complainers need not apply

One nice thing about running is that it requires no mechanical equipment. Sure, a watch or heart rate monitor might fail during a run, or even during a race, but this hardly impacts the quality of the run. The weather is a minor concern -- I’ve run in -36 degrees Celsius and +36 degrees Celsius. Neither is particularly fun, but both are do-able. For the most part, a runner doesn’t need to worry about anything except his or her body. And even if an injury or blister does necessitate cutting the run short or stopping altogether, it’s usually pretty straightforward to walk home (or even catch a ride if possible).

Cycling is not so straightforward. Part of what makes cycling so much fun is the ability to go fast -- sometimes very fast -- but this requires mechanical equipment. It also requires a litany of specialized and expensive attire and accessories: padded shorts, cleated shoes, gloves, a helmet, eyewear, etc. If it’s rainy or windy, cycling is miserable at best and dangerous at worst. If it’s snowy or icy, it’s downright suicidal. And because cycling involves going fast, it also means moving very quickly away from one’s starting point. It is not so straightforward to walk or hitch a ride home if the rider or the bike should malfunction.

The relative hassles of cycling were reinforced for my husband and me this morning. We got up today at 5:30 am, excited (sort of) to cycle together for the first time in over a week. We planned on a full 18 miles, hence the early wake-up call. It was cold, drizzly, windy, and foggy when we left the house at 6 am. This was less than ideal, but I tried to focus on the positive and use the opportunity to work on my drafting skills again! About three miles in, however, Zdenek got a flat. While he encouraged me to keep riding, it was sad to leave him and even sadder when I passed him on my first loop. It was a sight for sore eyes -- my poor husband at 6:15 am, about 1.5 miles from home, walking home in miserable weather wearing tight shorts and bike cleats. (His morning went from bad to worse when I returned home an hour later [after an awesome ride, but today I won’t gloat] and sat down to have breakfast with him. One tug of a placemat here, one movement of a laptop there, and suddenly Zdenek’s morning Tim’s was all over his pants and shirt.)

The nice thing about Zdenek is that he rarely complains (he has other nice qualities, too, but this is a particularly special one). I, on the other hand, have been told I can be a chronic complainer (whiner, some might say), and I'm not sure I would have handled a flat this morning with as much grace as he showed. It’s probably a good thing that I started as a runner and then moved on to cycling, because I may never have found my inner athlete if it had been the other way around.

Fun for one

I'm flying solo this weekend because my husband is off golfing in Pennsylvania with his buddies. I am glad that I don't have to spend every weekend alone, or even every other weekend, or even one weekend a month. But so far, I've managed to keep myself entertained.

After work yesterday, I went to get a massage from an enormous Egyptian man named Omar. This was the first time I've had a massage from someone that wasn't either female or a total hippy-dippy male. I must say, big Egyptian men can give a pretty mean massage. On the way out, Omar told me to drink lots of water, but I only heard the "drink" part. So I came home, made myself some delicious pasta, and cracked open a bottle of red. I then proceeded to watch that NBC Brian Williams special on a day inside the White House. It made me think that I really should go into politics, because it fascinates and excites me to no end. (Rahm was my favourite.)

This morning, I got up to do my first-ever solo cycle. The only other time I’ve cycled alone was one day last summer when Zdenek got a flat and he had to walk home (I kept cycling). I was a bit nervous to pump up my tires all by myself (is it always that hard or do we just have a really difficult bicycle pump?), but soon I was out the door and cruising around the Park. I think I only saw one other woman on a bike this morning. It was me and the boys for 30 miles. Pretty cool stuff. After a night of hard rain, the roads were filthy, and my bike and I both returned home caked in mud. It made me feel tough.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading the NYTimes cover-to-cover, a total indulgence that I rarely enjoy. I’ve spent the last four or five hours trying to plan some accommodation for our trip to Atlantic Canada in three weeks (before I head off momentarily to a friend’s house to drink some more vino). My bright idea to visit Atlantic Canada over Canada Day (July 1, for my American friends) seemed like a good one, until I tried to actually find vacancies during that time. This is basically the route I’m planning, which should allow me to hit as many lobster, mussel, and scallop spots as possible. The trip is going to be a blast, and yes, of course I am using a spreadsheet to plan it.

