A Pink Space

Holy moly, it's September already. In addition to my birthday, I always associate September with the beginning of school and fall as well as the chaotic closing of another insane fiscal year. This particular year has been especially busy because I am preparing to transition into a new career. With that, I wanted to share my home office because 1) it's temporarily clean, and 2) there are no cats in the frames.

When we first bought our house, I was apprehensive about having so many rooms. After all, it's just the two of us and our herd of furry children. Additionally, it's just so American to have an unnecessary amount of bedrooms in a suburban cookie-cutter style home, but I am nothing if not patriotic I guess.

As soon as we moved my husband moved (I was conveniently absent in training when we closed on the house.) all of our belongings inside, I insisted that we dedicate one bedroom as my home office. This way, I wouldn't end up writing on our living room coffee table and cutting teeny, tiny pieces of paper for homemade cards on the kitchen counters anymore.

A pink, girly office has always been my dream. I painted the walls and ceiling a very soft, slightly yellow pink called Musical Mist by Glidden in a satin finish. The desk is a white, two-drawer Parsons-style knockoff from Overstock. The gold, sunburst mirror is from the Martha Stewart line at Home Depot. To the left of the mirror, I have a Milk Toof print as well as a Harry Potter print (I don't remember from where!) framed in garage sale finds. To the right, I have a framed dead butterfly, an owl carving that I painted gold and pink, and a cork board covered in fabric with my racing bibs and photos pinned onto it at the moment.

Where I Facebook study and write.

My desktop is not usually this neat.

That is really a dead butterfly.

Initially, I wanted my desk to serve as a craft table as well, and I was holding out on a wide, expansive desk with a weathered working surface. The room is quite small, though, so I had opted to go for a small, practical writing desk and it has served me well. My desktop is normally littered in notebooks, folders, and various SD cards, but I cleaned it up for the picture. The placemat underneath my keyboard is from a high school friend when we were in high school and is older than I care to admit. When I do manage to sit down for a big, crafty project, I typically just park it on the floor and make a mess of everything anyway.

Don't let the white boxes fool you.

Across from my desk sits an Ikea Vittsjo shelving unit that I painted yellow using a combination of spray paint and industrial strength paint from a carcinogen-laced can (because the spray paint just wasn't cutting it). I had seen a lot of Ikea hacks on Pinterest for this versatile shelf, so I was excited to give it a whirl and do my own DIY spin on it. As luck would have it, I am not good at Ikea hacks and getting this shelf to DRY with that bumblebee shade of yellow in my humid garage was a total nightmare. There are quite a few dings in the paint here and there, but it holds my junk and that's what counts. The white boxes and drawers are needlessly labeled: I always end up opening every damn one of them to find whatever it is I'm looking for.

Top shelf of knick knacks.

The top shelf is just tall enough to be useless to someone who is as short as me, so it's decorated with various Funko dolls, Hello Kitty blind box items, and framed pictures instead of arts and crafts supplies. That green L is for Lewis because I am what I am.

Tree of Scissors

Originally, I wanted this ivory hook situation from Urban Outfitters to house my favorite necklaces and racing medals. However, my cats took it upon themselves to bungee jump from those items, so I decided to use this as a way to corral all of my scissors. I never have a problem opening letters, and my cats have since left it well enough alone.

I recently switched out to a light, airy pair of Ikea panels to let in more natural light. I didn't get the chance to finagle my camera settings properly, so the picture below is kind of blown out from all of the sunlight. However, it makes for a happy working environment.

A corner of stuffed cats.

Right now, I preparing to upgrade from spindly, foldout chair to a plush, vanity style chair as well as changing out the little dresser below the window. It might look cool with the gold and white stripes, but  it is not as functional as it could be. And I lied: there are some cats in this photo, but one is Pusheen and the other is not a cat, so it's actually OK.

If you're wondering where my cool, geometric patterned rug is, then just look at my dog because she ate it. I guess she isn't a fan of the whole "rugs on carpet floors" look, and honestly, I can't blame her.

I eat rugs on carpet because it's unnatural.

