No shirt! (gag!)

It should have been very simple. An easy, distraction-free, simple training session. Functional strength: one hour (give or take) doing functional strength. So simple, that I can do the workout at the gym in our apartment complex.

Perhaps that's where I went wrong.

After all, at Whiting Field NAS or Pensacola NAS (oops - Naval Air Station for all those non-military-speak people out there), last time I checked shoes and shirts were required apparel.

Its about safety after all, right?

Who hasn't dropped a weight on their foot at one time or another? Jeez, I hope I'm not the only one with my hand up here. What I meant to ask: who at some point hasn't dropped a weight or plate close to their feet at some point?

And at the military gym, shirts are definitely a requirement. Although some of them are so stretchy that you can't really tell. And I'm talking about the guys here, not the ladies. Anyways, sweaty skin all over benches and other equipment. Yuck. I have a pretty bad gag reflex, so the last thing I want when approaching a weight bench is Mr. I'm-too-hot-for-a-shirt's imprint on the thing.

I have been known to walk around with a bottle of disinfectant. Only because I don't like seeing the sweaty imprint left over the equipment. And it would be even grosser (is that a word?) if they were shirtless.

But that's not the case at the apartment mini-gym.

About 15 minutes into my workout, a young-ish guy walked into the gym. Immediately he set out on the treadmill and spent a good 20 minutes running. I didn't pay too much attention to him; I was more focused on holding my planks or not dropping the 12 pound weights on my feet (ahem). I did noticed that he worked up quite a sweat.

Apparently Mr. Treadmill-Runner wasn't all that familiar with deodorant. Oh well, it's a gym. What should I expect.

After completing his run, my companion headed over to one of the bikes. Without wiping down the treadmill, I might add. Something that I find very offensive 1) Because he was really sweaty 2) Because I am a stickler for wiping down the equipment even if I've only been warming up for five minutes on it and 3) Because once as the Fitness Director of the New Bern YMCA, I wiped down equipment all the time after sweaty individuals. It was gross. And sweat corrodes and breaks down the machines.

For a moment I thought about saying something, but then decided against it. I'm not a big fan of confrontation and besides, it's not my gym. If the guy wanted to be a jerk - let him be a jerk. I'll pick my battles, thank-you-very-much.

So I continued my functional strength and noted Mr. Biker work up an even bigger sweat. But only out of the corner of my eye; I didn't want him thinking I was watching him. After all, there were mirrors all around.

Focus Marit! Form on functional strength! Abs tucked in and tight while you do your backward lunges! Balance and posture! No sense in falling over because you're amazed at the sweat rate of the guy on the bike!

Okay, I do talk to myself.

And that's when it happened.

Mr. Sweaty got off the bike and removed his shirt.

Time out for a second. I'm a fan of the male physique. I really am. I've been known to admire a good looking body any day - and of course I'm partial to Nathaniel's.

But there are just some people that shouldn't remove their shirts. At the beach - totally acceptable. You're at the beach and lack of clothing is acceptable. If you're fine with your body the way it is - that's great. More power to you. I've got my own body issues and it's rare that you'll find me in a two piece unless I'm at top form. And I realize that. I do admire others who can simply let it all hang out. They're accepting of themselves and that's wonderful.

But when your back hair looks as though it needs to be mowed, taking off your shirt in the gym and then leaving it off while you lift weights for 20 minutes is totally unacceptable!

He could have been a Wookie from the rear view. (Close your eyes, and imagine the Wookie sound). A cousin of Chewbacca, as far as I was concerned.

I didn't know weather to laugh or to throw up.

It was so gross: the hair on this guys back was - for lack of a better word - amazing.

You could barely see any skin.

The front part - aka his chest - was fine. It looked suspiciously smooth, but I wasn't about to move closer for inspection. A few glances confirmed that the front side of him was a hairless wonder.

