Riding Your Bike is not for Losing Weight

I heard a lady say this at the SAG stop on the very first organized bike ride that I participated in. She said it because the options for snacks at the pit stop were tiny bananas, tiny peanut butter sandwiches, tiny brownies and tiny cupcakes. Immediately after she said it, she popped a bite sized brownie in her mouth.

I was beginning to agree with her.

If I've learned one thing in the years of losing (and then finding) the same ten fifteen twenty pounds over and over again, losing weight is all about what you eat. I mean, sure, exercise is important, but you can exercise until the cows come home* and you won't lose nearly as much weight as if you alter your diet.

So with all this bike riding, I was not expecting to lose weight.

I have not been disappointed.

Though I have to say that things are.... different.

So the other day, when walking my dog, I passed my neighbor and waved hello.

I should take a break here to explain that I LOVE my neighborhood. Love it. Sure, it's on the edge of ghetto, but I was having this discussion the other day and someone described living in the city as "organic." That's a good word. It's organic. While I could do without the "Daaaaa-YUM!!!"s that come from the younger men in my neighborhood (seriously dudes, not the way to approach a woman with any sort of success) I do so love the elderly men. I have a sneaking suspicion that they call each other when I'm walking my dog because if I see the first guy on my route sitting on his porch, then I see each and every one of them. If I don't see the first guy, I rarely see any of them. (This tickles me to death.)

We have a casual friendship. I wave and say hello, we chit chat about the weather, about the regularity of my dog walking (they know I'm in school) etc etc. Sometimes I get introduced to family members.

Confession: I don't know any of their names. They call me "lady." It's that sort of "friendship."

So when I saw my neighbor the other day and waved, he responded with "It's just melting off!"

I was confused, "I'm sorry?"

"It's melting off!"

Here is where I started to laugh. "What is?"

"That extra weight!"

(Side note: Where else in the world could a man say that to a woman with no fear of getting his eyes scratched out? I'm not even sure I would take that very well from the boy.)

I'm full out laughing at this point. "But I haven't lost a pound!!!"

"Well then it's redistributing or something... you look great!"

I kept walking, and laughing, all the while composing the blog post in my head. That exchange made my day. Seriously. I could count on two hands the women I know who would have been highly offended by that conversation. (most of them not Emily favorites) But I enjoyed the straight forward manner of the entire exchange. High comedy.

Too bad I'm not sure I believe him. No joke that I haven't lost a pound, but exercise makes you feel better, and I have been wearing clothing that is a little more form fitting than usual. Plus it's summer and my arms have a killer tan from all the riding. (There is a definite link between level of tan and how thin you look. It's true. It's been scientifically proven.)

Speaking of which, here's an update. As of yesterday, I have ridden 481 miles. I'm a bit ahead of schedule, which is good. But that's the last picture of this odometer that you'll see because I kind of had to upgrade. Which means that I'll have to add totals from two odometers together to meet my goal which sort of bothers me (Helllloooooo type A!!!) but que sera. More on that tomorrow. Promise.

*See what I did there? That's from living in Indiana my entire life. UPenn, if someone from your prestigious university is reading this, that's enough reason right there to accept me into your program...

Nine-to-Five

Sometimes, I hate my job. I'm not going to lie. There are times that I talk about the redundancy of my job, and how a chimpanzee could probably be trained to do what I do. I complain about my boss, I complain about the pay...hell, some days there is nothing that could go right between the hours of 8:00am and 5:00pm.

But sometimes I need to stop and remember the perks of working for a small company. Perks like today. Because that picture? That picture is of my boss's desk. My boss is not AT his desk because he went home sick. And as employees of the company, well, we decided that we would use his monitor to stream the World Cup matches for the day. So, you know, there are no company resources going under-utilized. Because we wouldn't want the company resources to not be used to their maximum capabilities.

And things like that? Not to mention "two hour lunches" that may or may not have been taken to watch the USA games? I need to stop taking them for granted. Because on days like today, in weeks leading up to long holiday weekends, when the windows are open and soccer is on in the background? There's not much that could be better.

(Well, you know, I could be making more money....but who couldn't?)

Twice! In Two days!

I had my annual appointment with my doctor today.

I would go into all the reasons why I *heart* my doctor (who's technically my girly doctor, but has taken on the role of general practitioner... I'm not sure why ...) but I'll just get to the stinking point.

For what seems like the 10th year in a row, he asked me if I have any questions or complaints and I responded with the only one I ever have. I am So. Frigging. Tired.

All the time. Tired.

Now, I realize that my schedule is insane. I realize that I pack a lot into my day. I realize that I accomplish a lot. And maybe this is normal? Maybe I just need to take a weekend to do nothing.

But see, I feel like I HAVE taken weekends to do nothing. And I do not feel refreshed when I go back to the routine on Monday. I still feel tired. I mean, could sleep until noon every day if you let me. (and if you removed the guilt about things that need to get done that aren't being done...)

So my doctor decided to run some tests to see if we can figure out what's up. Maybe nothing. Maybe I just need some iron supplements. But let's just be sure.

So he drew blood.

Let me just say that again.

He had a technician stick a needle in the same arm that was violated yesterday, and drew a vial of blood. (They were successful this time)

That's twice in two days. I think I'm done with the needles for a while, thank you very much.

Oh, for the love...

My father always tells me, "You can't save them all, Emily." I tend to disbelieve him. It's not that I want to save everyone or every animal. It's that I want to know that I'm doing all I can to save everyone and every animal.

This is the root of my love/hate relationship with donating blood.

(Side note: Do you donate blood? If not, you should. Don't you want to be certain that should YOU ever need blood there is a ready supply? Go help out. They give you cookies.)

I am notsomuch a fan of needles. One might say that I'm afraid of them. Actually, I take that back. This is not like, say, my fear of cockroaches. It's not a completely debilitating fear. It's more of an intense dislike. I intensely dislike needles when they are being stuck into me.

