Sunday, November 25, 2007

Bikes hate me

I know it's been a while. I've been busy wallowing in self pity and hatred of work and life. I do believe I have turned a corner and I am happy to say this was not a very long episode. Don't get me wrong I would still rather have all of my self diagnosed diseases, including the new Ebola diagnoses, at the same time than go to my office. Add a little gangrene in there and I think it would be perfect. The bills have to be paid so I have to work, but I am not going to let it get to me until the next time it gets to me. At least I'm not delusional about that. To be honest when I started training again is when I started to turn the corner. Exercise is an amazing depression killer, at least for me. It just takes a while to get out of bed sometimes. HA HA

Happy, happy, back to training! Happy, happy back to ridiculous shit happening to me!

I titled this blog post as "Bikes Hate Me" because I believe the devil has a pact with Huffy to kill me. A few months ago I was running around the bay, just clip, clapping
along like I normally do when I heard a grunt behind me. Next I know, there are handle bars between my waist, a bike pedal (literally) in my calf and something hit me in the ass. O.k. Wait- read this again and then imagine what it looks like. It felt like I was hit from behind by a Mac Truck! Only, not a truck... 7 year old girl with a new bike that can't use her brakes yet. The thing that hit my butt was her helmet protected head. Remember, I was running so I almost fell down because I got caught up in the spokes of her bike with one leg and my other leg had her pedal stuck in it. I swear to God I couldn't believe it.... I still can't believe it. So, her straight out of Lakeside Dad, complete with missing teeth and Rascal Flats T-shirt turned his bike around and looked at me and mumbled sorry. Her Mom caught up to us and started to comfort her daughter (the devil) and didn't say anything to me. I pulled her bike out of my leg and hastily decided to use the adrenaline rush to my favor and start running again. Good training for possible racing injuries, no chance of getting any diseases, the bike was brand new, no rust. Very mad running. Bleeding. I deserved a crown!

I ran for about ten minutes and I kid you not the parents had the nerve to ride past me with the little devil. If this were my child I would have stopped riding bikes, ran to the car and gotten the hell out of dodge. But NOOOOOOOOOOO, they had to ride past me all happy while my leg was bleeding all over the sidewalk. The little devil even had a No Fear license plate on the back of her bike! RUDE!

As I'm contemplating my next move the little girl almost takes out two other runners. Now I was really getting upset. So while the parents were talking to the child I happened to run past. I stopped looked at the family and said
" You should really have your child in a bicycle safety class. They offer classes at R.E.I., it is on Convoy."

The Mom got all crazy eyes on me and started yelling " She's only had her bike for five hours....."
Wait.... is that supposed to make me feel better about the bike accident? Looking back I feel bad for the girl. Her parents are retards and she'll likely never get back on a bike. My leg was pretty bloody and they past me twice after the accident. So being the bigger person. I gave the Mom a disapproving, I am so much better than you are look and started running.
- Heres the part of the story I'm not so proud of and most of you know me well enough to not believe this for a second, but please believe the following did happen. Prologue: My gift to myself for my thirtieth birthday was this " I will no longer let anyone walk all over me. I will not be afraid to tell people that!" (hence the work issues) My gift has really worked out for me, not so good for others. OK back to the story-

So I'm running angrier than ever and they pass me again! YES AGAIN! The Mom says something really snotty to me (I don't know what it was). So I waited until the kid got far enough away, ran up to the Mom and said " Why don't you go and F*** yourself!"
I started running so fast I could believe how fast I made it home.

A few weeks have past and I have a lovely scar on my leg the size of a snausage, yes the dog treat. Wen I see it I do the "Snausages!" jingle in my head. I can no longer run for Miss America because of me scarred up legs but, but I'm coming to terms with it.

I just proof read this and realized how long it is. Stay tuned for bikes hate me part two. It's way better than this as it was a self-inflicted injury. With my own bike- my precious.