The Verdict Is In

So, last Sunday was my very first triathlon.

Why are you rolling your eyes at me? Have I mentioned it already or something? If you're one of my fourteen readers, then maybe you might be clued in on my race calendar, but in case you didn't get the message:

I DID A TRIATHLON LAST WEEKEND.

How was it, right? That's what you want to ask? I don't know yet. My gut reaction is NOPE, NOT EVEN ONCE AGAIN. That much is true. I feel like this after most endurance events, even with my beloved half marathon distance, so I rarely take myself seriously immediately post-race.

I'll try to break it down phase by phase to give you an idea of what went down and how I faked it to make it.

The Setup
As I was setting up my transition area, I felt like I brought way too much stuff. I didn't have a sweet tri-suit leotard. I didn't have one of those phallic shaped bike helmets. I didn't bring a hydration system attached to my bike frame. I only brought things that I've worn on bike rides and runs before and just laid it out hoping that I totally looked like I knew what I was doing.

My stuff.

The Swim
I decided to wear a wetsuit for the swimming portion because I'm still not the strongest of swimmers, and until that morning, I have never swam in a crowd full of people before. Having a little extra buoyancy seemed prudent. Trying to pull down my wetsuit and shorts underneath to go pee proved to be another unique challenge that I wasn't prepared for either.

The 25-29 age bracket was the second to last heat to start in the water as well as the second youngest. Looking behind me, I saw a group of 19-24 year olds who looked a lot more lithe and buoyant than yours truly. When the whistle blew signaling our start, I stayed in the back and waited until most everyone was in the water. I really didn't need to do this because within four strokes, everyone was far out of my range.

My husband and I developed a very specific stroke for me called the Rotisserie. This is where I swim backstroke then rotate onto my stomach to sight and vainly splash around in a poor attempt at a freestyle. Out there in Lake Washington, I had this stroke down pat. Unfortunately, no one seemed to understand what I was trying to do, so a lot of the lifeguards on their kayaks yelled things like, "Hey watch out for this one in the purple cap!" or "DON'T GIVE UP!" when I felt like I was doing just fine.

Not surprisingly, I smacked a lot of people with my helicopter style backstroke, and I felt guilty when one girl nearly burst into tears and insisted that I was trying to drown her. I tried my best to stay along the perimeter of the pack, but the last 75 meters of the swim channeled us through a lane of buoys back to the shore, so there was no hope for anyone within arm's reach of me.

When I came out of the water, I had no idea what my time was. It felt like I was out there for an eternity, and I had enough lake water in my stomach to create a personal lagoon. I was so relieved to be on land that I staggered my way to the transition to start the bike portion totally forgetting that the transition time is added to the clock. My swim was a grand total of 22 minutes (on target based on my training) with about a 5 minute transition thereafter (oops).

The Bike
The day before, I pumped my tires to the appropriate psi and felt pleased with myself up until I broke my back tire's valve stem in half a mere hour before I had to rack my bike. Bicycles 101: NEVER PULL YOUR PUMP OFF AT AN ANGLE FROM THE VALVE. Idiot.

Fortunately, the core stayed inside the stem and didn't release any additional air. I knew that I had a slow leak on my wheel, but because I was short on time before racking and could already feel my anxiety building, I decided to just go with it for the race.

After slithering out of my wetsuit and practically twerking my butt into my bike shorts, I ran out to start the bike course. Within two miles, I could feel the bumpitybumpbumpbump of my back wheel indicating that I needed some air or it was going to be bad. I hopped off my bike and pumped my tire with the broken valve until it felt like an unripe avocado. Why didn't the valve's core fall through then and leak all of the air out? I have no idea, but HOLY CRAP if I am not thankful for that miracle.

After about 5 minutes off the road doing that, I hit the course as hard as I could only to get caught up on a very narrow and rather steep hill that had a long line of cyclists either walking their bikes or toppling over into the bushes. I am not a fan of falling over while clipped in or colliding with people who are about to fall, so I walked my bike around this obstacle. After another 30 seconds of that, I REALLY got started on the course.