But it's precisely because of this dislike, and because of the benefits of donating blood to society, that I feel more pressure to actually DO IT. That which does not kill us makes us stronger, right? When you face your fears, or face new challenges, you grow as a person. It's like a logic puzzle. This costs me little or nothing, and the benefits are great. Why NOT do it? I should do this because I can, and because the benefits outweigh some irrational dislike that I may have.

Unfortunately (or fortunately if you look at it as a 'sign from God') I'm slightly anemic. The last three times I've attempted to donate blood, my iron was too low. Oh, darn. I mean, I TRIED, right?

Then again, you don't see me doing anything about the low iron.

So today I decided to attempt the donation again. I figured that if I was turned down AGAIN, I would actually drive myself directly to CVS and purchase an iron supplement, if not a multivitamin that I would actually take daily.

I'm not going to lie. I was nervous. Butterflies-in-stomach, tight-grip-on-my-purse, laugh-too-loud nervous. When they went to prick my finger for the blood sample, I had to take a brief break to giggle for about 45 seconds before I gave her my finger.

The minimum hemoglobin that they accept is 12.5. I came in at 12.6. I was cleared to donate blood.

Swell.

So I go back to the area with comfy chairs and lots of plastic bags. I was still giggling. When I sat down and the tourniquet was put on, I concentrated on breathing. Just breathing. In. Out. I could do this. In. Out. It's all mind over matter.

Then the person searching for a vein in my left arm called over another technician to assist. They discussed my veins and I heard words like, "Well, that one is okay, I guess." I made a joke about how I was being difficult and my mother would not be surprised. (Surprise! I crack jokes when I'm nervous.) They laughed and called over another technician while the first technician went ahead and checked my right arm, this time using a blood pressure cuff instead of a tourniquet. She told the others that the vein in the left (deemed "okay, I guess") was better than anything she found in the right arm.

A fourth person was called over. She replaced the tourniquet because she was "old school." She didn't even feel the vein that the first technician had deemed the best available. The second and third technician took turns feeling for the vein for varied amounts of success. Finally the first technician declared, "It's there, it's just deep."

Let's take a moment to think about how this was affecting my anxiety, shall we?

Finally the first technician decided to move forward. This is where I stopped watching. The fourth technician, seeing how nervous I was, decided to stand on my right and distract me with conversation. Which was sweet. But I must admit that I have no idea what she was saying since I closed my eyes and concentrated on how this was not going to hurt. I was a strong woman. This was not going to hurt me and I was most CERTAINLY not going to faint.

And it didn't really. I mean, there was the initial prick that wasn't so much fun... but it was over quickly. It's not like I enjoyed the sensation of a needle in my arm. But it was bearable. What do you know?! I actually COULD do this. This was cake.

Until I heard the words, "I can't hit it."

Oh for the love of...

She couldn't hit it. And mercifully, she didn't try more than a couple/three times before admitting defeat. There was no blood donation for me this Thursday afternoon in June.

As the fourth technician talked over me to the first, I asked, "Can I look now?" She responded, "Oh no, honey. It's not ready yet."

I was grateful.

I was told that I could try again when my arm healed. That I could try drinking more water. That might help. That everyone is different and they're thankful that I tried.

So, to sum up, I gathered my courage, faced my fear, went through the worst of it and it was for nothing. I feel like I failed a test, and I can't help but laugh. I mean, who else does this happen to? I do all this prep work and put all this effort into something so difficult for me, and because of something out of my control, I am unable to reach my goal. (I won't even THINK about how terrifying that is.) I have a badge of honor on my arm that indicates that I donated blood (she's such a good person!) but I did not donate blood. I have to laugh because the irony is too great.

At least I still got cookies.

So I'm waiting a couple of weeks, drinking even MORE water, and will try again. Is anyone willing to come with? It's for a good cause! And besides, you'll get to show me up when YOU get to donate blood and I am a FAILURE. Le sigh.

Worst. Superhero. Ever.

This morning the boy and I stepped outside early, earlier than I usually set foot in the great outdoors, in order to try and capture the illustrations necessary for an upcoming blog. Alas, we failed. As we turned to re-enter the house, I pulled open the screen door and saw a monster run along the INSIDE of my door.

The closest that I can come to describing it was that it was approximately the size of my head, it had about 75 thousand legs, and it wanted to jump on my ear to suck my brain out. Given that description, the only option that I had was to shriek.

"Oh My God! There's a thing! On the fence! Ew ew ew ew ew!!! And now it's in my house! It ran along the fence and now it's in my house! Killitkillitkillit!!!!"

Note: all of this was said while releasing the door, backing AWAY from the door quickly, and gesturing to it frantically.

The boy LEAPED into superhero mode. "What?"

It was here that my panic took over. "ON THE FENCE! It was huge! And now it's in my house! I can't go back in there!! It was HUGE! OMGOMGOMGOMG!"

"On the fence?" The boy whirled around to look at the fence behind us. "Then how can it be in your house now?"

"ON THE FENCE....ER, screen. I meant screen. It ran along the inside of the screen and now it's in my house." (It was here that my brain kicked back in.)

"WHERE IS IT AND WHAT IS IT?!"

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING NO SENSE! YOU SAID FENCE, SO I'M LOOKING AT THE FENCE, BUT THEN YOU SAID IT WAS IN THE HOUSE!"

"I opened the door and a huge bug ran along the inside of the screen towards the cat. It is now in my house. It was huge."

The boy took a deep breath. "Point to where the bug went."

I timidly stretched out a finger to indicate the inside corner of the screen near the hinges.

"Okay. Good. Let me go take a look."

The boy disappeared in my house, and I walked with the dog for a bit. I heard the muffled sounds thumping, a "JESUS!" and then an aerosol can being sprayed. Finally I heard, "All clear now."

As I re-entered the house I said, "You know, I don't remember the part in the story where the superhero yells at the damsel in distress."

"Well, if the damsel doesn't TELL the superhero where the bad guys went, he can't help her, can he?"

"I still don't think he ever yelled at her. She's panicking. In fact, he should be grateful that she's any help at all. Most damsels are swooning by the time the superhero gets there."

