Hola chicos! Part 1

Luckily for you, there is something that can bring me back from The Outer Darkness of No Blogging after all: The Hoerl-Vierhaus-Staroba Invasion of Mexico 2012. I've been in Orlando for a conference for the past few days, so while I was able to ease back into reality by experiencing The Most Magical Place on Earth, the rest of the clan has been facing the harsh light of, you know, actual life after a perfect week in paradise.

To celebrate Mom and Dad's 35th anniversary, Julie, Paul, Nancy, Eric and I joined them at an adults-only, all-inclusive resort in Playa del Carmen called the Valentin Imperial Maya. This resort was perfect for us because:

a) everyone at the resort left their babies at home- which we were especially glad about after the kid walking in front of us blew (a lot of) chunks the moment he stepped off the plane in the Cancun airport. Yeah, that actually happened.

b) an adults-only resort is perfect for romance, and if there's one thing everyone thought of when they saw the seven of us prancing around that hotel, it was romance.

c) we don't like to do a lot thinking or math on vacation, so it's better if everything is included so we don't have to make any important decisions and never have to calculate a tip in pesos.

Mother Nature cooperated and sent neither snow nor sleet nor trembling earth our way and we all arrived in Cancun last Saturday without incident, gratefully accepting our welcome cocktail and settling into our new routine of resort luxury living.

Except for Paul.

In true New York travel style, Paul had to wait 1 million years for a subway, had to jump in a cab to chase down a bus at 2 am, arrived at the airport before it was actually open, and then took off in a plane that had to turn back because it was having mechanical difficulties. THEN when he finally arrived in Mexico, he had to sit on a bus for a couple of hours until there were enough other people to make it worth a trip to the hotels. And THEN when he finally got to the hotel, they didn't believe that he was actually supposed to be a guest there, since he didn't make the wild guess that the reservation was actually listed under the name of "Julie Hoerl, Paul." By the time we got there, he was completely crazed and in need of 5-6 cocktails and a huge platter of various meats, both of which he was able to find within our first hour at the Valentin

Now the scene is set, so without further ado, here are the top memories of Mexico 2012 (mostly in no particular order):

-On our first night, we saw the Fire Show on the beach. Basically, it was a bunch of nearly naked dudes doing some sexy dances with burning sticks. We thought this was the best possible way to kick off the vacation until the BEACH DANCE PARTY after the Fire Show began. Best. Time. Ever. We danced the night away on the soft white sand to an amazing band- we may or may not have caused a huge scene with our awesome moves, but we clearly didn't care since we caused the same scene almost every other night of the trip. Dancing to La Banda Imperial was a frequent, and favorite, activity.

-Three words: Open Concept Bathroom. Three more words: Mashed Potato Bath. Five Words: Chicken WIngs. In The Bath. Put 'em all together and what do you get? An EPIC first night in Mexico.

Allow me to explain: One of the major romantic features of the Valentin is the Open Concept Bathroom (OCB). This, of course, was the subject of much anticipation leading up to the trip and the reality of the OCB did not disappoint. Paul and Julie's room epitomized the concept. The tub was basically in the same room as the bed, with the shower, toilet, and bidet situated directly behind, shielded modestly by (clear) doors. So romantic for Paul and Julie!

The brochure for the Valentin features a couple very much enjoying their OCB, including a soak in a bath tub that is seemingly overflowing with mashed potatoes. Obviously, Paul, Julie, Eric, and I made it our mission to re-create this delicious, decadent, romantic experience. I'm happy to report that we were successful, and also had our own "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas moment" when we ordered late-night room service and indulged in some pizza and chicken wings, while sitting in our very own mashed potato bath. I'm fairly certain the four of us could have gone home the next day satisfied that Mexico had delivered.

-Joseph, the shy iguana that enjoyed sunning himself on top of our cabana and occasionally fell off the roof if he leaned too far to catch a bug or to perform his sun salutations. We also made acquaintances with many other friendly lizards, including Harry and Rick, who liked to pass through our cabana on their daily strolls.

