Hard Core!

After my little crash, and my first 22.2 mile ride, I decided that I need bike clothes—complete with shorts and jersey.

So, off to REI I went.

I ended up with 2 pairs of bike pants (capris) and a lovely jersey. Since I'm not, um, what you might call, the spandex-wearing type I wear them under my workout pants.

In a brief moment of over-sharingness, allow me to confess: (despite the fact that it isn't possibly the case) I feel sexy when I wear my bike clothes.

Gross Habits

"Brisk thinks it's gross that I'm a scab picker," I told Bill, knowing he would side with me.

"Really? Weird. I'm a scab picker," he offered as a bit of consolation.

"I know you are. You're a scab picker, and a zit picker, and a nose picker!" I said with a teasing laugh.

"Yeah, I am!" he admitted with a laugh. "You really are observant, aren't you?"

I returned the laugh, "I did expect you to fess up to the nose picking! I just threw that in there for comedic value."

We laughed and took a moment to enjoy the joke.

I doubt he realizes how not sly he is about his nose picking. Which, for the record: a bit gross, but a little endearing, since he thinks he is this super cool bad-a, and nose picking? definitely not something the cool kids do.

Grow Up

"Where do you want to live when you grow up?" I inquired.

Bill chuckled and answered with an "I don't know."

"Why the chuckle?"

"I wondered if the 'when you grow up' was going to bother me, but then I realized that it didn't."

When I asked the question I didn't even think about all the underlying crap--our age difference or his age-related insecurities. I simply asked my friend a question in the same manner I frequently pose them to myself. I'm glad he didn't take offense, but I wish he'd get over the age hangups and enjoy being in his early twenties. This is a time in his life he'll never get back. I've tried to express that to him, but it's hard to say those things without sounding patronizing. So, I keep my mouth shut, and renew promises to not tease him about how young he looks.

Chartreuse, Really?

Through little fault of my own, all of my gear is chartreuse.

Ok. Not all. Just my:
Backpack;
Sleeping bag;
Cinch sack;
Hiking poles;
Headlamp; and
Water bottle.

I initially picked the green water bottle because I liked it. The pack, sleeping bag, and poles just worked out that way. As for the cinch sack, well, it was that or blue. I went with the one that matched my sleeping bag. And, the headlamp was chartreuse or pink. Yeah, I didn't have a choice there.

Pro Tip: Always Call The Ranger Station

I made plans.

I found the trail.

And the campsite.

Researched parking and permits.

Determined that given the distance we were going to crash in a hotel Friday night.

Made hotel reservations.

Bought a new sleeping bag.

Loaded up the pack, grabbed Bill, and hit the road.

Our hotel was this cute little (romantic) place in the middle of nowhere. Following a nice lie in (it was to be a short hike), we got up, got breakfast, and headed to the ranger station.

Turns out the ranger station is closed on the weekends.

It also turns out that the trail we wanted had been closed since a nasty storm in December of 2007. And, every campsite in that ranger district was still closed for the season (stupid internet lied to me!!). Bummed I asked Bill what he wanted to do. He suggested we go down (from North Western Washington) to Mount St. Helens and day hike around there and then figure out what else to do.

We did that and had a good time. For lunch we had Clif Bars and some freeze-dried back packing food. Then hit the open road. This time bound for Cannon Beach (for those keeping track, that's North Western Oregon. We got there just after sunset, so he got some great pictures, then we hunted down a place for dinner.

After disappointingly learning that we couldn't camp on the beach we got another hotel room. We got up early this morning to get sunrise pictures at the beach, and then headed home.

It turned out to be an awesome weekend, and with a special someone the romance factor would have been out of control. We had a blast, and having my phone off all weekend rocked.

We also both learned that weekends like this are probably going to be vital to each of our existence. I needed the break so desperately badly, and so did he.

Sigh, back to the grind tomorrow.

Kayaking: Paused or How I Nearly Broke My Face

Last weekend I went on a bike ride with Bill, Teach, and Teach's (hot) trainer. We were on a very popular and heavily trafficked (bike and pedestrian) bike path.

Bill and I were both on call, so we turned back before the other two. On our return trip we decided to race to catch a light that crossed a major road (it's a bike path in Seattle—major road crossings are involved).

As we crossed the intersection there was a lot of congestion in front of us. We had to slow down quickly. Bill slowed more quickly than I, and also swerved in front of me as he did so. I hit the breaks hard and swerved around him. The end result was me clipping his tire, hitting the curb with my front tire a little wrong, and then, just simply going down.

I hit the sidewalk hard, and kept going. I finally stopped sliding when my head bounced over the curb and my shoulder smacked against it. Lying there on top of my left arm, right hand still holding the right break, I quickly assessed that I was (a) in shock; and (b) not quite 100% alright.

"GRANOLA!!!!" A very very very worried Bill called out.

"Yeah." I managed.

"Are you alright?" his voice thick with worry.

