A fine start

After a blip of muggy, warm weather in New York last week, the thermometer seems to have permanently dropped over the last several days. Finally -- the leaves in Central Park are assuming their innate, vibrant colors, and my morning runs seem to be getting faster, longer, and easier (or at least not slower, shorter, and more difficult). At seven months into my pregnancy it’s hard to believe that running feels so good, but then again, humidity and I have never been the best of friends. I was proud to run over 11 miles on Saturday in just over nine minutes/mile, and this morning I ran almost 10K in sub-9 minute pace (even in spite of the now constant and sometimes quite uncomfortable pressure that comes with another being positioned head-down on one’s bladder). While I did pause to question the accuracy of my watch, I can accept that when the mercury hovers near freezing, I am in my best form. It must be the Canadian in me.

But this morning’s run was especially lovely for a few reasons because it reminded me of all that I have, and all that I have to look forward to. For one, Zdenek and I enjoyed a fall fondue feast last night with our friend and neighbor, Cheryl. Apparently November 1 marks the official beginning of fondue season in Switzerland, and Cheryl, who once made her home in that country, brought all of the supplies -- including 1.5 pounds of cheese -- to our apartment yesterday evening. As she stirred the gooey, aromatic fromage on my stove, I thought that there was simply no way that the three of us would be able to eat all of that cheese. But forty-five minutes later, we were scraping the bottom of the pot and feeling warm and full in our tummies. It was a fitting way to welcome in November, and I think the extra calories gave me an additional boost during my Central Park jaunt this morning.

And as I ran through the southern end of the Park this morning, I was forced to take a few detours around trucks, cranes, and bleachers. The New York City Marathon is this Sunday! I’m counting on Zdenek to get me going with a few homemade pancakes while we watch the start of the race on our long-awaited flat screen television, and then heading to the 24 mile mark in Central Park to cheer on the leaders and followers alike. More importantly, this Sunday I’ll be introducing New York’s finest foot race to two of my favorite people: my mom and sister. Their six night visit coincides not only with my sister’s birthday, but mine, too, and we have many Big Apple activities planned to celebrate.

Fondue, marathons, birthdays, and family. November is off to a tremendous start.

Doctor Z

I was finally given permission to post this photo that was taken a few weeks ago. I feel secure knowing that a willing and able doctor resides in my house.

Lessons learned in 2010

It is never too early in the year to assess one's own situation and actions and to learn valuable lessons with which to move forward. 2010 is barely underway, and already I feel wiser for it. Here, then, are a few lessons for the New Year, some of which I learned the hard way:

1. If you are going to do a run at midnight, be aware that whatever you may eat or drink in the five hours prior is sure to affect your ability and comfort on said run.
2. It is best not to eat a three course meal, complete with a cup of guacamole per person, before a midnight run. It is also wise to avoid alcohol, and to cease drinking or eating several hours (i.e., not 60 minutes) before commencing running.
   
3. If you must run at midnight, it is best to do it with friends who are not terribly serious about their running speed. This will make the run much more enjoyable.
4. On any midnight run, it is advisable to bring along Dave, because he will dress inappropriately, get extremely drunk beforehand, pour gin and tonics (with a lemon twist -- no kidding) 15 seconds before the starting gun, run in some hilarious fashion with the group for a few minutes before disappearing, and then arrive at the finish line 45 minutes behind the rest of the group because he walked most of the course and drank an entire bottle of gin along the way.
5. Central Park on New Year's Eve is a great place to run, because the fireworks are spectacular and there are many inebriated supportive spectators to cheer you on.
6. It is advisable to charge your camera battery before heading out, because a dead battery may make it difficult to take many photos during the actual running portion of the evening.
7. Fifty-one minutes (including the 5.5 minutes it took to actually cross the start line) for four miles is a great way to start the New Year, because it leaves lots of room for improvement during the rest of the year.
8. Not every run will make you feel good (in fact, it may make you feel like throwing up), but those tend to be the most memorable. And when you are laughing so hard during a run that you can barely keep going, you know it was a very good idea indeed.

A happy ending

Another year is almost over. I'm not one to get sentimental about the transition, but 2009 will definitely mark the year that I found a new training partner and enjoyed some of my best running yet. From this perspective, the last week of 2009 has been near perfect:

• When we returned to New York early Sunday afternoon after flying nine hours across the Atlantic on very little sleep the night before, it was less than two hours before we found ourselves running once again in Central Park. Apparently exercise is meant to be the best cure for jet lag -- I remain somewhat unconvinced that this actually works -- but in any case, it was a great feeling to be running in the late afternoon sunshine.
  