But the back was a different story. He looked like he belonged on Planet of the Apes. Seriously. And he wasn't that old - perhaps mid 20s?

The thing is, it was so distracting. You know when you're driving past a car accident and you know that you shouldn't look out of respect for the victims, but you can't help yourself because its so fascinating?

Yeah, that was me at the gym.

I kept telling myself to not look, to not take a peek.

But it's like with junk food or my favorite piece of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. The minute I tell myself "no", I want it even more.

From an anatomical standpoint, it was fascinating. You could teach little kids about "smooth surface" "hairy surface" by simply having this guy turn around.

And the problem was, is that he didn't put his shirt back on. For the remainder of his workout, he lifted weights, sat on the equipment with his shirt off. I was more disturbed than anything else.

Well, he was confident. I'll give him that.

And I realize that my gag reflex is getting better.

So there you have it; my adventure at the gym while doing functional strength. There really should be a disclaimer; no shoes, no shirt, no entrance to the gym. Unless you're hairless and well toned on both sides. Then I'll consider it. Until then, all bets are off.

West Coast Wishes

We are so not getting San Diego as our next place of living.

And you want to know why?

Because yesterday afternoon, Nathaniel and I spent mucho time looking at houses, apartments, condos, and townhouses in the greater San Diego area. We've narrowed it down to Carlsbad, or possibly Encinitas. We loved Del Mar, but think that the commute for Nathaniel (getting to the base, and then getting to the flight line way in the middle of base) would be a little far.

Besides, Carlsbad looked positively wonderful.

And then we found it.

The perfect townhouse. Hard wood floors, two stories, a fireplace, high ceilings (vaulted), three bedrooms and 2.5 baths. Okay - so maybe it was a few blocks from I-5. But still - it was within walking distance of Carlsbad Village and had a view of the Blue Lagoon.

Now: cue the crashing music. The "catch" if you may.

We haven't been assigned our next duty station. Yet. We don't know where we'll be: still a toss up between San Diego (Camp Pendleton) or Jacksonville, NC (Camp Lejeune and New River Air Station).

So, I'm convinced that we're doomed.

There is no way that we're going to get San Diego.

Instead, we'll be spending an eternity, er, a long time in North Carolina. Not that there's anything wrong with that... But we're ready for a change. We're ready to be out of the south. We're ready for mountains, a Pacific view, local vineyards, an area with lots of great universities, many different kinds of people, different sorts of restaurants (I love the Falafel at Roxies in Encinitas!)... a new experience, if you may.

So the realist (nay, not pessimist) knows that we'll end up with North Carolina. Again.

But there is still hope. Nathaniel hasn't been selected yet (the way this works: he lists his top helicopter picks and on which coast he wants to fly them. The instructors do their best to accommodate the students with their first or second picks...but there's always an off-chance that things will go very wrong. Like if there are no West Coast Cobra slots available the week of his selection.)

According to this model, we could potentially end up in Okinawa, Japan.

And that's someplace we definitely don't want.

Back in March when I crashed and broke my sacrum, my Dad and Nathaniel flew out to stay with me. After I was released from Scripps La Jolla (the best hospital ever!), we stayed right on the ocean in Del Mar. It was then that Dad became convinced that we were going to end up in Southern California.

He claimed that he had "a feeling".

Lately, Nathaniel has been having "a feeling" as well. His "feeling" points to San Diego, hence the online house hunt yesterday.

I seem to be the only realist, er pessimist, that realizes that we haven't been given our next assignment.

I guess a big part of me doesn't want to dare to hope. I would love to live in San Diego so much - but am afraid of getting my hopes up only to be disappointed with Jacksonville, NC. The tough part is that I don't have any control over this. None - absolutely zero. And I knew that when I married Nathaniel.

It just doesn't get any easier.

But that's the great thing about hope. It's still there. She's still whispering the sweet songs of Southern California, which we dare to dream. We don't know yet; therefore hope is still alive. And that's something that the realist in me does recognize.