"What is this, a superhero in 1920?"

"If it were, I'll bet he wouldn't yell at the damsel."

"And I'll bet the damsel was able to tell him where the bad guys are."

"Whatever. Panic. It's something that superheros learn to deal with correctly at their superhero workshops."

"Superhero workshops?"

"Yes. Which is how they avoid becoming the worst superhero ever."

"Is that me?"

"Well, it's not me! I'm the swooning damsel."

"That certainly was a lot of shrieking for a swoon."

"Shut it."

To help you get in the World Cup spirit

Just in case you didn't take my last suggestion to watch the World Cup seriously, here's a primer of sorts.

And just for kicks I'm including the picture of Benny because, um, yum.

And also there's that whole competition thing. And like I've mentioned before, there's nothing like when your team wins....especially if they're the underdog. Which we are, by the way. By quite a bit.

So mark your calendars now - June 12th, USA vs. England.

(Don't worry - another blog post with more substance is brewing. But first I must capture the illustrations...)

The Pants Problem

Men don't know how easy they have it. Really they don't. One day, early in the relationship, I had to pick up some pants for the boy. He gave me two numbers to look for, and that was that. "How do you know they're gonna fit?" Apparently they just always do. If you're a boy, and you know your two magic numbers, the pants will always fit.

This is so far opposite from my life that I literally couldn't comprehend it. They always fit? Any pants, anywhere, with these two numbers?

The boy laughed at me. But seriously!

I hate shopping for pants. It is the bane of my existence. It's even worse than swimsuit shopping. No lie, ladies. I mean, I'm sure it would be easier if I were, um, a little more on the slender side. And perhaps a little on the taller side. But as it is, I'm a little bottom heavy, with most of my excess weight centered on my ass and thighs. This basically means that even though women only have one number to remember, that number does not necessarily mean that the pants will fit me. In fact, nine times out of ten my size won't fit me, neither will the next size up, or the next size down. All I get out of shopping for pants is a big fat load of frustration.

You wouldn't like me when I'm frustrated. Or maybe you would. I'm funny. Unless I'm frustrated with you, of course. Then I'm frightening.

Anyway. The deal is that my ass/thigh combo seems to require a size that is too large for my waist. Which results in pants that fit semi-comfortably but have HUGE amounts of excess fabric at the waist. (Yes, they can be altered, and yes, this is what I generally tend to do. Find pants that fit mostly okay and pay an additional $20 to have them fit correctly.)

Oh and "low rise?" That was made for people with no junk in their trunk. Or maybe with just a smaller trunk. But apparently everyone on earth has a smaller trunk because low rise seems to be all that's being sold these days. (And don't get me STARTED on skinny jeans. Women are supposed to have curves.) I mean, unless I want to buy grandmother jeans that sit up on my natural waist, which I have done on occasion out of desperation, it seems I have no options. (no offense to any grandmothers reading. Your jeans fit you beautifully.)

But I will never, ever, EVER, buy pants with pleats. (ARE YOU READING THIS MOTHER?) I don't care if "pleated pants fit our figure better" or "they look so flattering" (LIE!) There has GOT to be a better solution than pleats. End of story.

So when I ruined my last pair of khakis by washing them with a pink t-shirt (for the second time) I was in a pickle. Wear ruined khakis? Wear dresses to work every day? Can I plead "wardrobe malfunction" and just wear pajama bottoms to work?

I decided that online shopping would be less painful than actual fitting rooms that are A) in public B) not in my house and not with my mirror and C) not with my clothes so that I can try different tops to see if the pants are actually acceptable. I reasoned that sending pants back was easier than leaving the mall in tears.

And so my search began. I googled every combination of "petite" "Khaki" "wide-leg" "flare" and "pants" that you can think of. Until I remembered this catalog I had received in the mail last winter. The catalog that I had perused and loved and then immediately pitched because the prices were not prices that could be accepted on a full-time-working-student budget. The catalog from Athleta.

Cue glorious background music.

I love their stuff. So I visited online. And found pants that I loved. Pants that I loved that cost more than I was willing to spend on pants. Pants that, I reasoned, there was no drawback in ordering because they probably wouldn't fit anyway and then at least I would KNOW. Specifically, these pants. Seriously? What's the harm? Pants never ever fit me.

OMG, they fit like they were MADE FOR ME. No kidding. It's like the worst practical joke ever. They fit 100 percent. No complaints. Not one. Well, except for the price. Did you see the price? Did you see that I could probably eat lunch for sixteen days at that price?

So, see, my normal behavior would be to buy a pair in every color because, pshaw, they FIT and that never happens. But, um.....expensive.

So basically there's this war going on. They fit! They're expensive! They fit! They're expensive! It's quite the conundrum. And basically, I should have seen it coming. Because, at this point in my life, I've probably tried on all the cheap pants in the world - of course expensive pants are the only option left. The person who hates shopping must now spend more money than she is willing to buy name brand. Oh the irony. Woe is me. Woe woe woe.

And I would feel worse, but they're so pretty. Have I mentioned that? So pretty, in fact, that I would sell myself on the street to get the money to pay for them. They look so good on me that I would actually wear them to sell myself on the street... but you just don't see many prostitutes in khakis these days. I'm not sure why. Maybe I need to work that angle.

My cousin mentioned that I should buy a pair in brown and a pair in black so that I'm completely covered. I was TOTALLY going to follow her advise until I realized that navy blue is on sale.

What the hell shoes do I wear with navy blue pants?

(Navy blue pants that will look FANTASTIC on me, btw.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see exactly how long I'll have to go without eating once I order more pants. (Pants that FIT!!!)

(Author's note - this is my 300th post and it's about clothing. Worse, it's about shopping. A topic that I abhor. But if I wait for a more auspicious topic to come along, you would miss all the mundane trivialities of my life which is what you really tune in for, right? So just have a glass of wine tonight in celebration of my 300th post and pretend that it was about something important and life-altering.)