Mothers Day

Mothers Day

I've been having pill issues and I've had to change my brand. However, we had to wait a whole month before I could start the other prescription. This put Brandon and I into what I like to refer to as the "Scare Zone".
* My horoscope said I would get pregnant this month if I wanted to, nice to know.
* A client specifically called to let me know I am "Getting thick" and "full in the face" and wanted to know when my "little one" would be arriving.
* The very next day another client called to ask me when I was going to have a baby.
* A month prior a woman at a party asked me when I was due.
The universe is telling me something. However, it is time for everyone to calm down. With all of this "thick" talk I have started to become borderline- eating disorder-girl. OK, I take that back, I've always been borderline- eating disorder- girl, but now I really mean it! Scare Zone really started to get freaky when my monthly friend didn't show up on time.
Three days later, no friend.
NO FRIEND!!! CRAP! Lets just say I'm not above playing a game called "It's just the tip" so we're in trouble...
I started to think to myself, if this is whats going to happen, better accept it and be happy.
Yeah, Happy! Happy me!
I google : Pregnancy and Marathons (believe it or not, it's o.k.)
What to expect when your expecting ( Apparently I'm five weeks pregnant based on my last period.)
Chinese gender calendar (I'm having a girl. Scientifically based on my age and month of conception. Also good to know)
I even take an online test regarding my current symptoms and I have a 40% chance of being pregnant. (Good enough for me. You would think the 40% would have tipped me off, but I was crazed.)

I really was convinced I was pregnant and to my surprise, I was happy. Elated even. It felt good. I even thought to myself " I feel great, I'm going to be one of those people who feels great during pregnancy." I love feeling great, pregnant me. I even plotted on the calendar all of the trips we are taking this year and there was no interference. No problems. We will just buy a house and start our family. Plans change and it is ok. I start to cry a little because I'm so excited about "our family" "Our baby" "Our happy new life"
Did I just feel a kick? A little kick, sweet delighted little baby in my belly, kicking me at work. How much happier can I be?
I bought a pregnancy test, just to certify what I already know..........

Not pregnant....

Must be broken. Drink a coke, take another test...


I start to cry. Brandon was in San Francisco at a meeting all day and wouldn't be home until later. I don't know why I was so overwhelmed so quickly. We are in no position to have a baby.
I have never fallen in love so quickly, been so protective so quickly, felt so important so quickly. So happy.
For six whole hours I was a mama and it felt great....
I told Brandon I was being so silly as I sobbed about the days events.
"Your not silly."
Happy Mothers Day.
Please stop asking if I'm pregnant, it's starting to break my heart.

Triathalon training part 1

I have decided to start to train for a triathlon. I know your thinking: My god why? Well, it is because I have not embarrassed myself enough in San Diego and I have found a new opportunity to do so. Why not? Lets remember who we are dealing with here. It's still me. I still go to bed thinking I'm going to be an overnight sensation in everything. Makes for fantastic dreams and a bizarre reality.

I bought a used bike from a girlfriend at work. She gave me a great deal on it and I love, love, love it as if it were from my womb. It is a Giant compact aluminum frame with a carbon fork and Uletegra components. Translation: So F'in cool! I call it: my precious.

I have also started swimming which I really love and I actually got a lesson from a for real pro swimmer (Lizard). Thank you! I feel like I am doing well after her coaching. I am a member of the local Jewish Community Center, which has a great pool. When speaking with the "new memberships" girl, I whispered to her "I'm not Jewish." She said "We'll still let you in, we don't persecute based on religion." Sincerely took me a minute to grasp what she was saying.

I went to buy a bathing suit for swimming with a purpose. I put with a purpose because I have plenty of bathing suits but their only purpose is to be worn underneath my clothing or when drunk, by themselves. If I am drunk and I start to disrobe, save yourself. I repeat save yourself and pray I remembered the bathing suit. If you have ever seen a racing suit it has absolutely no support built in. Bad news for Sara. I thought however this wouldn't be an issue for me (remember delusional). I struggled to get it on number one, number two my boobs were smashed down against my belly button. I looked nine months pregnant. I swear to god. I can't even make this up. It was the first time I was flat chested and had a beer gut! It was suggested that I wear a sports bra or just a plain bra underneath my racing suit and I almost burst into tears. I REFUSE! People would talk about me mercilessly. I believe the words "she's special" might even be used if I wear a bra under my bathing suit. Can you even imagine a giant Playex 18 hour, wet? No way.