So in the meantime, I'll continue to dream, continue to hope. And we'll keep looking for houses in the San Diego and the Carlsbad area. Because that's the great thing about hope: it's still alive and we're still in the running. Until we hear otherwise.

Wandering Mind on the Bike

Today I had my long bike ride for the week on the schedule. Three hours of pure-biking bliss. The weather was perfect - 75-80 beautiful degrees with low humidity. The sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, and the love bugs were out in full frenzy.

Okay, so that was gross.

For those of you not privileged to 1)live along the Gulf Coast or 2) bike through swarms of "love bugs", trust me when I tell you they're gross. Thousands upon thousands of bugs...stuck together copulating...bouncing off the helmet, flying down the jersey (give me a bee any day), doing gross things while smacking into your person while you bike at 18 mph down the highway.

One long word: Eeewwwwww!

But the ride was fantastic, it really was. There are some rides where you have so much to focus on: nutrition, route, pace, wattage, heart rate, the weather... And then there are other days where you can just let your mind wander. Ride for the pure enjoyment and love of the sport.

The later was my day today.

And while I was riding, I had many a thought drift through my mind. Below you'll find a few that I can recall (remember, I was out for a little over three hours).

-Should I have put on more sunscreen? I got my face, but I think my base layer is okay to handle Florida in September....?

I should have smeared the stuff everywhere. My back currently has two colors: red and the part covered by my tri top. It's not pretty. And the aloe smell is a powerful reminder that next ride, the suncreen is going everywhere.

-I really don't mind waving at strangers in trucks in the middle of Santa Rosa County. At least they're friendly... They probably won't run me down if given the option.

Duh. It's the ones that give you the finger or hollar out the window that you have to watch out for. Surprisingly, the friendly drivers today were all driving pickup trucks.

-Can a Power Gel survive in a hot car for 3+ months? It would be nice to have a little extra sodium with me... and I love the vanilla flavor... but will it be safe for human consumption?

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I found one gel in the house. And another in the car. Beggars can't be choosers: next time I need to prepare a little more ahead of time for my longer rides. I'm still here, and the gel was extra, uh, liquidy. It goes to the same place - so I should be okay...

-Do I have to put my time and mileage in Training Peaks? This doesn't look too good for me. Ah, it would appear that I'm biking at Mountain Biker pace - no offense to Mountain Bikers. But those riding on root-rutted trails juxtaposed to the smooth pavement of the road on a TT bike, well....Maybe I can use the wind as my defense...?

Dude - what do you expect? You're just riding to enjoy, not to race yourself. Or race your past self. The pace doesn't matter. Just the fact that you're having fun and putting in some time in the saddle - that's great. Plus, the longer I'm out, the better my "tan" will be. Tan lines are so en vogue!

-I am biking through a Hitchcock-like scene. There are billions of copulating bugs. They are everywhere. All around. Flying down my shirt, bouncing off my legs, into my helmet, off my sunglasses onto my shirt and then reverberating off my shorts. This is GROSS! If I could shiver I would, but I'm trying to stay *focused* on staying upright. I don't need to crash on account of some overly-sexed bugs.

And an hour later after I arrived home and got ready for my shower, I found assorted bug bits in the sports bra. You had better believe I was in that shower asap. And disinfectant (but sensitive skin!) soap was my new best friend. I wasn't brave enough to check the pile of clothes for residual bugs. Or bug bits. Yuck - I hate crunchy bugs!

-What should we do for dinner? Sushi? Lentil stew with crusy bread? How about both...? That would entail a quick stop at Publix on the way home. Ooohhh! I should pick up something special for Nathaniel. And me... Is it smart to go shopping after a long ride when you've only eaten breakfast food?