A pinch of this, a sprinkle of that...

Biking update - I've been riding to work as much as possible - despite the geese and stupid drivers turning right (look both ways people!!) In the beginning, I was averaging a 20 minute ride, with longer rides in the mornings, because...duh. Now I'm passing boys on the towpath and making it home in 18:43. Gotta love that. Obviously, when I wake up to a monsoon at 6:30am (like today) I go right back to sleep for 45 minutes with zero regrets. This is the fourth week since making the decision to ride 1000 miles, and I'm currently sitting at 417 miles from the starting 228. I only need 11 more miles to keep on track for my 50 miles per week. I think I can get that done, if not riding to work, then this weekend when we have a 24 mile bike ride scheduled.

Casualties from the bike riding? My shoulders which are both currently peeling due to my inability to remember that people with darker skin tones need sunblock too. My wallet from the riding gloves that were recently purchased (and make me look bad ASS even if I do say so myself.) And my water bill as I have to do more laundry to keep up with all the clothes I'm wearing.

I still think I'm coming out ahead.

Casey has been taking fish oil pills since I learned that monster dog is unbearable. So far, her fur is noticeably softer, and she doesn't have the visible bumpy hives on her back and legs. But she still does have splotches on her stomach caused by allergies, and her eyes are still red-rimmed. Overall, I think things are improving, and I'm willing to keep it up for another month to see if things get even better. However, since she can't NOT be sick, she decided to get a bladder infection and scare the bejeezus out of me all other tests came back normal and I thought she had bladder stones that would require surgery. Luckily that is not the case, and the antibiotics that I have to force down her throat twice a day seem to be taking care of all issues just fine. (FYI - forcing open a stubborn pit bull's jaws to force down antibiotics? Not fun. Giving said pit bull Doritos until she is lulled into a false sense of security and then slipping the antibiotic in the Doritos? Much more fun, but results in a Dorito/antibiotic mix of crumbs all over the floor as soon as she tastes the medicine. She's not dumb, that's for sure.)

Body Art update? Piercings - Multiple. The boy is relieved. I am ridiculously thrilled with them, but wish they would hurry up and heal already. FYI - things that are not normally pierced are not normally pierced for a reason. And that reason is because they hurt like a mother... Be ye not so stupid.

Don't worry - they are all visible and not at all kinky. Ew.

I have not yet given up on the tattoo, but have an entirely new idea for one. So I must now mull over it for a while to see if it sticks.

GRE studying begins this month. I have decided that Monday and Thursday evenings, and Sunday afternoons are for studying. (Unless it rains on Tuesdays and then it's Mondays and Tuesdays. I can't miss out on the weekly bike rides :-) I'm starting off slow and just going through practice tests, and I'm amazed at how much I remember. I mean, I've forgotten a lot, but my bruised intelligence ego is getting a lift from these practice exams after getting beaten to within an inch of its life by ochem. Maybe my brain DOES still work. Stay tuned.

The USA World Cup opener is June 12th. I will be visiting my parents in the land of cable, so I'm sure I will get to watch it. Yay! You should too - it's a no brainer. If you bring it up in casual conversation you seem all worldly and smart. (Um, and there are hot soccer players. Yum.) Besides, there should be a rule in your life that something that only happens once every four years is special and important and worthy of your free time. U-S-A!! U-S-A!!

Body Art

Let me preface this by saying that I am already tattooed. However, being raised by a conservative father and having a bit (a tiny tiny bit) of foresight (since I had no idea what career I wanted,) both tattoos are generally only seen by others if I want them to be.

Getting tattoos is addictive. No doubt. Each time I got one, I wanted another immediately. Unlike the most common argument I have heard against tattoos (I can't decide what I would want on my body forever) I consider my tattoos fond memories of the times that I got them. (Even the cliched rose on my hip that I got when I was eighteen. Sigh. Kids, there's a reason you have to be 18 to get a tattoo...and even then, perhaps you should wait. A rose? On my hip? Really?)

So for the past few years, I've wanted another tattoo. The location is what is holding me back. Because even though I'm decisive and generally don't let the opinions of others hold me back, I tend to poll my loved ones about decisions such as this, and the opinions of said loved ones definitely hold some weight. The more loved you are, the more weight your opinion holds.

Here are the limitations: The tattoo must be somewhere that is not obvious. That can be covered if need be. And I would like to be able to wear a formal dress on occasion without any tattoos showing. Which is why I've waited over four years for this tattoo. Because locations are limited. Shoulder? Too many backless formal dresses. Ankle? I wear flip flops and sandals all the time. Inside wrist? I'm not opposed to this. But front of shoulders and arms are out of the question - I wear way too many tank-top items.

So what I want is to get it on the back of my neck. And, this is the one location that the boy is vehemently opposed to.

He says: white trash. I say: sexy.

Maybe it's trashy-sexy?

He says: unprofessional. I agree. But you can't see it if I wear my hair down.

He says: What if you get your hair cut short. I say: I will never do so again, because I've SEEN pictures of my hair cut short and each time I wonder "WHAT WAS I THINKING?!" I have made a vow to go no shorter than shoulder length for the rest of my natural life.

He says: What if you go to a formal event and want to wear your hair in an updo? I say: Good point. Damn. I hate tattoos that show when formal dresses are worn. (And, if I were the sort of girly girl who would take into consideration one very important formal event that she has yet to go through, she might wonder about what would and would not show on this day - depending entirely on the dress. But on the flip side, she is comfortable thinking that she may never go through that event. Should she take into consideration something that may never happen?)

But, I keep thinking about it. And it's been years. This is generally the measuring stick that I use to determine whether or not I can live without something. Does it stay on my mind even when I'm removed from it? Yes. Yes it does. Well then I must have it.

It wouldn't be anything big - the symbol that I have in mind would be small and unobtrusive. There probably wouldn't be any color involved.

So....opinions? Thoughts? Comments? I welcome all points of view. Because, see, I woke up this morning with an uncontrollable urge to get something tattooed or pierced, and the boy would desperately like someone to talk me into the piercing vs the tattoo...