• Monday evening after work, the idea of running was completely unappetizing. But, while I don’t want my running to ever feel like a chore, I also know that I have never once regretted a run. Ignoring my pounding sinus headache, I tied up my laces and headed out into the cold wind. When it was over, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had run a sub-7:45 pace, and once again I did not regret my decision.
  
• Tuesday morning found us again facing frigid temperatures and icy winds, but still we ran just over six miles in decent time. (Zdenek tried to allow me to “draft” off of him when the wind was the strongest, but alas, this strategy is best reserved for cycling.)
  
• Wednesday morning, though I continue to battle a cold and am still apparently on European time (falling asleep around 9 pm and awaking around 5 am), we ran a 7:40 fartlek in downright cold weather. During the “hard” portions of the fartlek, Zdenek ran a much faster pace than me and was able to put considerable distance between us within 30 seconds. He allowed me to catch up again during the two minutes of “easy” running interspersed between, but it’s obvious that he could have run even faster had he not been forced to wait for me.
• This morning, I'm fighting every urge to not head out for a playful three miles in the falling snow. Big, fluffy, white flakes are coming down quickly outside of my window, and this represents some of my favorite running conditions. But we're scheduled to run four miles in Central Park at midnight with eight or more friends, so I'll save my energy for the late-night jaunt and the dinner for eight that I have to cook beforehand. (I even forced myself to stay up until 10:45 pm last night in attempt to reset my clock!) 2010 is only hours away, and I'm excited to ring it in by doing my favorite activity with a few of my favorite people.
  

Happy New Year's!

Oh, the liver!

We've just returned from a whirlwind European Christmas adventure. Going into this vacation, I was a bit dubious of our travel schedule and tight itinerary, but it turns out that any worries I may have had were unfounded. Yes, the double-decker plane never arrived in New York because a two inch snowfall in Europe kept it grounded, and yes, this meant that we got bumped to a later flight booked with what seemed like half of the children of France. But we received a few Euros to compensate for our troubles, and these were minor upsets in what was otherwise a near perfect vacation.

In Paris, we reconnected with my favourite Brits, Lee and Mel, who adopted me as part of their extended family during my time spent across the pond several years ago. This time, we arrived (a bit late) to greet them in the two bedroom Parisian apartment Mel had arranged for our stay. Though the walls were paper thin, the toilet freezing cold, and the television controls incomprehensible, the beds were comfortable, the shower was hot, and the kitchen was well equipped. Besides, we made-do by going to bed most nights too tipsy to notice any problems (and by bopping to MP3s from Lee's cell phone speaker). We managed to visit the major sights and sounds in a snow dusted, magical Paris, but mostly just focused on enjoying the company. Most importantly, we dined on so much foie gras that it surely replaced any liver cells lost to excessive imbibing of French wines. It was three days of pure indulgence.

For now, some pictures of Paris (Czech Republic update and photos to come)...

Zdenek and I finally arrived in Paris and
headed out for celebratory drinks with long lost friends, Lee and Mel

Our apartment was steps away from what might have been
the most beautiful street in Paris, filled with the most amazing gourmet delights

Zdenek's first official French crepe

Musee d'Orsay at dusk

Who are those Parisians?

At the Louvre

Paris never fails to inspire romance

It was important to visit l'Arc de Triomphe,
site of the final stage of Le Tour

Lunch at Musee d'Orsay

Look! Zdenek found the painting that matches his ticket!

Me, too!

A very Parisian afternoon

Welcome home

We recently took advantage of the US Thanksgiving holiday to fly home (to my original home town, that is) and visit friends and family. We’ll be spending Christmas week this year in Paris and the Czech Republic, but the past four days in Canada felt almost like being home for the holidays. (Ironically, as we cleared US customs at the Canadian airport before flying back to New York City, the immigration officer greeted me in Spanish, laughed about being unable to fake a New York accent, and then handed me back my passport, saying, “Welcome home.”)

The trip to Canada was busy from start to finish and I think we’re only now starting to make a dent in our accumulated sleep deficit, but it was well worth it. We got a Christmas teaser with an afternoon visit to Lake Louise in Banff -- seven feet of snow along an icy, picturesque lake (with a small avalanche before our very eyes) was a fine welcome to the month of December. I spent as much time as possible with my family and friends, and managed to ingest an impressive number of perogies over the weekend. On Saturday morning, Zdenek and I ran a liberating 14 miles through Fish Creek Park in an attempt to shake off the previous night’s libations. It wasn’t Central Park, but then, it didn’t have to be.