-Lunch, at the service of Jorge, who decided we looked like a crowd that needed to be livened up. We were treated to a round of Tequlia Popper shots, complete with a napkin hat and/or another (often "adults-only") napkin prop. Look out, Strietelmeiers! We have some new ideas for the contest next Christmas!

-Hornitos margaritas, banana coladas, champagne for every meal, mudslides, mojitos, cuba libres, cervezas, dacquiris...you get the idea. These came in unlimited supply, and often from a swim up bar in a very lovely and warm pool. It really doesn't get any better that that....

-...except when these fine libations were delivered by our new bestie, Teresa! She is a tiny little cocktail waitress with a heart of gold and the cutest bounce in her step. We LOVE Teresa and (we think) she was at least somewhat entertained by Julia, Pablo, Eric, Rebecca, Sherry, Nancy, and Don Bond (El Jefe) and our attempts at conversational Spanish. Julie (Julia) and Paul (Pablo) originally planned to make our first espanol question for her be "Me llamo Julia! Que es su colore favorito?" (I'm Julie! What is your favorite color?). That might have been awkward, and also weird, especially with Joseph the Iguana peering down at us from his rooftop tanning booth.

-The ocean, of course! Some of us (I won't mention names) are quite afraid of the ocean due to the ever-present possibility of fish, jellyfish, or eels. Upon careful inspection, we happily discovered this ocean contained none of the above so we went wild! Although the waves knocked us over most days, forcing us back to the safety of our poolside cabana where a fresh drink was waiting, we spent plenty of time frolicking in the surf.

-Dinner at the French restaurant L'Alsace (or LOL Sauce, colloquially). This restaurant was promised as the best dining at the resort, and boy, did it deliver. Our food was extremely delicious, especially the butter for the bread. Not even kidding. Everything else was good too, don't worry. To add to our delight, a pianist was tinkling the ivories with our favorite lounge renditions of all the Broadway hits. THEN, when Julie ordered dessert (for the table to share) she selected two baked alaskas, one chocolate mousse and one cheesecake. The waiter wrote it down and turned, in complete seriousness, to Nancy and asked "and what will you be having?" From that point on, we knew we could order four of everything and no one would blink an eye, so we assumed we'd actually died and gone to heaven. To top it all off, at the very moment that the waiter lit the baked Alaska on fire in a dramatic flourish, the pianist launched into the theme from Phantom of the Opera. SO PERFECT. Paul was convulsing with so much excitement, I was sure I'd have to lay him under the table until he calmed himself.

I think that's enough for installment one- just you wait, the best is yet to come. Hint: it involves a very handsome, very tan, very blue-eyed, and very charming young man named Jesús (with an accent, just so we're clear).

Hasta luego, amigos!

And, we're back.

All that writing about exertion was completely exhausting last night, particularly after my very strenuous recovery day, largely spent sitting in the sun drinking (let's not kid ourselves- I may run sometimes now, but I still have priorities). After a good night's sleep and waking to a blessed day off, I'm now ready to continue documenting this summer's little victories.

Awesome Test #4- Desolation Wilderness Backpacking and Pyramid Peak

After the Mount Whitney extravaganza, my leg muscles wouldn't really function and I was completely filthy and, yet, I seemed to have come down with a slight case of the Outdoor Spirit. Though I was perfectly happy to spend some quality time re-establishing my city girl identity by cocktailing my way around New York for two weeks, I also agreed to go to Desolation Wilderness with Steve, Eric, and Mike over Labor Day.

Only this time, we would be BACKPACKING. Gasp. And shudder.

Since I had previously expressed 100% disinterest in backpacking - ever- I really was not equipped to carry all of my things on my back through the woods. Nancy offered her external frame backback circa 1971 (still in mint condition, I might add), but Eric (correctly) assumed that I had a better chance of enjoying the trip if I thought I looked cool. So, we bought a fancy-pants backpack to go with my high tech Mount Whitney hiking boots and super sweet trekking poles. I certainly looked the part.