The way to a man's heart...

(via text exchange)

I'm trying out a new recipe tonight. You want in on this?

What recipe?

Asparagus soup. Look out Rachel Ray!

and...

Um, bread?

Uh...no meat?

Um, I have leftover chicken?

Oh oh!! Wait! Or bacon! I have BACON!!!

I'll be there at 7:30.

Done. You know you're responsible for making the bacon, right?

Figured.

A Gaggle

I hate geese. Seriously. Hate them. They're just so....mean. And...bitchy. All that hissing and charging. Ugh. Too bad my favorite bike/walking route between work and home is covered in them. There are dozens. Literally. Which makes sense because I'm, um, riding along a canal.

(If I were less afraid of cars than I am the geese, I would change my route. As it is, I'm terrified of drivers who turn right on red. Seriously. Look both ways people!!)

A few weeks ago, I was walking along the towpath and didn't realize that nesting season had begun for the beasts. Nesting season turns these monsters from mere annoyances to creatures that will actually attack you if you so much as step foot in a 2 yard radius from their nests. That are always very inconveniently located. Like a foot off the towpath.

Anyhow, I was walking Casey and a goose decided that we got too close to his nest. He unfurled his wings and charged at us, hissing. Which caused me to leap out of his way and shriek. Until I realized that he was actually charging at Casey. Who did the doggie equivalent of "Oh HELL no!" and sprinted as far away as the 16-foot retractable leash would allow, yanking her owner's arm roughly in the process. On our return trip, we gave the goose a wide berth, but he still found it necessary to scare the bejeezus out of Casey again.

I hate geese. Have I mentioned that?

So, just as a PSA, I thought I would share some facts. Did you know that sometimes, when you're on a bike ride that lasts longer than expected, a boy who may or may not have been waiting to meet up with you afterward might get annoyed? And he might call to express his annoyance. Which would then make you ride your bike home as quickly as possible.

And, when riding as quickly as possible, if you divert off the path to avoid a gaggle of geese, your tires will make a sound in the long spring grass that is similar to hissing.

Surprisingly, upon hearing this noise that is similar to a threatening noise that geese might make to one another, they react ridiculously quickly for ungainly lumbering birds animals by turning toward the sound and chasing it away.

Also surprising is that riding one's bike through long spring grass causes a decrease in the speed at which the bike is moving. This, of course, makes it easier for the monster geese to catch up. Which might increase the terror of the person riding the bike.

Which might cause the rider to decide to kick at the geese, thus taking her feet off the pedals where they should be if she had any hope of accelerating AWAY from the beasts.

Luckily, she came to her senses before she was consumed by the gang of bullies and was able to ride off safely.

Geese - 1, Emily - 0.

Stupid Geese.

Adventures in Bike Riding Pt. I

Well, that didn't take long, did it?

Today is Wednesday, which marks the third day of the first week that I've decided to commit to yet another ridiculous goal. It's actually the second day that I've ridden to work because yesterday morning was a bit damp, and I chickened out. (A fact for which I've since overcompensated.) Turns out that was a complete over-reaction because the afternoon turned out to be beautiful, and we were able to go on our somewhat regular group ride.

Which leads me to my first adventure.

We were meeting at a location about 3.5 miles from my house, so I thought to myself, "Self, I'll just ride there to meet everyone since I didn't ride to work today. That will make up my 7 miles for the day."

This turned out to be my first error.

My second error was when I said, "Candy - you're leading."

The ride was enjoyable, as group bike rides often are. We didn't push ourselves too hard, and we went on a path that was pretty uncrowded. The guys let the girls set the pace, and at one point, Candy and I got a bit competitive and sprinted to beat each other.

After that I decided that I would just hang out at the back of the pack. The very back. In fact, one might have said I was "lagging behind" if one wanted to get punched in the knees.

So with Candy in the lead, we just kept riding and riding....and riding....and riding. Until I looked down and the clock said 7:15pm. We had been riding for one hour. One way.

"Um, if it took us an hour to get here, it will take us an hour to get back, and I still have to ride home before dark. Maybe we should turn around?"

I said this tentatively, which was my third mistake. Because apparently Candy really REALLY wanted to get to the end of the trail. Luckily, z was the voice of common sense and simply turned around on the spot.

So the boys were leading the way home. At a pace a bit faster than what the girls had set. After over an hour of riding. And after an ill advised competitive sprint.

I'm not going to lie, I called them some nasty names. Fortunately I was far enough behind that they couldn't hear me. Until I mustered the last of my waning strength, sprinted to catch up to them, and explained what would happen if they didn't slow down.

So slow down they did. And the rest of the ride passed uneventfully until my solo leg home. (but that's another blog for another day.)

I think Candy mentioned in her blog that one of her goals last summer was to ride a marathon (26.2 miles) all in one ride. She worked up to that goal for a few weeks before attempting it and actually ended up riding farther than that on a few occasions - once she had worked up to it.

So you can imagine my surprise last night when I looked down at my odometer and I had ridden a total of 26.8 miles. On my second group ride of the season. After approximately eight months of school that included minimal working out. So there was no "working up to it." I still have noodle legs this morning.*

And that's how I learned that Candy doesn't get to lead group rides anymore.

But at least I'm well on my way to 50 miles this week, right?

*Exacerbated by the fact that I rode in to work today as an overcompensation for yesterday. Why yes, the heavens just opened up and it's pouring down rain. Thank you for asking.

Above all, challenge yourself

I like to challenge myself. I think it's what leads to growth. I also think that as we age, there fewer and fewer opportunities to practice setting a goal and achieving it. I think that sometimes just getting back to the basics of achieving a difficult goal can do wonders for making everything else in life make sense.

The first time I thought this, I challenged myself to train and finish the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. Having never fun farther than a 5K before, I thought it was a new, fun, exciting thing to try. And it was. But it was also very very difficult. So difficult, in fact, that when something completely out of my control kept me from finishing my goal (I found out the week before the mini) I never attempted it again.