The perfect remedy was to carry a basket instead of going for the full cart. I was pretty tired after the ride, and knew that by NOT pushing a cart I wouldn't be able to 1)Lean against it and thus prolong my duration in the store or 2) Fill it full of stuff that looked good simply because I was tired and hungry. But sushi and lentil stew stuff was purchased. So was the crusty bread - made from flaxseed and soy.

Even Nathaniel said the bread was good. Better with peanut butter...

-Is Survivor on tonight?? I wonder what the new season will be like! The challenges look so fun, but I could never do the cut-throat politicking of the game. Speaking of politics... Nathaniel and I are on opposite ends of the spectrum. I think our votes will cancel each other out...

Wow. Survivor to the 2008 Election. Nice. And yes - Survivor did premiere tonight. Politics, well - don't get me started.

And I could keep going and going and going and going... But I won't. Overall it was a great ride - not the fastest, not the most intense. But the best long bike ride that I've had in a long time. And I did it because I loved it - no it wasn't the 5 hours that I had envision a few weeks ago. But in nearly every other way, it was perfect.

If we could just do something about the bugs though...

Scary Stuff

I knew I shouldn't have done it.

But it was there. It was tempting. And I had nothing else to do.

And no - this does not include peanut M&Ms or PB Cups. Although eating a lot of those would have been scary as well. (Most notably the morning after - when you wake up and then realize how much candy you actually ate.)

No - my candy, er - dilemma - for the month of October is taken care of. Thanks to Elaine's (TriGirlPink) challenge, I won't be waking up to a post-M&M-consumption-induced coma. See her blog for details.

But speaking of October and all things Halloween, lately I've been scaring myself silly. Not with workouts, and definitely not with M&Ms - but with super scary "reality" TV shows.

And no - not E! Network stuff, or The Biggest Looser. I try to not watch a lot of TV, I swear. But lately, Nathaniel has been doing a lot of night flights - so I'm home alone.

Normal routine is thrown out of whack - so I'll channel surf. Okay... so what does this have to do with being scared silly?

Glad you asked.

Two words: Ghost Hunters.

First, a bit of background.

I swear that I grew up in a haunted house. Something was not right with that place. And just because I have an overactive imagination, doesn't mean that I was wrong. I couldn't stand to be on any single floor by myself. I would have to drag my sister upstairs or downstairs with me. At night I would yell and holler, "Mom? Dad? Could somebody please take me to the bathroom?" until one of my poor parents walked me 10 feet down the hall.

Had there been a bathroom not near the edge of the staircase - where the "monsters" or "things" were undoubtedly waiting for me at the very bottom - I would have happily gone on my own. Yes, I would have gotten a running head-start and taken a flying leap to get back into bed (hands reaching out from under - to this day I don't like to dangle my hands or feet off the edge!), making it creak.

The worst? The basement. Or being downstairs late at night. The poor cat was oftentimes my companion. Once, while I was doing dishes (my chore), I was so afraid of the basement stairs (I thought I kept hearing someone or something comming up it. Not just hear - but I could sense that something was just there.) - that I barely rinsed the soap off the dishes. The next morning my parents weren't too happy with my dish washing job.

At the time they didn't realize how petrified I was. But now when we talk about it, they understand that I was truly terrified.

Okay - so little kid with big imagination + totally weird house = adult who mostly can handle herslef.

Until she watched Ghost Hunters. Alone.

In the show, a team of ordinary people aka "The Ghost Hunters" go out and try to disprove hauntings or paranormal phenomenon. They use technology, Electronic Voice Sensors, K2 meters, digital recorders, thermal cameras, and a lot of scepticism to disprove their cases.

About 80% of the cases they review, they find nothing.

That leaves (by my calculations - and I'm no math expert - you can tell by how off I am when counting laps during a swim set) 20% of the places they investigate to have some sort of paranormal activity.

A haunting is different than paranormal activity. From what I've gathered, there are different kinds of phenomena out there. If you're interested - check out their site. They're the experts, not me (clearly!).