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In awe

Yesterday at work, my coworkers and I were talking about the relative ease with which one can obtain a PhD. As a card-carrying Doctor of Philosophy myself, and with two other non-practicing PhDs in the room, I commented that a PhD seemed impressive to me only before I actually had one. Having gone through grad school and then a short stint as a post-doctoral fellow, I've seen all sorts of people receive PhDs: smart; not-so-smart; insightful; dull; motivated; bored; and altogether absent. It seems to me that the secret to getting a PhD is enrolling in the first place, because most supervisors and departments are loathe to have a grad student not finish -- it simply reflects poorly on everyone. True, the very weak students might fail multiple committee examinations, suffer numerous dissertation re-writes, or, at the very worst, receive a "Master's degree in lieu of," but even that's not such a bad way to put an extra two or three letters behind one's name. Of course, I don't mean to disparage my own education or that of others. But it's funny how things can seem overwhelming or downright frightening -- that is, until we actually try them and (hopefully) succeed.

Marathoning is a similar phenomenon. A long time ago, when I was 20 years old, my boyfriend at the time used to run for 30 minutes a few days each week. I was amazed! How on earth can a person run, without stopping, for 30 minutes at a time!? Only when I began running myself and was eventually doing 45-60 minutes at a time did this cease to be incredible to me. When I moved to Toronto several years later, I met my now dear friend, Siobhan, who was training for a half marathon at the time. When Siobhan suggested that we train for a marathon together, I looked at the training schedule and was unconvinced that I could run so long, week after week. But as we plundered through our plans, 20+ km runs became, and remain, my norm. True, in those early training days, Siobhan and I would run, eat, and sleep away the rest of the day, whereas now I'm usually showered, changed, and out the door again within an hour or two of my long runs. But what once seemed impossible now seems merely average to me; I spend most of my time marveling at the elite and sub-elite runners who can complete a marathon in under three hours (something that I'm pretty certain will always remain beyond my abilities).

These reflections seem especially relevant this week, as Siobhan just had her first baby. Note that I have two adorable nephews and one very adorable niece, courtesy of my sister, and that my sister is the world's most amazing mother (next to my own). She does it all, and then some, and she has raised the three most wonderful children imaginable. She works her butt off. But she's always been my big sister (by many years), and so I've always kind of thought of her as being more mature and capable than me. On the other hand, Siobhan and I are the same age and I relate to her in many ways, so to say that I am in awe of the fact that she is now a mother would be an understatement.

I have a hunch that having and raising a child is probably more difficult than any PhD or marathon. On the other hand, the vast majority of parents seem to get through parenthood, and oftentimes decide to do it several times more! I imagine that most of parenthood is like running the final, difficult, but immensely rewarding miles of a marathon over and over and over again. As one who's never done it (that is, neither parenthood nor repeatedly running miles 24-26), I'm sure that's a wildly inaccurate analogy, but it's the only one I know.

Congratulations, Siobhan and Jeremy!

The importance of placement

Today has been full of all sorts of interesting developments. While these events may, at first glance, seem to be unrelated, considering them together offers a unique opportunity to highlight the importance of that oft-under appreciated part of speech, the preposition. (I also seem to be on a bit of a psychic kick today, foreseeing things before they happen.)

Behind: My day began at the crack of dawn with a short, but intense, bike ride in the Park. The weather was near-perfect, and Zdenek looked super snazzy decked out in his new SaxoBank jersey. It was a good day for speed. I decided to work on my drafting skills today, and so opted to cycle behind Zdenek for some of the time. This was a success, and we "posted" our fastest loops yet this season.

I think Zdenek looked like this,

but I can't be sure, because I was behind him

Beside: On my way to work, I passed a young mother with her two children. She was pushing a small baby in a regular stroller, and her three- or four-year old son was beside her. Harmless enough, except for the fact that the son was on a scooter (sans helmet), and both mother and child were hurtling down the sidewalk, about as fast as she could run and he could push off. As they sped past me, laughing and having a blast, I thought (because I am clearly middle-aged), If they don't fall and either crack their heads open or break a leg, it will be a miracle. No sooner had I thought this, then -- CRASH! Yep, the entire family went head first and, as they say, a** over tea kettle, in the middle of the sidewalk. Fortunately everyone seemed okay, but this was truly one of the dumbest parenting moments I've witnessed.

Sad or funny?

Under: In an attempt to enjoy the beautiful sunshine during my lunch hour today, I purchased my most delicious (and rather pricey) salmon and grilled vegetable salad, and headed to a little courtyard on W 45th Street to eat it. As I sat down under the shade of a tree, a single question went through my head: I wonder if I'll get bird-pooped on by sitting under this tree? No sooner had I thought this, then -- SPLAT! A little plop of bird poop landed on my salmon. What a crappy lunch.

In my case,

the bird had already been there for 14 minutes and 50 seconds