Lake Louise looked just like this during our visit

A girl understands

This has been a tough week so far. I haven't dealt with any major crises, I'm not putting in particularly long hours at work, and, as far as I know, everyone that matters to me is happy and healthy and generally doing well. Nevertheless, my sleep has been severely lacking, and the hours that I do get are not quality ones. On Sunday and Monday of this week, a rather sudden pain spread through the entire right side of my face and neck, leading me to think that a full-blown illness was only hours away. Although the pain and swollen lymph nodes that accompanied it eventually abated, I still feel absolutely exhausted. Making matters worse, I've been feeling as though my quads and butt are, shall we say, ahem, "growing." I don't feel heavier, but I'm concerned that my pants are a wee bit tighter in the upper leg and seat region. As any woman knows, such observations are a sure way to turn a mildly frustrating week into one of full-out depression.

This morning, after a visit to the company pantry to collect our daily ration of fresh fruit and Kashi granola bars, Caitlin -- who shares my affinities for running, cycling, and sleep -- and I sat in my office, commiserating about our mutual feelings of exhaustion. We concluded that we are either (a) getting older and therefore in need of more rest, (b) affected by the change in seasons, or (c) barely fighting off a swine flu or other virus that is making the rounds. Having cleared that up, I then proceeded to tell Caitlin about my ill-fitting garments. She sympathized immediately. More importantly, she assured me that any growing quads or butts are most definitely the result of cycling; larger legs and glutes are the price one must pay for powering up hills on two wheels. She's absolutely right, I thought. I know that I can always count on Caitlin to make me feel better!

Several hours later, still feeling exhausted, and, by this time, with a low-grade headache and a craving for a chocolate chip cookie, I left my office in search of more coworkers with whom I could I blow off some steam. As usual, I ended up in Caitlin's office, which she shares with a few male coworkers. I plunked down on the office futon (don't ask). Immediately, Caitlin got up from her desk to plunk down next to me. I began to complain to everyone in the room, whether or not they were interested or listening, about my general state of malaise. One of the men suggested I take an Advil. Another offered me a cup of coffee. The third stared at me blankly. It was clear that the men in our office seemed incapable of properly appreciating my problems, and their quick solutions were of no help at all.

But Caitlin -- sweet Caitlin -- just reached with me into the box of Godivas from a nearby desk. Ignoring the men, we each grabbed a chocolate and popped it into our mouths. Side by side, chewing the sticky caramel and allowing the creamy praline to melt on our tongues, we pondered the possible causes of a girl's growing thighs.

Seasoned

Coming back from vacation is never the greatest feeling in the world, but this week is turning out to be slightly more difficult than most. I'm still dealing with the combined effects of jetlag and an accumulated sleep deficit and, to make matters worse, I haven't seen more than a few minutes of sunshine since being back in New York City. The forecast over the next few days calls for a mix of sun, clouds, and rain (my favourite).

Although we were away for only nine days, it's obvious that this was just long enough for summer to drift away and fall to creep in. The air is definitely chillier (though slightly less humid), and I've worn a sweater to work twice this week. I feel like it was only yesterday that I hailed the arrival of spring, and suddenly I find myself two seasons later. Autumn in New York -- characterized by brilliant colours, cooler temperatures, and the odd day filled with sunshine and warmth -- is possibly the most enjoyable time of year. It also marks, however, the beginning of increasingly late sunrises and early sunsets. This might not present much of a problem if I were happy to roll out of bed at 7:30 am and head to work, but over the past few months, Zdenek and I have become accustomed to 5:30 am wake-up calls and early morning rides in Central Park. It has become a treasured and favourite part of our daily routine and, indeed, provided much fodder for this blog.

Sadly, my little red Giant has sat idle all week long, bringing her to almost two full weeks of stationary neglect. The alarm has still gone off at 5:30 am every day this week, but in the pitch blackness of our room, our response has consisted of a disgruntled groan and opting for another hour of sleep. It is near impossible to motivate myself to get out of bed in the darkness of the morning to ride a bike, especially when my bike lacks a light. Running, maybe. Cycling? No way. And so I've been a little down this week, mourning the passing of another season, long days, sunshine, and cycling. This is, truth be told, pretty typical behaviour for me. I do not, for example, enjoy celebrating my birthday (one year closer to death and a reminder of everything I still haven't accomplished). I even loathe Fridays on occasion, because they signify another lost week among my finite allotment.