See, when I commit to something, it's no longer negotiable. It's either succeed, or die trying. (I still drink between 40-60 ounces of water per day and I never officially committed to that...) The first time I trained for the mini, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Now? I know. Oh yes, I know. And I'm not quite sure I want to put myself through that again.

That seems to be a theme in my life, because the Inca Trail? Yeah, I'm never going to do that again either.

I have a feeling that my latest challenge might be a bit like that.

My friend Candy loves biking. So much so that she challenged herself to ride 1000 miles this summer. After much consideration, I think I might join her in her challenge. Not all of it, mind you. There's no way I want to ride more than 50 miles in one day. But 1000 miles by the end of the summer? Sure. I'll try that. After all, last summer I rode 200 miles. This can't be that different.

Um...

My plan of attack is similar to Candy's. I need to hit around 50 miles a week to be successful. And if I ride my bike to work everyday, that's between 30-35 miles per week. If I add in one decent group ride (which we were good about doing last year) then I should be okay.

The plan looks good on paper, right?

Riding to work is proving to be no small feat. It's not the riding, per se. (Although let me tell you - it is now obvious to me that I haven't ridden since last summer. Yikes.) It's the, "What do I wear?" "What do I eat for lunch?" "Do I shower at work or at home?" "What about rain?" It's also the "remembering to check the weather each morning." This is something at which I am woefully inadequate. (But given Indiana's unpredictable weather, something I should work on anyway.)

I rode in this morning and it wasn't terrible. I packed my outfit for the day in a backpack and decided that I would indeed shower at work. Since the shower at work is AWESOME, I think I can get over the weirdness of being naked in my office pretty easily. And now that all the shower necessities are already at the office, my backpack won't be as full in the future. Besides, if I leave my house at 7:00am, I can probably shower before anyone else shows up.

Today I only thought as far as getting dressed. I didn't think about lunch or breakfast. (Or filling up my water bottle for the ride. Suck.) Luckily, my boss brought in some breakfast today. But given how ravenous I was when I got to work this morning, that's something I'm definitely going to have to consider. Maybe oatmeal at the office? I don't know if a power bar will be enough. Suggestions? As for lunch, I can either brown-bag, or there's a Subway within easy walking distance. But brown-bagging it isn't something that I've ever been good at. And walking to Subway? What about the weather? What about the shoes I wore to work that day?

Why not ride my bike to get lunch? That's what I thought. But in reality, if you're in work clothes, how does that work? Do you change back into biking clothes for lunch? After that, do you change back?

I'm not throwing in the towel, but it's a bigger task than I originally thought it would be. Instead of incorporating something new into my life, this is seeming to require many small changes all at once. I'm posting here so I'm accountable because the small changes CAN NOT WIN! I WILL PREVAIL! Besides, short of getting hit by a car whilst on my bike (and really, how much different can that be than getting hit by a car whilst on rollerblades?) I don't really see a downside to taking on this challenge...even if I fail.

So wish me luck! By the end of the summer, that odometer that you see should say at least 1228 miles. (Oh, and cross your fingers that the thunderstorms will hold off until 7:00pm like the weather forecasters said. No one wants to see how angry Emily will be while riding her bike in the rain.)

D-U-N.

I iz dun.

Well, for the summer at least.

It was another humbling semester, and I see a common thread among humbling semesters. That thread is organic chemistry.

"Perhaps I just can't handle work and school" is what I mused to a friend. Actually, what I mean is, "Perhaps I can't handle organic chemistry and anything else that requires thought."

I am floored (FLOORED) at the amount of studying required for these pre-post grad classes. (read: upper level sciences) It was not uncommon for me to spend 12 hours per weekend studying organic chemistry. I don't remember doing anywhere near this level of studying in college. Of course, I'm comparing these classes to a degree in marketing and, let's be honest here, business classes? Um.... I mean, I remember having to work in Finance and maybe in Accounting... But I also remember falling asleep in accounting, showing up one day when there was a test that was a complete surprise to me, and still passing with a B-.

This feels to me like an entirely different type of hard. I know that business classes can be challenging (maybe just not the ones I took?) but this requires a whole different portion of my brain that I feel hasn't been used in ages. I can't decide if it's that the classes are harder, I'm older and you just can't teach an old dog new tricks, or that this time around I really really really care and really really really want to do well. Maybe it's a combination of all three?

Organic chemistry this semester was a completely different experience than last semester. Last semester was a bleak five months stretching out before me with no hope in sight. Maybe that was the "weeding out" portion that I've heard so much about. This semester the professor was helpful and genuinely wanted people to succeed. His notes were thorough, well organized, and his test questions were based on exactly what he taught. I still struggled, but at least I felt I learned something. And while his final was the hardest test I've ever taken, I didn't come out feeling completely defeated. If I didn't know the answer to a question right away, I could usually reason through it to make a logical conclusion. That is a HUGE change from last semester. I walk away at peace. I did the best I could.

But again, the class that I took concurrently with ochem suffered. If I walked out of the ochem final feeling beaten up but okay, I walked out of my biochem final feeling like a complete failure.

Le Sigh.

This year I apply to vet schools. Which means I have to take the GRE. I'm giving myself one to two weeks off, and then the studying begins for that. It seems surreal that the end of all this hard work is in sight. Sometimes it feels like I've been playing "pretend" and it's all for nothing... that I'll have a job I dislike for the rest of my life. But then there are days like this where the sun is shining, the birds are singing, I have great friends who are great support, and I think that everything will work out the way it's supposed to.

I just hope that "the way it's supposed to" is the same as "the way I want it to."

Fatty Fatty Two by Four

"Your dog is getting fat."

I swear that if it wasn't my favorite veterinarian who had uttered those words, I would have thrown down right then and there. My dog is not fat. She once ran seven miles with me last summer! She's high energy! We walk all the time! You can see her ribs, for goodness sakes. Right there, see? Oh. Um.... well the last time we walked farther than one mile was... Um... Hey! It's been winter and I'm in school! Don't judge me!! It's not like I'm maintaining my weight either. We're suffering together. Yeah, that's it.

