third time's a charm

So on Sunday I signed up for the 2010 Milwaukee Lakefront Marathon. This will be my third marathon -- I ran #1 in 2006 and #2 in 2007 (Twin Cities Marathon both times). My goal for both of these was to run a 4-hour race. Needless to say, this didn't happen. I sweat a lot. I get hot very easily. And both races were in the 90-100-degree heat index range. You do the math. With dehydration-driven double-sided leg cramps, I ran a 4:23:18 and 4:37:42. Sigh. Yes, I'm proud to have finished two marathons, but with my stubborn and competitive personality, I want to do it right this time. And since Mr. S qualified for the 2011 Boston Marathon, and I'd love to do the same, "right" no longer means a 4-hour race, but a sub-3:40 race. Am I crazy? Maybe. But with an itch to run fast, an entire summer of ice-free paths ahead, and an in-house running coach, this just might be my year.

friday favorites

- New Orleans (photos and recap to come)

- Spending all day tasting and photographing delicious food (and getting paid to do it)

- Leftover Pizza Luce

- March Madness and double overtime

- Raisins in food

- Knowing I can sleep in tomorrow

- Being 24 (for only a few more weeks, sadly)

friday favorites

- Vintage tumblers like these
- Washboard Chaz
- This little girl's sass
- The fact that in two hours I'll be on my way to New Orleans for a long weekend of eating, drinking, wedding attending, old friend seeing, photographing, and sun basking

owly

i can dream if i want to

I can't believe places like this actually exist.

friday favorites

- Trader Joe's string cheese
- Gnocchi with cauliflower and orange at Bar La Grassa
- Having an answer when people ask, "What's the color scheme for your wedding??"
- Morning runs in the mid-March rain
- These hot boots
- This engagement shoot
- Pie

the beer belly of america

While reading food blogs today, I came across an article on FloatingSheep that made me proud to be a Midwesterner. And, more specifically, to have both a mother and a significant other who were bred, born and raised in Wisconsin. I love beer, all sorts of beer (except for generic light beer that tastes like a college frat party in a cup), and it's good to know I chose to settle down in a place where that love of beer is applauded.

I think this graph that compares the number of grocery stores to bars says it best:


On, Wisconsin! indeed.

winter fields

friday favorites

- The Avett Brothers (and their concert tonight at First Ave!)
- Friday lunch dates at the Be'Wiched Deli
- Book clubs
- Research
- Homemade hummus
- Sunshine

a flying stick

On our last day in southern Patagonia, Andy and I kayaked down a beautiful, winding, turquoise river along one of the most incredible mountain ranges I've ever seen. It was a great way to wrap up our time down near Antarctica, gliding through glacier water in a bright yellow kayak.

Before we got into our kayak and onto the river though, we had to stand around a campground in flattering wet suits, waiting for instructions from our guide. There was a dog there, and he was full of enthusiasm, even as early in the morning as it was. The Irish woman who would be joining us on our "float" down the river began throwing a stick for him to fetch. The dog loved it, and I got excited too.

When the nice Irish woman got tired of throwing the stick, I gladly stepped in. It was a pretty big stick, and I wanted to make sure I impressed both Andy and the dog with my tossing ability. So instead of just winding up my arm, I spun in circles (not unlike a shot putter), gaining momentum before The Toss. Except I forgot to aim, and the stick ended up flying wildly out of my hand, straight towards our guide and his helper, who were diligently preparing our kayaks for the trip. It almost hit our guide in the head. He was a good sport about it, but I was humiliated, and the dog looked confused. I must have looked so ridiculous, winding up like some pro athlete, exerting so much energy, only to have the stick completely miss the target.

Sometimes that's how I feel in real life, too. I get an idea, can feel the momentum behind me, gather up strength and determination and excitement, hurl myself into the circle of energy, and... plop. End up with arms and legs flailing through the air as I try to make a graceful landing and pretend that's what I meant to do in the first place, as confused animals look on with quizzical eyes and perky ears.

I'm not giving up though -- some day I'm going to have both momentum and aim, and great things are going to happen. Watch out, little dog in Patagonia. Next time you'll be the one who's painted a fool.