Unfortunately (for me) once I turned the flippin' show on, I was too terrified to turn it off. I mean - what's worse? Not knowing and expecting the worse (but never finding out because you were too afraid to hang in there), or finding out and being scared anyway.

I know how my imagination works - and more often than not, I'll try to stick with and see what happens. I guess my mind can be much worse than anything they come up with.

But that doesn't solve the problem of me, watching this team of Ghost Hunters, hunt ghosts in an abandoned Train Station in Buffalo, NY. Apparently it was very haunted. Images were caught on camera, unworldly voices were heard on recording, and most members of the investigation team had first-hand experiences with one aspect (or more) of the haunting.

Great! A night that Nathaniel's gone until 12:30 or 1 am and I'm totally alone. With my cats. Nice.

You had better believe that nearly all the lights are turned on, NPR is playing in the background, and there is no way that I'm letting anything so much as a fingernail droop over the side of the bed tonight.

But as I was watching - petrified and half buried under the covers, yet unable to tear my eyes away from the television as the cast went "lights out" - I couldn't help but wonder why? I was doing what I was doing.

If I was that scared, that sensitive - then why even bother.

I suppose I want to know. I want to be reassured that there are other people out there that have similar experiences. No - I'm not saying that I saw any ghosts or heard any unworldly voices in the middle of the night - but I had a sense that when I should have been by my slef, that I wasn't alone. That I was always being watched by something around the corner.

When I see other people who can relate, who have simila feelings it brings me a lot of comfort. I know I'm not alone, know that I'm not the only one to ever experience feelings like this.

And for the record, when I was 14, our family moved into a different house. And even though the previous owner died in the kitchen, I've never felt weird or anything abnormal there. In high school I was able to watch British Comedy late into the wee hours of the morning in the same kitchen.

It didn't mean that I didn't still thunder up the stairs when the lights were off and I was the last one heading up - I still do to this day. But there's a sense of happiness, of calm and of peace in their house now. Very different from the first one.

Perhaps I grew up, or grew out of my phase. Thankfully, in spite of the many houses I've lived in since college and now moving around the country with a husband in the Marine Corps., I haven't had experiences like that since. And I hope I never do.

But I still can't get over the fact that I willingly watched that show.

Perhaps a part of me still wanted to be scared? Maybe I wanted to see the skeptics dissect a case and prove that there's nothing there, nothing to be afraid of? Or maybe I just want to be assured that I'm not the only one out there. Better yet? I'm bored on a Wednesday while Nathaniel is flying his Night Qualifications.

You never know.

Regardless - tonight I'll be sleeping with all the lights on. The radio will be playing, and I'll have to make sure that one - if not both - of the kitties are with me in bed. I'll be sure that the blankets are tucked around and I may even set the sleep timer on the TV.

I think that Frasier comes on at 11. The Golden Girls at 12. And The Nanny at 1.

Now the fact that I know that is scary.

Toasted at 2500

Sometimes you have workouts that are hard.

And then, there are other times when you have workouts that are really hard.

And the absolute worst? Those workouts that look not-that-bad, but deep down, you know they will totally and absolutely kick your butt.

They are innocently deceptive. To the casual onlooker, no "biggie". But to the workout-doer, a completely different story. A snot-filled, arm-quivering, I'm-not-sure-I'll-make-this-but-I-know-my-coach-won't-kill-me-right?-kind of workout.

I had one of those in the pool the other day.

The workout looked innocent enough. That should have been the giveaway. Well, that coupled with Jen's comments at the end, "Only 2400 today, but you can do more if you feel up to it. But no more than 3k..."

Those words - if you feel up to it - were the kiss of death.

And looking at the workout, it's not like I'm doing 500s, or 1000s, or God-forbid 200s (I have a fear of those). It was only 100s. 15 of them to be exact. But the rest interval time was generous and I had a whopping "50 easy kick" in between every 5 100s.