Nevertheless, over my recent vacation, I was encouraged by the discovery that some things really do get better with time. I used to laugh inwardly whenever I heard that life is better after 40, let alone that senior citizens are happier than their younger counterparts. I couldn't imagine that I'd rather be forty years older and greyer than I am today! But last week, my girlfriends and I busted our guts laughing at a 20 minute movie (thanks, Laura!) that took us through all the painful hairstyles, fashions, and boyfriends of our past 15 years together. Sure, we have a few more laugh lines and grey hairs, as well as reduced abilities to cope with hangovers these days. True, we're 15 years further on and there have undoubtedly been a few lost opportunities along the way. But it was clear from the photos of years past that, today, each one of us is more confident, aware, and beautiful than at any time during the last decade and a half. The passing of one season may make me melancholy, but the passing of 60 seasons seems to have served us well.

How to get rid of fruit flies (and other valuable lessons)

We're back in the Big Apple after a pretty-much-perfect holiday in Canada. This one more than made up for the constant driving and cloudy skies we experienced during our last visit north of the border. A few valuable lessons were learned over nine days in Calgary, Banff, and the Okanagan valley. Where possible, I've included some illustrative photos:

1. Calgary really is the sunniest place in Canada.

2. Even when a gondola is available to whisk you to the top, it's more fun to climb a mountain by foot.

3. The 10.5 mile run around the Glenmore Reservoir in Calgary is perfect in terms of distance, terrain, and scenery. It is more difficult the day after climbing a mountain than after a day of rest.

4. $75 worth of beef jerky (purchased at the shop behind us) may seem like a good idea at the time, but really, it's not.

5. Despite thousands of miles of physical separation and only getting together every 12 to 18 months, my friends and I can pick up where we left off every single time.

6. Four nights of hard partying is something better left to our selves of 15 years ago, but old habits die hard.

7. When confronted with clouds of fruit flies in your kitchen, a vacuum hose and a few drinks can make for video-game-like entertainment.

8. Classy is a state of mind.

A stormy start

Some especially ferocious weather ripped through New York City on Tuesday evening. It lasted only about 30 minutes and started just as I was going to bed, but it was evident by the simultaneous thunder and lightning over our Upper West Side brownstone that we were in the eye of the storm. I didn't think much of it until the following morning when we arrived for a mid-week cycle in Central Park. The carnage of branches and leaves across the road made cycling difficult at best, and dangerous at worst, and by the time we reached Engineer's Gate at East 90th Street, we were forced to turn back due to a felled tree further up the road.

The extent of the destruction wrought by this storm really sunk in when I read that over 100 trees had lost their lives Tuesday night, and an estimated 500 more had been severely "injured." While the roads had been cleared by the time we returned Thursday morning to attempt another ride, the fields in the upper half of the Park looked as though an arboreal mass murder had taken place. There was something very sad about seeing my favourite playground so damaged, and in some way I mourned the loss of so many majestic chestnuts, oaks, and elms. I had not realized on Tuesday night just how devastating that storm would be.

I also received a bit of disappointing personal news on Tuesday that, at the time, didn't seem too severe. In truth, it really isn't severe, and if it represents the worst of my problems, then I am very lucky indeed. I know it's something on which I shouldn't dwell another moment. But as my mood gradually soured on Wednesday, I realized that Tuesday's bit of bad news was only beginning to sink in and was affecting me more than I would have anticipated.

This morning didn't help make things much better: it was 29 degrees Celsius and 87% humidity by 7 am, but for some reason known only to my inner psyche, I forced myself to run a hard-ish 3.5 miles. It sucked. I struggled. It was perhaps the first run of my life on which I actually felt nauseous and dizzy, and all that within the first 15 minutes.

But last night I read an intriguing article in Runner's World about the potential for our psychological pain to manifest itself in the physical, and to create injuries where there should be none. I have no time or patience for injury right now; I'm enjoying cycling and running far too much to be sidelined by some silly pulled muscle or sore joint. Lest I wallow in my bad feelings any longer and end up sidelining myself for the rest of the summer and fall, I am going to end today's post with three positive thoughts:

1. Zdenek and I cycled a fast and furious 18 miles on Thursday morning. We knocked it out of the park, and we worked as a team of only two. It was the best ride of my life (though admittedly it helps that I started from scratch only one year ago).

2. I've been glued to the IAAF World Championships all week long, but Usain Bolt's 200 m sprint yesterday was something that I almost feel lucky to have witnessed. Even better, the men's and women's marathons are on this weekend, so I have much exciting sports viewing to look forward to.