I started this week by riding my bike to and home from work. It is a very nice gradual uphill to work and downhill home. Remember I'm used to a tank beach cruiser to run errands with on the weekends and I foolishly tried to run to blockbuster with my road bike. NO GOOD. No basket. I had to stick the movie under my boob. Third hand. I won't name names, but some of you know what I'm talking about. If you need a pen and there is nothing in my hands and one suddenly appears. Ask yourself the question, am I comfortable with Sara's boob sweat? I told a girl at work I tried to run to blockbuster and the movie and blah, blah... she looked at me oddly and said, "I've never heard of that before" Naturally I think shes talking about riding the bike around town and not for training. The next time I saw her she looked at me oddly and it dawned on me that she must be freaked I stuck a movie in my boob for safe keeping. They don't do tricks guys, but sometimes you need an extra hand and there it is. Attached to my body. They can't perform surgery or do a jig but they hold things just fine.
Anyway, so I've been riding to work and it's really fun. I put my suit and all of my junk for the day in a messenger bag and go. I have to leave at 5:30 am to get there in enough time to clean up, but it's worth it.
I am scared of the cars in the morning. I never pay attention when I'm in my car. To combat crazy drivers I stuck a big button my my bag that proudly states:


You can't hit someone that hearts being awesome. Period. A nice boy yelled something out if his car window today, I can only assume he was agreeing with my cool button.

I'm sure there will be more to talk about later.................

Monday, June 4, 2007

A tale of two races

Finish? Yes.
Finish with dignity? No.

My original goal was just to finish the marathon. I told myself that would be good enough for me. Then the goal became finish with dignity, the more I though about what I was doing. I will start by saying, in my imagination, yesterday played out quit different and I wasn't in any way prepared for the mostly mental and somewhat physical journey.

Saturday night was exciting! I started laying out my gear early in the morning. I was completely organized down to the care package Brandon was to meet me with at mile 19. Brandon and I went to dinner, all was right with the world and I laid in bed all night daydreaming of winning the marathon and becoming an overnight sensation in the running world. Yes, I am delusional. For real, delusional.

My secret goal was 5:30:00 which would have put me at a 12 minute pace for the entire marathon, and that is what I trained to do. At the very least, 6 hours was acceptable in my book as not a failure.

At 4:00 a.m on Sunday I got out of bed and started my morning race routine. Spotless execution of all tasks! I was so excited I made myself nauseous. We took a secret way to the start line, as to avoid the traffic which was backed up from Washington Street to Old Town. I hear it backs up to Sea World and I am grateful for Brandon and myself that we didn't get stuck. I found my running group and we did a warm up and then it was off to the start line!

When you do a big enough race you are put into corrals based upon your estimated finish time. This is so the slower and inexperienced runners are not up with the elite racers. I was in corral 21. Ready to go! A woman sings the star spangled banner and I start to choke up, and think about how cool this was going to be. The start gun went off and 10 minutes later I crossed the start line (25,000 people)! Note, I made it a point to explain corrals. I spent the first five miles dodging walkers. Thanks to Team in Training, I can only imagine they tell their participants: "Screw the rules, the more inexperienced you are the closer you have to be to the start line." I dare anyone to prove me wrong on that. Period. Team in Training is easily the worst outfit known to man. It is a cult that teaches their participants to only help one another, only cheer for their own and take out everyone else.

I call this the tale of two races because it was entirely two different races. The first half. The second half. Guess which half was best?

The first 13 miles.