Written next to the 100s were the simple words: very fast.

Very. Fast.

Very Fast.

Okay, okay - you get the point.

And after the first set of 5 X 100, my goal for the second and third sets of 5 X 100s was to "hold first set pace."

Not swim almost as fast as the first set.

Nor swim close to first set time.

But Hold First Set Pace.

Gotcha Coach. Allright. I know that you won't do anything that will intentionally harm me. And that everything you write, you do because you want to push me, but also think I can handle it... So here goes.

First few 100s were done right at and then below my T-Pace. So far, so good. I wasn't dead yet, nor did the pool lifeguard feel that my life was in any danger. I may have alarmed the gentleman in the lane next to me with my Dark-Vadar-like breathing - but I was swimming very fast. So it's acceptable.

And before you get your knickers in a bunch, realize that I wasn't holding a very tight interval. In fact, for the first set my rest was :20 per 100. For the second it was :30, and then during the final set a whopping :40. Just enough to stop hyperventilating before I took off to repeat.

I arrived at the end of my first 5 X 100 pretty much intact. No - I wasn't dead, wasn't gasping for air or flopping on the deck in agony. But I didn't reach for my flippers to aid my kick either.... I took my sweet time with my 50 kick. My neighbor - the one doing the elementary back stroke on his front - may have passed me. But I'll never admit it.

Second set started, and yep - there was the fatigue. But on the first interval, I managed to come in two seconds faster than my T-pace. So there was a reason to the lack-of-breath and quivering legs. And now that I had lowered the bar, I was bound and determined to hold my pace there.

There are few times, I rationalized, that I have the opportunity to swim this fast, or to do a workout like this. I might as well make it the best possible...

And yes, I managed to have that thought within the span of my :30 rest interval. So off I went. The arms continued to protest, and with each and every push off the wall after a flip turn, I could feel my quads tightening up. But for the next 4 100s, I managed to hold my time to one second faster than my T-pace.

I was on a roll. But also concerned about what my body could handle.

During my second (and thankfully final) 50 second uber-slow kick, I reminded myself that workouts like this don't come very often for me. Make it count.

Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.

Which is the slogan that I see on a lot of Marines's shirts at the gym. A little cliche, if you ask me... but when you're in a situation where the phrase is truly tested, it is more than appropriate. Trust me.

The final 5 X 100 were like no other. I set off with a time two seconds below my T-pace, and then repeated it for the second. It was during the 13th and 14th repeat that I felt my body systematically shutting down.

Fingertips?

Don't need those.

What about back muscles?

Nope, not those either.

And the quads?

Long gone.

But in spite of the uncontrollably fast pace, the lack of sensation in my quads, and my really really really loud breathing, I managed to complete my set in under my original time. Yes, the wizard jumped on my back, and afterwards if I had been forced to outswim a shark attack (hey - they DO have chlorine sharks, right? They live on the other side of the grates at the end of the deep end, right??? They're the reason why I hate being in the pool alone...they are there. And they're waiting for that overly-tired swimmer who won't put up a fight...), I would have been a goner.

I grabbed the kick board for my 100 kick cool down and my legs felt oddly detached. The arms were much much worse. I ended with a 300 pull. Again - I may have been passed by Mr. Front Stroking Elementary Back Stroker, but I can't be sure. I was just trying to move forward without sinking.

So there you have it: I was toasted at 2500 yards. High quality and very fast yards, thank-you-very-much. But that was the thing about this workout: I didn't want to look back or write up my account in Training Peaks and lament what I didn't do. Pain really was temporary and my pride at completing the workout in the times my coach had set for me was, well, forever.

And the really great thing? Next time I have a really hard workout on my schedule, I'll be able to look back at this one and realize that I could do it. I did do it. And even though I had to use a ladder to get out of the pool at the end of the swim, inside I felt like a little kid, jumping up and down and waving her arms in glee.

And I can't wait to find that feeling again.