So, off we went. You know what? Backpacking is not that bad! Revelation!

Desolation Wilderness is a beautiful, completely untarnished wilderness area near Lake Tahoe- highly recommended for anyone who occasionally enjoys looking at pretty things. We camped near one of the many lakes and set our sights on the summit of the Holy Grail of Desolation Wilderness- Pyramid Peak.

There are no trails to the top of Pyramid, so we set out on our old-school bushwacking excursion with only a map, a compass, and our wits to guide us. This was not a Mount Whitney-I'm-Seriously-Going-To-Kick-Your-Butt long hike, but, you guys, this hike was HARD. We successfully navigated our way to the top, scaling walls, climbing over car-sized boulders, crossing streams, and scrambling up giant piles of rocks while the terrain got steeper. And steeper. And steeper. Pyramid Peak did not mess around.

At the top, we celebrated with our fellow pioneers, including a wee seven year-old girl (Un.Believable.), and then began what would prove to be the most difficult part of the adventure- finding our way home. To start things off, Pyramid decided the whole thing would be a lot more fun if I was bleeding a lot, so it loosened one of its eight billion rocks just enough to send me catapulting into another extremely sharp rock. Thank goodness for Steve and his A-plus first aid training.

Then, we made several group decisions that led us down the part of the mountain that was basically vertical. Scary stuff, but when you're lowering yourself down a sheer rock wall, you can come up with some pretty amazing strength you had no idea you had. It wasn't "fun" at the time, but looking back at what we did, we felt awfully proud. Except that we weren't back to camp yet and it was basically dark. Oh yeah, and remember how there was no trail?

Headlamps on, we walked and walked and climbed and climbed in the direction of our camp, knowing that at some point, assuming a bear didn't eat us for a midnight snack, we would stumble on our tent. Sure enough, around 9 pm, we made it and no bears got to sample our tasty meat. After a day of hanging off the side of a mountain being lost but not lost in the woods, I can attest that dehydrated pasta primavera tastes pretty freakin' good.

Awesome Test #5- Ragnar Relay!

Finally, we arrive at this weekend's incredibly fun adventure: another 200 mile relay. Although my knee is still a little busted (torn hamstring attachment = not good times), the doctor gave me permission to run as much as my little heart desired, so Van Deuce remained basically intact, including yours truly playing the role of the Requisite Female.

This relay began in San Francisco and then wound its way around Napa Valley. Each van supports its runners half the time and "rests" the other half. There is much farting and giggling 100% of the time. From an outside perspective, sitting in a van for 36 hours with six sweaty boys telling mildy offensive jokes may not sound like a great time, but there's really nothing better. And, then there's the running, which, turns out, makes you feel pretty great, as long as you don't mind a little indigestion from eating so many bagels and packets of Gu.

Despite being unsure whether my slowly healing knee could handle it, I was determined to give my three legs my best shot. Friday afternoon, I ran 4.3 miles (ranked Very Hard) through the hilly farmland of Nicasio. Then, around 1 am, I completed 4.2 miles in Santa Rosa. After a couple of hours of sleep, I faced down what I knew would be my most difficult opponent: 7.9 Very Hard and hilly miles in Napa.

With my team cheering me on the entire way (we're not all jokes in Van Deuce- we're the real deal), I pushed myself through mile after blazing hot mile. I even passed people and cheered them on! It was unbelievably thrilling to reach that finish line. At the risk of getting all gooey and mushy, I truly hope everyone can experience something like that. A few hours later, Eric led all twelve members of our team, plus our awesome drivers and navigators, across the finish line in Calistoga. With our sweet Ragnar medals/bottle openers around our necks, we stuffed our faces with pizza and beer and started planning the next one. Ragnar SoCal- you're ours!