What a race! I was running the race of a lifetime. I was with the 5:30:00 pace setters. Solid execution! I felt fantastic! I started to convince myself that 5:30 wasn't a goal but an easy reality. Just settle into the stride and wait until the five hours pass. No Big Deal! There were the same old funny things happening along the course: costumes, a juggler, people peeing. Same old story! I took to running along the sidelines and giving high five's to spectators. If no one was cheering I was screaming: "Come on, I can't hear you!" On the approach to a child I did the same thing throughout the race "Come on buddy, I'm going to need five to keep going." Hand in the air, if a child was sitting, I waited. I stopped at every water station to hydrate, I cheered for every band. This was my race! I beat my La Jolla Half Marathon time, not by much, but I beat it and I was very proud. I was taking it all in. I felt that I was mentally prepared for the mind games you inevitably start to play with yourself at his type of event. I knew what to tell myself to block out the pain, I knew which songs on my IPod would keep me lifted. I didn't need it until:

Mile 17, or what we can refer to as the second half............ I started to feel a blister around 163, which is about mile 15. It felt like a bad blister, but nothing I couldn't run through. By mile 17 I was begging for Vaseline from the medical tent. Vaseline on, foot inspected, all good! By the time I hit mile 19, which was in front of our house and I saw Brandon, it was over. I had given up. Honestly, it's embarrassing but I really did. The pain was more than I could handle at that point and I knew there was still a long way to go. Brandon rode his bike along side me for a mile or two and then I asked him to go. I feel terrible because I can only imagine how worried he was. Miss Optimistic the night before: "If I'm not at mile 19 by 10:30 am, something is drastically wrong!" I got to mile 19 at 11:15 a.m. I just needed to be alone. I was still giving high fives to kids along the course only now I was crying. I'm sure their parents are thanking me for the "crazy, crying lady nightmares" their children are sure to have. Asking for high fives turned into a demand. I decided it was best to walk the majority of the mileage left and screw the time. The time was already long gone I couldn't even see the pace setter flag any longer. It was a ship in the distance I would never run fast enough to catch. Mile 19-23 are a blur of crying, cursing, talking myself out of quitting, warm water at the water stops and cheerleaders that were tired of cheering. It had already been a very long day for the volunteers. I must have been begging the right God for a miracle because literally out of now where, Julie jumped in front of me.....


Crying turns to sobs............

I didn't even notice that Julie was scratched up. In her haste not to miss me she tripped and fell. That is how she came out of nowhere, she slid right past me and jumped up. Very sly, Julie!

"Julie, I can't do this any longer. It hurts so much and I want to quit. What is stopping me from quitting?"

"I AM!" She grabbed my hand, laced her fingers in mine and walked me in the remaining three miles. The last three miles took over an hour and she talked and told me funny stories the entire time I was sobbing and breathing heavy as if birth was imminent. I couldn't have been more miserable of a person. I couldn't even attempt to run at this point. My beautiful dancers feet had been replaced by bloody stumps and I can only pray they return to their former glory so I can face a pedicure. At mile 26 all of the coaches, bikes, non runners are stopped from entering M.C.R.D. Marines are standing at the gates to make sure non runners can't enter without going through security.

"O.k., this is where I drop you off!" Julie let go of my hand and hugged me. She is the bravest woman on earth for hugging me at that point, the smell alone. I became hysterical. I was that girl. I did run the remaining 200 yards to the finish line. Run is relative. It was more like a shuffle. Sobbing. Embarrassed. People stopped to cheer for me as I looked like I was going to commit suicide at the finish line. For one second after I crossed the line I sucked it up. I heard you all cheer as I knew you would have done and Brandon sigh in relief. I immediately demanded a medal put around my neck and I collapsed in a pile of orange rinds and banana peels by the slipper station. I begged the volunteers to throw me some sandals and then I was on my way home. Julie found me at the end. I believe she bartered a piece of chocolate for entry to see me finish. Julie walked me to the shuttles about 1/2 mile from the finish. She started her own trek the over three miles back to her car....... Finish time 6:35:00, Time at the half: 2:43:00

I'll win it next year. Thank you Julie.... Thank you Brandon........

Monday, May 7, 2007

Baby Jesus, please don't make me wear a girdle again

While shopping at Mervyn's yesterday I purchased a bodyshaper by Hanes or as I'm going to refer to it: GIRDLE. For those of you like Liz and Bridget who have no idea what I'm talking about, I will explain: It is a thick pantyhose material that starts at your knees and ends at your breasts. I thought my pants at work were fitting a bit tight, so I thought; what the hell for 18.00 bucks it has to work. On the drive home my imagination ran wild with thoughts of how I would look in my new girdle. Gorgeous, Fancy, Waif, Kate Moss will have nothing on my new body. Serious, I really thought this. I decided to save opening it until just before I put my suit pants on, really give myself the gift of a new body on Monday morning!