This happened at a vet checkup during which Casey was medicated against the horrible allergies she gets every spring. Dogs show allergic reactions through their skin, and for the last couple of years, come April, Casey has red rimmed eyes (from rubbing her face) red feet (from chewing) and hives absolutely covering her body. In the past, given my reluctance to use medicine, we've tried home remedies to relieve her. These remedies included some Benedryl, washing her feet after every walk (THAT was fun, let me tell you) and repeated dunkings in any body of water that we came across. After spending the last two summers in itchy misery, I decided to break down and medicate her this year.

Do you know how dogs are medicated against allergies? Steroids. Do you know what steroids do? Among other things, they make your dog eat more.

The second comment came from the head of the pit bull rescue that I volunteer for. "Oh my goodness! Casey is getting so big!" And upon seeing my expression, "I mean, she's just always been so thin. She's really filling out."

Whatever.

When I mentioned this to my dog sitter, she said, "I did notice that Casey was a little round."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. ROUND? In no way is my dog round. You can still see her WAIST for goodness sakes. She may not be as thin as she used to be, but she's....curvy. That's it. Curvy. And there is nothing wrong with curvy.

In the meantime, MonsterDog (aka Casey on steroids) is eating me out of house and home. She's almost doubled her food intake per day, and she's demanding about how hungry she is. She's stealing Blue's food. She's stealing the cat's food (never mind the scratches she gets when she does it - Laney does not give up her food easily.) She's digging in the trash. She's eating random things off the road when we walk. She's asking to go out literally every two hours when I'm home. And she's going to the bathroom each and every time. On walks? I now have to carry 4-5 plastic bags to clean up after two dogs. Blue uses one. At least Casey is a good girl and won't go in her crate. But when I get home after work/school, she's literally panting with the effort of not going, and she races out the door to relieve herself.

Well, "races" as fast as a tubby pit bull can run.

I'm doing some research for other remedies that I can try to avoid another steroid shot this year. Because, while they work fine, steroids can become less effective if used repeatedly. Besides, I can't handle anymore MonsterDog, let alone fat MonsterDog.

Blue goes home Friday. Next week? Casey and I begin operation "lose the tubby." I just hope she's not as grumpy as I am when her food intake is cut.

(I would post a picture, but Casey objected. Apparently there's no angle from which she looks thin. I will just say that she's gained 6lbs in the last six to eight months. This is a gain of 13% of her original body weight. And as much as we would both like to believe that it's muscle, it's, um, not.)

Vacation

Summer break is so close that I can almost taste it. It tastes like freshly cut grass and bike rides and sun and long walks with the dogs. It tastes like filling the hours between 5pm and 10pm with enjoyable activities (like volleyball!!) instead of class. It tastes like normal. And during the school year, I never really contrast my evenings with the evenings of summer, I just do what needs to be done. But man...this close to having a three month break? I am totally drooling over filling my hours with friends and fun instead of schoolwork and stress.

Speaking of which, I had a formal report due in my organic chem lab. And unfortunately, my responsible side fought a losing battle with my procrastinating side. Don't get me wrong... responsibility fought the good fight and made me clean my house and do the dishes, but couldn't QUITE get me to write my paper. Instead procrastination decided that it would be a better use of my time to watch Stephen King's "It." At night. Alone. (Don't ever do this. Trust me.)

The paper was due on Tuesday. I finally made myself sit down and write it on Monday evening. All at once. In about two hours. The formatting of the paper took longer than the actual writing. I think I finished up my edits about 45 minutes before the paper was due. I berated myself extensively and promised to never ever procrastinate again ever.

And then last night my lab TA told me that I got 50/50 points on my paper, and in fact, it's one of the standards against which she graded the rest of the class. Oh and also? She's giving it to the professor who heads up ALL of the sections of ochem lab so that he can use it as a standard as well.

WTF?

This positive reinforcement for procrastination? Not needed in my world. It will just be that much harder to write the next paper in a reasonable timeframe. And at my age? Recovering from the stress of procrastination ain't as easy as it once was. Instead of alcohol, it involves much sleeping and cuddling with dogs and eating of melted cheese.

Mmmmm....melted cheese.

Tonight I am going to fill my hours with ochem homework in an attempt to prepare myself for a final on May 5th. You know you're jealous. Feel free to tell me all about your exciting weekends so that I can live vicariously through you.

Just one more week....

The Bunny!!!

Fact - Last Thursday, April 22nd, was my last organic chem lab ever. Well, until I get into vet school (note the confidence.)

Fact - Tomorrow night is my first of three finals

Fact - I haven't yet turned to Taco Bell and regular Coke.

Hypothesis - I'm handling things pretty well so far.

Fact - I've gotten word that the final tomorrow is much more difficult than anyone anticipated

Fact - That news almost made me want to get a regular Coke. Unfortunately, zlionsfan has banned me from ever imbibing caffeine and sugar at the same time. However, he didn't outlaw JUST caffeine. Diet Mt. Dew FTW!!!

Fact - I've pretty much decided to live at the home of my chemistry genius friend until our final next Wednesday, May 5th.

Fact - My test scores have increased by 20 percentage points since studying with my chemistry genius friend.

Fact - My chemistry genius friend is the friend who lives with a bunny.

Hypothesis - This makes studying much more enticing.

Fact - last night when I got out of class early, I called the boy and invited him to dinner. He turned me down cold. Instead, I went to study with my genius chemistry friend. Have I mentioned that she's the one with the bunny? Anyhow, when she said I could come over, I asked if she was hungry and offered to bring dinner. She said that they were already making dinner and did I want to join them? They were having steak. Did I like steak?

Fact - while consuming steak and studying, I also managed to get head-butted by an "aggressive bunny."

Fact - I didn't cause it. A cat did. I was just an outlet for outrage.

Fact - it was the most adorable intimidating gesture I've ever seen.