That's it! I figure I have a day or two to bask in all of this awesome-ness and then it'll be time to start thinking about the next big thing. If I've learned one thing about this alterate reality called Living in California, it's that no one likes to sit around for long. So, I think Eric and I will enjoy this for another minute or so and then head back outside to dominate something else.

Or at least I'll head to the pool- I am taking the day off, after all.

And now I can safely sit on my butt until Christmas...

This weekend, Eric and I earned the final points required to earn our Awesome Badge for 2011.

You can have one too- here's how:

Although the year still has a couple months left to affirm our self-proclaimed Awesomeness, we are (at least for today) perfectly satisfied with our current level of membership in the club. Without the bevy of brunch options or fancy Broadway parties that we were accustomed to in New York, Eric and I had to find new ways to fill our social calendar once we moved to San Francisco. Adios: Sunday sangria. Enter: A whole lot of exercise.

Don't get me wrong- we've always been fond of the gym and complimenting each other on our impressive muscles, but around Christmas when "we" (aka Eric) agreed to do our first 200 mile relay, I was less than enthused. In fact, I was shocked when I realized he hadn't meant it as a joke. Guess what? Not a joke. And so it began.

Awesome Test #1: THE RELAY

Once upon a time, our dear friend Tiffany asked us to run a 200 mile overnight relay with her. Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Tiff: No guys, it's fun! Really!

Me: HAHAHAHAHA.

Tiff: No, seriously! The running is really an afterthought. It's not about that! It's all about fun!

Me:HAHAHAHA.

Because we are bad at peer pressure and we really like Tiffany, we momentarily forgot that a) we didn't really like running and b) we didn't really like staying up all night, and we agreed to join the team and started to train.

Lo and behold, once you start practicing running, you actually get better at it and you no longer feel like you may die at any moment. Sure, it still hurts a lot sometimes, but soon little miss I-Hate-Running-Rebecca was pounding out four, six, even ten mile runs. And pigs did not even start to fly.

Then, in April, THE RELAY happened and Van 2/Van Deuce/Rebecca and a Bunch of Boys took the running world, or at least the running world from Napa to Santa Cruz, by storm. Our team of twelve split into two vans to cover the miles, and over the course of about 36 hours we ran our way across Northern California. I personally ran over 4 miles in Sonoma, 6.2 in Pacifica at 2 am (best time ever! and I'm so not kidding!) and 6.3 in the Santa Cruz mountains. Much hilarity, gas, and body odor ensued (I mentioned the boys, right?). Little to zero sleep occurred. A bunch of running addicts were born.

Turns out Tiff was right- the running IS an afterthought. There's something to be said about that feeling of accomplishment when you push yourself to do something you never thought was possible for yourself. And we wanted MORE.

Awesome Test #2: Avenue of the Vines Half Marathon

Ok, you know this one. But, here's a re-cap. I busted my knee, Mother Nature: California Edition delivered tons of hail and rain and thunder, ZipCar tried really hard to keep us from going to Lodi, I used an entire roll of tape to keep myself in an upright and locked position, and we were almost dead last but finished our 13.1 mile hobble. Great times and I received a sip of wine as a reward, but we're still thinking we might need a do-over. An accomplishment, nonetheless.

Awesome Test #3: Day Hiking Mount Whitney

As you may recall, last year Eric and his boyfriends went on a backpacking trip to Mount Whitney ("best time they ever had. Ever.") while I happily stayed and drank martinis with my family. This year, I agreed to hike that beast in one day with Eric, the Paynes, Kristina, and a few other friends. Again, with the peer pressure. While the idea of carrying my sleeping bag on my back sounded like torture, walking 22 miles up and down one of the tallest mountains in America sounded like a pretty good time. Hey- I'm always up for a nice stroll!

Yeah. That was not good thinking. Mount Whitney does NOT mess around.