At 5:15 am I tore open the girdle packaging. When I pulled it out to inspect it, he Heavens parted and angels came down from heaven singing, it was just beautiful. Right leg in, Left leg in, pulling..... pulling..... Jumping.... Angry Tugging..... Praying Brandon doesn't wake up...... it's on!


$18.00 POORER!

Instead of a beautiful curvy new body, it was still my body, only shoved in a sausage casing! Have you ever cooked a sausage to long and the insides shoot out of the ends? Same rules apply here! Where are my curves? Curse you Hanes! Top of the list!

My pants don't fit any better but I decide to keep the girdle on as I have wasted precious morning minutes on putting it on, what could possibly go wrong?

Two cups of coffee. I have to pee.

Not many people know this, but at work I am the assistant to the assistant branch manager or better known as: Dwight Shroot. This makes me very susceptible to ridicule, no need to add the fact that my girdle has the possibility of rolling down my stomach with the force and tenacity of a projector screen when pulled and let go, which has terrified me into confiding in my two work buddies J and M. J= girl, M=boy. The three of us tell each other everything which I like and we sing and yell and try to make our office a little more unbearable for those around us. You can count on J and I to do a rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart at any moment.

"M, J, I have a girdle on and I have to pee, what happens if my pants don't fit?


I think I'm going to try and stick it out as long as possible."

Two minutes later I walked past M's office utterly dejected.

He asks " Whats wrong with you?"

With tears in my eyes, I produce the girdle from behind my back, hold it high in the air, like a soldier with a flag in battle and exclaim for all to hear:

" Girdle: 1, Sara: nil!"

We went to lunch.

Wednesday, January 3, 2007

Top ten things that happened in 2006

Naturally, my wedding ruled so I refuse to put that on the list. It wouldn't be fair to the other awesome happenings:

10. New car. Say goodbye to the blue bomber folks. The blue 1992 Geo Storm has finally been laid to rest. After one round trip to Ohio with four people, no shocks and several car accidents it was time to shoot the perverbial horse. Hello JEEP!

9. Quitting smoking, it's this far down because it sucked so bad. Now it rules because I'm running and I really like running. (See all running blogs)

8. Courtney Smith catching the bouquet at my wedding (indeed to be the next married in 07) and proceeding to pulverise the $80.00 bunch of flowers within seconds whilst making another wedding guest take pictues of her modeling with it. Best wedding guest EVER!

7. Getting rid of all of the friends that treated me like shit and were incapable of being friends in 2006. See you later suckers! Good luck with AA Cindy.

6. Post wedding, near suicide deppression.

5. You know who you are number 5. Very insulting number 5!

4. Listening to Dubious the wonder kitty lick plastic bags all night, every night. We get to do the VONS Bag Round Up, sounds like fun. Kids, you can do it at home too!

3. The look on the Weight Watchers leaders' face when a 350 lb woman announced she completed the Rock and Roll Marathon and congratulated herself with In and Out Burger. Naturally the leader asked, " Didn't you feel like it wasn't worth it when you finished the burger?" To which the reply was, " It was totally worth every bite!" I love honesty. You should have seen the damage control at that meeting.

2. Realizing I have an immunity to Hepatitis. I gained this immunity by rolling around in piss at WalMart (see The Sports Bra Incident), getting pissed on the Trolly and having a hobo piss directly on my shoes. Yes, while on my feet. Remember I am only 5'3" fighting back is not worth risking my beautiful face. Plus now I have an immunity to hepatitis and West Nile!

1. The look on Brandons face when he opened the bathroom door and I was sitting in the bathtub crying because I was scared of stingrays at 3:00 a.m., on our honeymoon. We were leaving in a mere few hours to go on a very expensive boat tour of Stingray City and other beaches. $400.00. I went. I screamed. The pictures are terrifying.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Ever wonder how I got my glamorous job?