3. In one week and one day I will be back home with friends and family. It's Take 2 on the 2009 summer vacation. It will be filled with time in the mountains and around lakes, hiking and swimming, eating and drinking. I'll get to spend almost five days with my girlfriends in the Okanagon Valley (pictured right), where we'll get caught up with one another, tour a few wineries, and celebrate the "hitching" of one of our gang.

So while this week may have gotten off to a stormy start (and while it's actually storming outside my window as I type this), there are rides to be ridden, marathons to be watched, and vacations to be had. Injuries, stay away!

A loyal friend

This past weekend, Zdenek and I visited Washington, D.C. It was my first time to the nation's capital and, while I was excited to finally make it there, the more important reason for the visit was to catch up with our friends, Matt and Jena. When you live far away from everyone as Zdenek and I do, it takes some time and energy to visit friends and family in far off places. But, as in all relationships, you get what you give, and maintaining good friendships demands a certain investment.

Maintaining a good relationship with my body also requires an investment of time and care. The quality of my bike rides and runs are directly proportional to the hours of sleep I got the night prior and the amount of high energy carbs consumed beforehand. On the other hand, their quality is inversely proportional to the number of alcoholic beverages imbibed in the last 48 hours. This past weekend, there was little sleep and no running; I wore my Asics only to walk through Arlington National Cemetery and up the Mall. Moreover, I replaced every ounce of perspiration with an equal quantity of local brews.

When I headed out for a run this morning, I wasn't expecting much from my body. Indeed, I had pretty much ignored its needs all weekend long, and I'd only run it for a total of five lactating miles last week. The weather at 6:30 am was unbearably hot and sticky, and I had given it only six hours of sleep to go on. I started cautiously, not sure whether or not my body would actually tolerate the abuse and neglect it had suffered recently, or whether it would engage in some sort of protest by giving me lead legs or simply stopping altogether. But after five miles, it had still not staged any revolt, and so I tested it further by picking up the pace slightly. About 6.5 miles in, I became confident that my body was in it for the long haul, so I quickend my step a little more and opted to take it on one more lap of the bottom loop of the Park. My body obliged.

To be sure, the entire 9.5 miles "we" ended up running still averaged a pretty slow pace, but it was a heroic effort for my body under the circumstances. If my body were a friend this morning, I would have given it a big, long hug. I would have thanked it for giving so selflessly on what I know was a morning on which it would have preferred to stay in bed. I would have told it how much I appreciate its loyalty in spite of my bad behaviour. My body was a real trouper today. But I would probably not have told it that I will never treat it that way ever again; after all, a good friend doesn't lie.

We're here! It's hot!

Lincoln was one important guy! And my ice cream was delicious!

A cocktail break on the rooftop lounge of the W Hotel allowed me to scope out the White House. No President in sight.

A suit I will never own

Will ride for food

An unexpected consequence of my new cycling hobby has been my growing and rather committed interest in Le Tour de France. In years past, I feigned excitement as Zdenek tried to explain to me the tactical moves and gruelling terrain that make Le Tour so thrilling, but it just didn't make much sense to me, and 21 days of 3+ hour televised events seemed like a colossal waste of time. This year, however, has been different, and I've been a dedicated viewer since the start (and not just to ogle Fabian, either, although his presence in the Tour certainly doesn't hurt).

I now realize that competitive cycling is rather difficult to appreciate without having experienced, first-hand, the joys of drafting or what a 7% grade really feels like; because I can finally relate in some small way, I view Le Tour as only a cyclist can. But one thing stands out about the professional riders, aside from their ability to cycle 100+ miles, day after day: their weight (or lack thereof). An interesting piece in this weekend's NYTimes highlighted just how regimented a diet these athletes keep to maintain their boyish, almost skeletal figures, and how post-workout beers are absolutely prohibited. In fact, the Tour riders sometimes need to be reminded or inticed to eat.

It is here that Zdenek and I part ways with the professional elite (assuming we hadn't already done so on a 7% climb). Eating and drinking may, in fact, be the two most important reasons that we run and cycle, rather than the other way around. This weekend was a case-in-point: we enjoyed a moderately difficult but gorgeous 55 mile ride with Caitlin and Adam on Saturday morning (which I hope will become our regular weekend event), and then rewarded ourselves with a bottle of wine, pizza, prosciutto, and pie and ice cream. Sunday morning saw us running a solid 12 miles, but spending the rest of the afternoon in the Bohemian beer gardens with friends, drinking Czech brew and snacking on bratwursts.