Hypothesis - I'm in love with the bunny. I'm pretty sure you would be too, if you met him. Luckily, I took a picture so that you can judge for yourself. Go ahead and feel free to let me know if my hypothesis is correct.

Fact - I will spend the rest of the evening studying. Feel free to pray for me.

Two's Company...Three makes me Blue

Blue's back for a brief two week visit while my parents continue their efforts to visit every city in the world. Every time I get to have him home with me, it elicits some sort of response that includes the word, "Bluuuuuuuuuuuuue," or "suchagoodboy."

I don't know how I continue to forget the very distinct differences between Blue and Casey. I think it's perhaps because the cuteness of Blue overshadows everything else about him when, you know, he's not around every day. But now? Man, that dog is clingy. Casey sure does love me, but after our walks, she's off napping on the couch, chasing the cat, checking the perimeters of the house for intruders, etc. Blue would prefer to be right next to me at all times. I'm pretty sure that I'll end up breaking my neck when I step back in my kitchen someday and just fall over the dog lying behind me while I cook. He also fancies himself good at organic chem and insists on helping me with my homework, as illustrated by this horrible cell phone picture.

Ever since my last visit to my parent's house, they've been telling me about a problem they've been having with Blue. Namely that he won't get into his crate to sleep at night. Where he used to just walk right into his kennel with no problems, they now end up either having to literally carry him into his crate (my dad,) or threatening him loudly until he gives in so that the noises stop (my mom.)

I'll be honest. I was over-confident. Suuuuuure they couldn't get the dog into his crate. They're just not dog experts like I am. They are obviously not being calm and assertive. They just don't know how to work with dogs. I mean, Blue may as well be named "Your Highness" at their house with his designated couch spots and routine of going out and coming in with only a single bark as notification that he wants something to change. He rules that place.

And so, the first night visiting my parents, I made a $10 bet with my dad that Blue would go right into his crate with no yelling, no carrying, and no stress.

I won $5. Blue walked right up to his crate and then crouched there, looking at me pitifully as if to say, "If you don't put me in there, I'll love you forever." He required some nudging to take his final grudging steps into his crate.

Still, I was not daunted. "He's just spoiled here," I thought, "We'll get him back to Indy and he'll be just fine."

Um, not so much.

Monday morning was another episode into stopping about a foot outside his crate and cowering like he was going to die. Monday evening before class I almost had him fooled as I raced the dogs down into the basement. Casey rocketed into her crate and stood triumphantly, "WINNER!!" Blue skidded to a stop just outside his crate and stopped. Damn.

Tuesday morning I literally had to carry 50lbs of pit bull down the stairs into my basement and deposit him into his crate. My biceps still haven't forgiven me. Tuesday afternoon I just kept him on his leash and tugged the unwilling dog down the stairs into his crate.

Wednesday morning brought more carrying. Ouch. Wednesday afternoon I knew that my biceps couldn't take another carrying trip, so I walked behind him all the way down to his crate. Each time he tried to turn around, I just body blocked him. Success!

Now? We're back to normal. Blue follows Casey downstairs and into his crate. Sweet sweet success. Because honestly? I couldn't carry him downstairs again. And I know that dogs don't think like this...that they live in the moment...but I can't help but think that Blue didn't really realize how good he had it with my retired parents and his routine of sleeping on the couch all day (not to mention going outside whenever he wanted to.) I can't help but think that he's down in that crate right now cursing to himself, "If ONLY I had behaved better and gone into my crate, they wouldn't have sent me back!"

Don't worry buddy. It's only temporary. You'll be back to being top dog soon. Believe me, Casey's looking forward to it too.

Wherein I am as delighted as a 5-year-old

I am exhausted today. I feel as though I could sleep for 1000 years if only given a chance.

I'm sure it's no coincidence that I have an organic test tonight.

But I did have a very productive weekend this weekend.

That doesn't mean I spent a lot of time studying...oh no. But I sure did spend a lot of time doing other things that needed to be done. Like sweeping and mopping the entire house. Like quickly cleaning the bathroom. Like walking the dog for hours. Like laundry. Like various female grooming habits that have been ignored as of late.

And THEN, when I couldn't find one more thing that I had on my to-do list before studying, I took a nap.

Believe you me, I needed it. Because then I studied organic chemistry for five hours straight. I discussed it with a friend. I drew mechanisms. I read my notes.

I still don't feel the slightest bit prepared for the test tonight. FYI.

It's okay, though. I feel....at peace. I've done what I can do.

Besides, my friend? The one I studied with for five straight hours? The brilliant friend who got a 91 on the last organic chem test? (Which I didn't even think was possible.) She has a rabbit. Among other animals, because, you know, she wants to be a vet. Like me. Except she has a house. And lots of animals. And....a bunny. And when I went over there on Saturday, there was a bunny just hopping around the living room....interacting with the cats and the people like, "What? It is totally ordinary that I am here."

I was ridiculously geeked about the bunny. I believe my first sentence was "You live with the EASTER BUNNY!!!"

My friend quickly learned that my happiness is on par with a five-year-old when I'm really really excited about something. A fact that the boy reiterated the next day. Because the next day when he came over, I believe the first words out of my mouth were about the bunny and I didn't stop talking about it until he agreed to go over and MEET the bunny.

This song came up a few times.*

Alas, I did not take a picture of the bunny. (Shameful, I know.) But have no doubt that I will. There is still a final to study for. And the bunny? Well he makes the studying all that much more enticing.

Until then, I will just keep repeating, "I do not need a rabbit. I do not need a rabbit. I do not have TIME for a rabbit. I can not have a rabbit." You know, even though my friend keeps informing me that foster homes are always needed. (I could be a foster bunny mom!!)

Oh dear.

*What? I totally watch Veggietales. You have to ask yourself, why don't YOU?

Heartache

“A Parable of Immortality” by Henry van Dyke.

I am standing by the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch
until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, ‘There she goes!’
Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the places of destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
‘There she goes!’
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
‘Here she comes!’