I worked briefly at Wells Fargo before embarking on my career at Smith Barney. I got the tip on a receptionist job in the Downtown branch from my boss at Wells Fargo. Her daughter, Lisa, worked in that office. My interview was nothing short of a complete nervous breakdown:

I was dressed in the only suit I could afford at the time, purchased from Sears. It was machine washable, couldn't afford dry cleaning. Black and brown polyester, with shoulder pads! I believe the skirt covered my ass, but I'm sure just barely. I didn't have an attache so I carried my resume in a manila folder. I also didn't have a purse so all of my crap was also shoved in the manila folder, think: keys, wallet, sunglasses. You get the picture.

This was my first driving experience downtown so you can imagine my excitement in trying to maneuver around. I was armed with directions and 15 minutes late. Needless to say I was panicked and I parked at what I thought was the office, 401 4th Street (Dicks Last Resort, hardly a Smith Barney). I figured I was at the wrong place so I used a payphone to speak to my interviewer, Debbie Lucus:

" Mrs. Lucus,I'm sorry I'm late but I'm lost. I'm at Dick's Last Resort and I don't know where to go."

"Look up, do you see the building that has Wells Fargo on it?" go figure.


"That's us. We're on the 23rd floor. See you soon"

I hung up the payphone and started to walk/run towards the building which didn't look that far away. (20 blocks) I noticed a creepy man start to walk the same time I did so I crossed the street, then he crossed the street. I crossed the street and turned back to the car, which is where I sat until the coast was cleared. As minutes ticked by, I kept walking towards the office, the closer I got the more horrifying things started to happen to me. I believe Horton Plaza is the hotbed of all that is evil downtown because this is where most of the carnage took place. By the time I reached Horton Plaza I was beyond panicked, being about 30 minutes late and sweaty from run/walking 20 blocks. As I stood at a crosswalk I didn't notice the large white van pull up to the stop light as I was juggling my wallet, trying not to wrinkle my resume and not drop my keys. When the crosswalk light turned green I began to walk across the street, as I crossed the front of the white raper van a man leaned out of the drivers side window and yelled:

"excuse me ma'am you dropped something...."

Naturally, I'm juggling a bunch of shit. This only took 30 seconds but imagine in in slow motion...

I turned around in the middle of the crosswalk looked down, didn't see anything and then looked up at the van. The man hanging out of the van had his face painted like a clown and was giant holding a horn.

"You dropped your SMILE!!" Toot- toot-toot

I've never run so fast in my life. I started to cry, which now seems to be a theme. I was running so fast that a few seconds later I was in Horton Plaza and 2 blocks to the office which for me was safety. As I was running through Horton Plaza a Hare Krishna tried to hand me a pamphlet.

"NO!" I brushed him off, not breaking my stride..

"Karma will get you......." Now ain't that a bitch? Who says that to someone else? Nice Hare Krishna! Nice hex asshole! Welcome to THE LIST clown boy and Hare Krishna, you've been bumped to the top!

I finally made it to the office a disheveled mess. I had obviously been crying, I was sweating and you can imagine the state of my resume. Debbie, so kindly came to get me....

"Sara, I'm glad you made it. I'm sorry you had trouble finding us." We got to her office and she asked how my day had been thus far.

" I'm having a really shitty day." I really did say shitty. At that point, I figured I had nothing to loose I was already 45 minutes late, I wasn't going to get the job anyway. I proceeded to tell Debbie about all that happened on my little journey. I even think I started crying (it was the clown). We ended my interview with her offering to give me a ride to my car.

"I'm really worried about you. I'm sorry you had such a hard time."

"Thank you for your time.... Sorry again I was late."

I immediately went to my friend Erin's house to discuss the dirty details, exclaiming to her that I was most likely blackballed from all financial firms from that day forward. We laughed about it well into the evening. When I got home I had a message from Debbie Lucus offering my the job. To this day, I know I got the job because I said "shitty". That takes guts!
I was the only applicant.

8 1/2 years later......
One of the brokers I work with called me a clown, not more than a few weeks ago. He meant it in the Joe Pesci way ( "Am I a clown? Am I here to amuse you?") I started to cry. I think I might have a phobia.