I do not consider myself an experienced cyclist by any means, but I passed a lot of women on the course, many of whom I recognized having passed me on the swim. After my tire hiccough and my subsequent decision to hoof a hill, I was really surprised by this. It motivated me to push a little harder and I managed to finish 12 miles in 46 minutes, impending flat tire and hill walking situation included.

The Run
My favorite part, ha.

Once I managed to re-rack my bike and change my shoes, I started jogging onto the run course to loosen my legs a mere two minutes after unclipping at the dismount point. As the mileage progressed, I didn't do anything crazy. I didn't try to sprint at the end or treat this like an interval session. Instead, I wanted this 5K to be a reflective enjoyable time. As it stands, this was the only event that went off without a hitch for me.

I cheered on fellow runners and high-fived my best friend from high school, who was doing the triathlon with me. I thanked the volunteers at the water stations and street closures. I waved at passersby and home dwellers clapping from their porches. I looked around at the community that was supporting and participating in this event and felt very thankful.

Clearly, a 5K is not long enough to entertain my running rage.

As I crossed the finish line, I could feel my usual runner's high surfacing and then cracking my face open with a wide smile. Other than a few gallons of Lake Washington, I hardly consumed any fluids throughout the whole event, so I downed a cold water bottle and some chocolate moo like my life depended on it.

The End?
With a finishing time of 1:45, I am fairly pleased by my performance and I am thankful that I have no way to measure if this was a "good" time or not for me personally.

Whenever I finish a running event, I am always itching for the next marathon and looking forward to it. I do not feel this way about triathlons. At all. The amount of preparation and training required is staggering, and the thought of doing another one wears me out already.

I am of the mind to never say never, so I won't commit to not doing another one again next season. (I really think I need a solid year to prepare for the next one!) In the meantime, all I can truly say is:

 I DID THIS, YOU GUYS.

A Visit from the Anxious Triathlete

'Twas the week before my triathlon, and I'm cleaning my house
Because my brain won't stop whirring, and I'm annoying my spouse.
The SPD cleats were cinched to my shoes with due care,
In hopes that clippin' in won't be a painful affair.

Most Likely to Need Prozac

Throughout my childhood, I always had a sneaking suspicion that I might be an actual genius. No one corroborated me in my theory, but that was because I was misunderstood just like all true geniuses.

My main clue was that I was already exceptional at eavesdropping having spent the better part of my preschool years hiding in pantries and underneath tables to listen to my parents' and older brother's conversations.

This was actually the only clue I had to work with, but boy, did I run with it.

Split Personality of Running

I was listening to my various nerdy podcasts the other day and I learned about dissociative identity disorder most recently. I've never met anyone with this disorder; I've only ever seen it depicted in movies and pop culture, so my understanding is clearly juvenile and downright insensitive to anyone who actually has it.

Even still, I'm posting this anyway because the fact of the matter is: You can love and hate running in the very same breath and the stress that running can put on your mind/body/spirit is enough to drive anyone batty.

White Water Rafting, Safely

I like to pretend that I am a really outdoorsy, adventurous kind of person who will seize the day each and every morning, but if I can do something indoors, I am going to do it indoors and I'm going to do it much, much later in the day.

Halfway Through 2014

At the end of 2013, I wrote about how much running has changed my life.

Through the winter, I did not run very much because Washington is very wet and unseasonably dark at that time of year. Tougher, stronger runners can put up with that, but I am not one of those people.

My people tend to congregate on the couch and binge watch Hell's Kitchen and Orange is the New Black. We might look outside and notice the few, brave runners in dayglo orange, but that's only when we muster the energy to crane our necks away from the bright, LED glow of our televisions.

Turning Back Time

Dear 14 Year Old Shasta,

Greetings, young one! This is yourself about thirteen years into the future. I just wanted to check in on you and see how you're doing. You've been uncharacteristically quiet lately, like, really quiet and this is concerning because you typically have a way with words as evidenced by your parents' monthly phone bills and your endless journalling that would put James Joyce to shame (in terms of quantity anyway, though some of his work is a little willy-nilly if you ask me).