I didn't answer right away. The obvious answer was 'no.' But, I wasn't certain about the extent of the damage. I knew I couldn't feel my left arm—that, at the very least, was bad. Add to that the blood I felt on my face, I should have probably gone with 'no.' I wasn't ready to commit to a 'no' (which probably would have involved an ambulance ride), so I said nothing as I mentally took stock.

I wasn't fast enough.

"GRANOLA!!!" he panicked again. And when I, once again, acknowledged, "Are you ok??!!"

"I don't know," I opted. "Gimme a minute."

That seemed to placate him momentarily. Long enough for me to determine that I thought my arm was probably ok. As I was mentally assessing my arm another cyclist (one of the many who were standing around) offered, "She probably broke her collar bone. That's the most common injury we see with accidents like this." Taking his advice I paused there in my mental once-over. Collarbone, I determined, was go.

I sat up, delicately and deliberately using my left arm to assist. If it was going tobe broken, that would be a quick way to figure that out.

Another cyclist, a woman this time, had dialed 911 before I could tell Bill I didn't need an ambulance. I managed to decline—positive that aside from a couple of nasty cuts and scrapes, and a foul concussion, I was probably just fine.

Bill ran across the street to get some towels to clean my face, and the woman cyclist stayed with me until he returned. I wanted to get up and ride my bike back to my car so we could go to the urgent care, but Bill vetoed that. He also vetoed walking. He was right, but I didn't want to see it that way. I gave him my car keys, and called Spazz to keep me company until he returned.

Teach reached me before he did.

"Oh my gosh, Granola!" I heard her say to her trainer and me alike, as she approached. "Are you ok?" Then she saw the gash and blood and decided to disbelieve my answer. They stayed with me until Bill showed up and got my bike on the car.

Since I had forgotten my wallet at home, and I determined that it wasn't that bad, we went to my place, got my wallet, dropped off my bike, and headed to urgent care.

They determined that I was banged up, but nothing was broken. They also gave me vicodin.

A CT of my head on Monday confirmed that I hadn't broken my pretty face.

After leaving the Urgent Care we left and got some food for me (my lovely swollen face and loads of bandages got some interesting looks all around), and then headed to a bike shop to replace my helmet (broke the Styrofoam), front reflector, and front light. I saved 20% on my new helmet, and got the same one I had before. Though, I was tempted to get a different color.

I've been watching my facial injuries go from gory scrapes and a massive cut to minor road burn, a shallowish cut, a gross scrape and two black eyes. My black eyes are now becoming yellowish, but they're still a lovely angry purple at the center.

Co-workers have all been very stunned and shocked. The thing of it is, the injury looks far worse than it feels. I just hope it doesn't scar up too badly.

My other bruises, shoulder, chest, legs, arms, tummy, etc, haven't quite gotten to the turning yellow stage, so they're still very fun to watch.

In the meantime, kayaking is on hold until I'm not worried about my face burning off in the chlorinated pool water.

And Then, From Left Field

My one on one last week just about drove me to quit. Just in case you didn't notice.

I had asked for a postmortem on our big 6 week project right near the end, and he set it up for us. It was scheduled for Friday afternoon, and I was dealing with another (major) issue right as it was supposed to start. I raced over to the meeting room one minute late and as I walked in one of my co-workers said, "There's Granola! We can't have this meeting without you!"

My boss started to start the meeting, but I (kinda) cut him off. "Actually," I said, "do you mind if I run this? There are a couple of things I really want to talk about."

"Nope, go ahead," he told me. The meeting went well, and we accomplished a lot, but I did worry just a bit that I was stepping on his toes when I asked to run the meeting. After it was over I told him I'd type up the notes and email them to him.

Before I had a chance to email him the notes he sent me an email. It was short and to the point, "Good job on running the meeting. That's just the extra step I was talking about in our one on one."

While that was nice to see, it was still a little awkward for me to just take control from my boss like that. Hmmm... interesting.

Blood From a Turnip

Just when you think they've sucked the life blood out of you, some way, somehow, they manage to take that little bit that you were grasping onto desperately, without even knowing it.

Yesterday I had a 1:1 with my (new) manager. The meeting went well until the end. He thanked me for all my hard work for the last 6 weeks, and then said he had a little feedback for me. Apparently, I don't demonstrate "ownership."

The example (singular!) that he cited was utter bull crap and, frankly, stupid. I can't believe the audacity. I work my ass off and mess up one thing (which, by the way, I took care of immediately) and because I don't publicly self-flagellate I'm failing to show ownership.

I was too stunned to respond rationally. I still don't know what I'm going to do, or how I'm going to deal with it. But, this feels a whole lot like, "Granola is a great employee and works hard, but, unfortunately, she lacks ownership, so we can't recommend her for a promotion at this time."

And, I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. I can't take this abuse another year. It sucks you dry, and leaves you a little shell of the shinning glorious creature you once were.