Athletes we might be, dieters we are not.

My first cycling picture

The peleton: Adam (l), me (c), and Caitlin (r)

Sexy Saxobank rider (just like Fabian)

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!

Backs and backsides

Although I complained to Zdenek yesterday that my butt hurt after our first cycle of the season (and to which, to my annoyance, he replied that he felt fine), I didn't really think twice about heading out again this morning. I have an out-of-town trip planned for Friday, so I need to squeeze in as many cycling days as possible between now and Thursday. All seemed to be going okay this morning until we actually got on our bikes, at which point our tushes felt like tender, bruised patches of flesh being punched over and over again by hard, unforgiving saddles. (Turns out that Zdenek's butt actually was sore!) I was certain that I would have to do the whole ride standing up, but, fortunately, it numbed completely by the time we reached the Park.

Three workouts in 24 hours has taken a bit of a toll on my body, and with Zdenek pushing the pace today, it was a pretty rough 40 minutes for me. Towards the end of our second loop, I complained to him that we seem only to ever have one pace, and that we don't know the pleasure of riding leisurely. He reminded me of one weekend ride last summer when we were about 20 miles away from home, heading through the Palisades in New Jersey, when my nagging knee injury (caused by my then ill-fitted bike) finally forced me stop pedaling. My valiant husband, eager to help me but even more desperate to get home, cycled beside me, hand on my back, pushing me uphill for several miles until I could pedal again. I'm not sure that's how I would define a "leisurely" ride, but it is comforting to know that my husband always has my back.

I'm meant to be flying to Canada this weekend to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of my good friend, Heather. I am blessed with a very tight group of girlfriends -- the five of us have been together since high school, but several of us have friendships extending back even further than that. We're throwing a stagette for the bride-to-be at Jessica's cabin in BC this coming weekend. The girls and I haven't spent quality time together since goodness-knows-when; the last time we were all in the same place for a night was in 1999, a few weeks before I moved to England. This would be a 10 year reunion of sorts, and I'd be loathe to miss it. (As you can see from the photo, whenever we get together, there's always some unexpected fun.) The girls have done a lot of planning and work for this weekend; all I have to do is fly in. I count myself blessed to have such organized, generous, and supportive friends.

Unfortunately, this week at work is shaping up to be no less hectic than the last. I'm desperately hoping that I will, in fact, still be able to make the trip come Friday, and that I'm not forced to cancel last-minute because of the deadlines with which I'm dealing. I am lucky, however, to work with a talented and motivated group of individuals, several of whom are now scrambling to enable me with some sort of remote international broadband access for this weekend so that I may have my cake and eat it, too.

I'm not sure how this week will shape up when all is said and done, but it seems that every time I stop to consider it, there are people all around me -- family, friends, coworkers -- who have my back. My butt, however, must fend for itself.

Hot SAWS!

My oldest and dearest friend, Laura, is visiting NYC for the first time this week.

Laura touched down on Tuesday night and is here through Sunday. The timing of her visit isn't perfect because it's a rather stressful and busy time for me at work, but, since these things can't be planned in advance, we're trying to make the best of it. Laura, in typical fashion for her, is being incredibly understanding and a great sport about things. She's not trying to squeeze in every little piece of Manhattan in five short days, but rather seems happy to see what she can while she's here, confident that she'll be back someday to see more. Thinking about my previous post on my tendency to stress over possible missed opportunities, it occurs to me that Laura's laid back approach may be a bit healthier!

Laura and I, over a bottle and a half of wine, to-die-for gnocchi, and some decadent chocolate cake, had a very good time getting caught up with everything that's going on in our lives. We have known each other since we were eight years old and have seen each other through countless bad boyfriends and even worse haircuts. But these days, we don’t get to spend enough quality time together. Our conversation last night inevitably included discussion of how our respective jobs are going, whether we are happy and fulfilled, and where we see ourselves in the future. But we also talked about the fact that Laura has found a new knack for, of all things, woodworking. She's built an entire workshop in her basement, and lately has been fashioning decorative Christmas trees out of all sorts of materials and interesting cuts of wood. She may not be making a living off of this (yet), but she's discovered an unusual hobby and a talent that she's only starting to cultivate.

Laura, in honour of your laid-back coolness, your optimism and good attitude, and your willingness to follow your heart wherever it may lead you -- including to a membership in the Southern Alberta Woodworkers Society (otherwise known as SAWS) -- this post is dedicated to you!