First, our campsite, while beautiful, was a popular thoroughfare for bears. Little to our knowledge as we set up camp at midnight when we arrived, our wee friend Paddington was playing a game of What/Who Will I Eat For Dinner? Then, Chris' bear spray went off in his tent and things got a bit messy. The mountain loomed.

Our Donner Party set out at midnight and enjoyed several incredible star-lit miles. Along the way, we lost a few to altitude and gained a passerby, Randy, who was making his sixth attempt to summit Whitney. (And no, we didn't LOSE lose them. No one died, so stop worrying. I just needed to clarify.) By dawn, we'd hiked over 7 miles and were at around 11,000 feet. Not bad for a day's work but, unfortunately, also not even close to the end.

Fueled by beef jerky, arrogance (stubbornness, if you want to be nice about it), Mojo bars, fun-sized Snickers, and a lot of jokes, Eric, Steve, Tiff, Katie (Tiff's sister), and I pushed our way through 99 switchbacks, sheer cliffs, snowfields, and a seemingly endless trail and FINALLY arrived at the summit. Hallelujah!

And then we had to hike down.

That, my friends, was something akin to torture. Many hours, semi-hallucinations, jokes, and a few tears later, we arrived back at camp. We hiked for over 18 hours and couldn't honestly say it was enjoyable until the next day, but when we dragged our beaten-to-a-pulp bodies out of our tents the next day and looked at what we'd accomplished, "enjoyment" doesn't begin to sum up the pride and awe that we felt.

Alright, let's be honest- this is getting a little too long and has the potential to get sappy. Blech. The final two installments of this great adventure will be available for your viewing pleasure tomorrow or whenever I feel like it. You may now return to Facebook.

Hurricane, Part 2

Well. I guess that was a hurricane.

Although "the worst is still coming", we awoke this morning (admittedly a little late) to no rain, some wind, and patches of sun, so I'm thinking this hurricane might be dunzo. Don't get me wrong- things got pretty exciting around 11 pm last night. The wind was howling, there were actual sheets of water falling from the sky, and the river was raging. I definitely didn't want to go outside, so I'm going to say that was probably the hurricane, and I liked it. Good entertainment. I feel kind of bad for the trees though- they've been dropping it like it's hot ALL night and they have GOT to be tired of this dance party. They probably just really want to lie down.

But, even though the news people are probably sad that they're going to have to talk about something else soon- you know, like real news- I think Irene's bark just might be worse than her bite. (Don't quote me on this- I got my meteorology degree online, so I might not be the most reliable source. Definitely check with the real experts on the NY1 channel before kayaking in the New York Harbor today.)

Now the fun really begins. All these people who have been stuck in their apartments for an entire day, most of which was spent waiting for something-ANYTHING- to happen, are now going to be stuck in their apartments for ANOTHER day. And this time probably not even the bar next door will be open. The people are going to revolt.

Well, as I type, the wind is picking up a bit, so maybe we're in for another quick round of hurricaning. Good thing, too, because we haven't even gotten the chance to enjoy our fine hurricane peanut butter, Goldfish, and applesauce feast.

This afternoon, though, the stir-crazies will be out in full force. Look out New York!

Hurricane, Part 1

Hi. So. This, apparently, is called a hurricane. I mean, the good news is that since San Francisco is a LITTLE boring compared to NYC, I decided to come to New York the exact week it decided to have an earthquake AND a hurricane!

And so, here we are.

So far, this hurricane is a huge bust. Although the city is in a tizzy, Mother Nature is pretty relaxed about the whole situation. Aside from the two or three raindrops I've seen today, not much is happening and I'm starting to think it's possible that the weathermen, the drugstores, the liquor stores, the bars, and the drugstores conspired to make this whole thing up to generate some profit. And panic. And it's working.

Without Eric here to prepare us for the impending catastrophe, Paul and I were on our own to get ready for lockdown. While Paul went to the library to check out 44 recordings of La Traviata, I visited every store in the Upper West Side to buy our essentials: Goldfish crackers, applesauce, cherry tomatoes, baby carrots, peanut butter, and applesauce. Oh, AND $35 worth of candles because there are no more flashlights in Manhattan. Yes, I think we're ready, don't you? (And, no, I did not take time to consider whether I might actually want to eat these provisions. Luckily, Paul is stocked up on popcorn chicken, frozen dumplings, and 8 boxes of pasta and sauce. And lots of wine. Really old wine.)

Since the entire city is now shut down and armored vehicles are guarding the tunnels and bridges, the staff of pretty much every store and restaurant decided to take a Hurricane Day along with everyone else on the East Coast. But, the lovely bar next door to Paul's house made the BETTER decision and hosted a Hurricane Frat Party instead.

And by some miracle, my dad made it here too, so now the three of us are shut into Paul's apartment with our delicious grenadine-filled Hurricanes that we took to-go from the bar (who's going to stop us? The police are clearly busy dealing with the mayhem that ensues when an entire city has been preparing for a hurricane for 24 hours and is now waiting. And waiting. With nothing to do and, literally, nowhere to go.)

And now we wait- Cheers!

Barely Legal

This month I've suffered two traumatic events:

1. I finally had to trade my beloved Colorado drivers' license for a legit California license.

2. I had to drive.

Happily, I've gotten over any lingering side effects of such drama.

Despite the fact that I haven't actually lived in Colorado for a good ten years, I've still held on to that licenses. Perhaps it's been out of denial, perhaps out of laziness, but more than likely just because I prefer to maintain the illusion that I'm still a Coloradan- neither a New Yorker nor a Californian and, thus, still superior. Coloradans, you all know exactly what I'm talking about here, so stop judging.

Unfortunately, the Colorado DMV decided five years ago that my charade would have to end on May 13, 2011 so, with approximately 5 seconds to spare, I turned myself in. (Apparently it is a crime to live in a state for more than 10 days without getting a new license. Obviously, they don't take someone's attachment to their roots into consideration here, or they would extend that limit to something closer to a decade).

Once I accepted the reality of the situation, I had to start jumping through bureaucratic hoops. Driving test, anyone? The California DMV's website is infuriatingly vague on the subject of an on-road driving test so, my reluctance was starting to look a lot like panic. My years as a city girl have turned me into an anti-driver- I prefer public transportation or, even better, for someone to drive me around and the idea of operating a vehicle, frankly, terrifies me. Having to drive with someone else in the car? That sends me into convulsions.

Luckily for my nerves and the unfortunate DMV employee who might have gotten me as his subject, I didn't have to take a driving test. Whew! I did have to take an eye test (passed!) and a written test (also passed!), through which I learned some very fun facts:

•Highways are most slippery when it first starts to rain after a dry spell

•You must make a written Report of Traffic Accident Occurring in California SR 1 (now that's a mouthful!) within 10 days if you are in a collision that causes more than $750 in damage

•Smoking inside a vehicle when a person younger than 18 years of age is present is illegal at all times

That concludes the lesson of the day.

After a mere two hours of standing in line at the DMV, I was officially licensed and ready to hit the road. Literally.

The next week, I had to go to the Washington DC area for work and, as is the case in most city suburbs, I was going to need a car to get around. TRIAL BY FIRE!

Other than driving to and from the airport, my typical journeys were no more than 3 miles. Grueling, I know. BUT, navigating around Tyson's Corner, VA could have been a driving test in itself. Hazards abounded! Gridlock traffic, construction everywhere, sudden lane closures, shopping malls...you name it, there was something intimidating in my path. Because of these obstacles, the useless maps provided by our friend Google, and my reluctance to run into other cars in order to change lanes, I missed my planned turn 9 times out of 10, so every single trip took twice as long as it should have and shortened my life just a bit more than necessary.

By the end of the week, I was becoming an expert at the old driving thing (translation: I was no longer shaking at the end of the drive and only missed 1-3 turns per trip), but I still had my biggest quest ahead of me: get back to the airport at rush hour and get gas.

Let's just say I got a 50%, plus some bonus points for bravery.

I managed to get to the freeway, get on the freeway, cross 5 lanes of heavy traffic in less than a mile, and take the correct (unmarked) exit. Genius! Bonus points all around! The getting gas situation was less successful. Turns out, the only gas station I could find was also a popular rest stop for airport taxis and limo drivers. Like in the middle of the gas lanes. Imagine parking lot, but with all the cars facing a different direction, and half of the cars with no driver. Yeah, it was like that.

I finally squeezed up to a gas pump only to discover my gas tank was on the other side (fail!) and I had no idea where the button to open the tank was (fail again!). After 5 minutes of panicked searching for the stupid button, I threw in the towel. Lucky me, though, I was stuck between two driverless vehicles! With other drivers all around me honking and (probably) yelling, I really thought that might be the end of me. I had officially entered my fourth to worst nightmare (the first three involve geese, tsunamis, and snakes, in that order).

With a few deep breaths, a lot of crossed fingers, some wincing, and the promise of a cocktail at the airport, both the car and I got out of our little pickle and I drove my teary eyes and empty gas tank to the car return and said GOOD RIDDANCE to driving.

At least for this year.

Resurfacing

Oh hello.

So this is my blog! Clearly, I had forgotten how to get to this website.

Could also be that I've been working far more than any reasonably sane person should and my mind and my life have been too filled with database-marketing-membership-orchestra-conference- orchestra-database-i-love-flying-on-planes-membership-conference-lmao-must-do-work-now-must-do-work-always for me to remember that I have actually done some fun stuff over the last 3 months and that you people might want to know about it.

Or something like that.

Let's start at the beginning, and by beginning I mean today, because that's the farthest back i can be counted on to reliably remember these days. This morning, Eric and I participated in our first half marathon! (I can't truthfully say we ran this race--but more on that later). All signs pointed to "No, you dumbos, no one should run that far. Go back to bed" but we are stubborn and slightly idiotic individuals so we proceeded with abandon and very little caution.

The preface: Last weekend, my left knee decided it had had enough with this running business (THE RELAY, and the many, many miles of running it required, was a mere two weeks ago, but that deserves its own time slot. Stay tuned). Madame Left Knee closed up shop on mile 9 of our last training run- excellent timing, week before our big race, left knee! Thanks for nothing, lady! Not to be deterred, I diligently limped around wearing my AWESOME black knee brace every day last week (looks great with sundresses!) and spent my evenings in my hotel room alone with my trusty ice pack. (Oh yeah. I was in DC last week for work. Never a dull moment around here.)

The ice and the great fashion statement helped to a degree, but I can safely say that a physician would not have cleared me to run today. Luckily for me, there are no physicians around here!

If a busted knee wasn't enough of an indication that maybe today wasn't our day for a half marathon, the warnings just kept on coming...First, yesterday the weathermen predicted a Severe Cold Warning (Ah, Californians. What are you gonna do?) for the entire Bay Area, complete with downpours, hail, and lightning for Sunday morning. Perfection!

Alas, we woke up to wet pavement but dry skies at 4 am this morning, and stumbled to our sweet wheels for the day, a rented Zipcar parked a few blocks from our house. But, lo and behold, it was double-parked and impossible to get out of its parking space. Brilliant! Did we turn right around? No way! Luckily, Zipcar has 24-hour customer service, and they found us a different car just another few blocks away. This car was in a fancy garage in an office building that was very clearly locked. Nice. Luckily (again) there was a jolly security guard who was more than happy to lead us to our new, easily accessible Zipcar.

Except there was one small problem. Surprise, surpise.

When we drove through the gate to exit, the giant metal garage door loomed in front of us. Completely. Un-movingly. Closed. Awesome.

Since this was a top-of-the-line garage someone came quickly to our rescue and told us that (obviously) you just had to drive within about 1 foot of the giant closed metal garage door and it would open. Obviously.

At last, we were free, ready make an easy getaway across the bridge and be to Lodi in time to pretend to stretch and to scarf a few pre-race pancakes. Wrong again! (There is a very clear pattern here, no?). Today was Bay to Breakers, San Francisco's annual clothing optional 10K run/excuse to drink heavily in public before 9 am. For us, on this fine day, this meant that every street leading to the Bay Bridge was blocked off. After talking to a few race volunteers who either a) didn't speak English, b) were still sleeping, or c) thought we were Martians, someone finally gave us an escape route and we got across the bridge.

Are you exhausted yet? If so, remember that this was all before 6 am and then you feel free to feel even more exhausted and, also, bad for us. We had a fairly uneventful drive to Lodi, until we realized that Google had taken us to the middle of the Woodbridge vineyards, instead of the actual winery, where the race was to begin promptly at 7 am. This was at about 6:45, and, turns out, Woodbridge is kind of a big winery.

We made it to the actual location with mere moments to spare and had to park a good half mile away, and, in case you were wondering, an extra walk is GREAT when you're about to "run" 13 miles on a busted knee. Against all odds, we managed to check in and get our numbers and goodie bags about 2 seconds before the race started. I furiously used an entire roll of athletic tape in a fairly fruitless effort to stabilize my knee while Eric ran back to the car to drop of our stuff and fill his pockets with our as yet uneaten pancakes.

Aaaannnnnd then we missed the start of the race.

Needless to say, at this point, I was getting the message loud and clear: This was not supposed to be happening. And, yet, here I was, all the way in Lodi, one leg covered in tape and the other held together with a tendon strap named McDavid, and you can bet I was running that race, despite the tears of frustration and disappointment that had inevitably started to fall.

A few things you should know about me (and you probably all do): I've come to strongly identify myself with physical fitness, I don't like to quit anything, and I definitely don't like to let myself down. So, even though I was already terribly disappointed that this was not at all how I had imagined things to be, I had to do this race.

Fortunately, there was also a 5K race this morning, so we started with them (we'll call it a 15 minute penalty for ignoring all the ominous signs) and only got a couple of strange looks when we blew past the 5K mark and started running our own private half-marathon. As one of the EMT's on duty said, "If you guys want to win, you're going to have to hurry." Touché, man.

My knee held up fairly well for the first half of the race and, and with a mixture of running and walking, we did actually catch up to some of the other half-marathoners. (Does it count as a roadkill if you pass people who are intentionally walking the race? I'm thinking yes, so, in that case, we racked up a good 45 roadkills today. Score!) At about Mile 8, though, my knee was tired of being a good sport.

Although this made me incredibly sad, I simply could not run anymore. It was not only painful, it may have been impossible at that point, so I waved the (off)white flag and decided to walk the rest of the way. Eric stuck with me and we finished in around 2 hours and 45 minutes, in approximately 300th place, which was not even last! Fine, fine work, I say. (Eric was second to last in his age group, but we can blame that one entirely on me. We won't put that in the record books).

Clearly, today was not the victorious accomplishment I envisioned when I registered us for this race, but I have to keep reminding myself that moving one's self 13.1 miles, whether at a sprint, a jog, a walk, or a crawl, is still something to be proud of. To help me remember, I have been wearing my medal all day. For real. It's cool, you guys!

The moment we crossed the finish line, the skies opened up and the big rain finally came. We snapped some pictures during a momentary dry spell and then sought refuge in a Lodi winery before heading to Stockton for Michael's Pizza. Because if there's ever a time you deserve pizza dipped liberally in the world's best ranch dressing, it's after a half-marathon, you know what I'm saying?

And now we're back, curled up with the sweet kitty and my favorite ice pack, drinking celebratory scotch/Champagne.

End of saga.

In our next issue: my re-entrance to the world of driving, THE RELAY, our adventures in Vegas, and other potentially interesting tales...