First Race High

Hi. Did you know that my first duathlon ever is this Sunday?

No?

Pay attention, will you.

In all fairness though, I did only just register for it a few weeks ago and haven't said too much about it. I also haven't trained much for it, which should probably be bothering me a lot except that I have managed to capture the dragon on this particular race-related occasion which is letting me sleep at night without my usual pre-race hysteria.

What the hell am I talking about?

See, there's this racing phenomenon that exists out there (for people other than just me, I'm sure of it) that goes like this: The first time you do any new event, whether it be a new distance or sport, the pressure to perform beyond that of just *finishing* the race, is extremely diminished. Every time you do the same race after that, though, you feel The Pressure weighing down on you to do things like set a new PR or whatever. Once you have that pressure-free First Race High, you can never regain it. Unless you try a new sport or distance that is. Which might explain why I've chased the dragon over to a new sport.

I'm addicted to the First Race High.

For this race in particular, I feel no pressure to do anything other than finish without crashing into anyone or making a public or newsworthy spectacle of myself. I don't even really care how fast my run times are as long as they aren't terrifyingly bad. And because I'm all aglow with the First Race High, I'm planning on not freaking out in the transition zones trying to hurry all up and run around in my bike shoes because who really cares what my transition times are like?

Plus, if I ever participate in a duathlon again, it'll make setting new PRs that much easier. Not to be a totally lazy loser or anything. I mean, I'm still going to try to "leave it all on the course", but if I leave a little less of it than absolutely available, I'm OK with that.

And that last sentence made no sense.

Whatever. I've decided I'm not going to race through the transition area, but rather run in at a pace that allows me to steer clear of everyone, change gear without panicking, lead my bike out at a normal rate while letting any super fast race monsters go in front of me and then I'm going to hop on that spicy mama and enjoy a 12 mile loop with an ocean view.

I imagine my return to the transition area will be pretty mellow and slow, too, but that will be because my legs will be all noodley and I'll have to relive the being chased by zombies in my nightmares slow leg syndrome.

You should also know that I bought bike socks. Two pairs. And they're both ridiculous.

So, you help me choose - do I wear the yellow ones with the bees (to further complicate my heinous color scheme) or do I ruin the reputation of my local bike shop by wearing the pair with the store's logo on the cuff.

When I mentioned that I might wear the store's branded socks in my first bike race, the owner reminded me that I could "fold down the cuffs if you are going to do something embarrassing."

OH THANK YOU FUNNY MAN.

He's actually quite funny. But in that way where he's not trying to be funny but rather the way where I just find really terse and serious people to be funny. He takes cycling rather seriously. Either that or he's Super German, which I think he is. Anyway, no matter, if I go with the store's branded socks and start to, say, take out a whole group of people for whatever reason, I'll fold the cuffs down before the Channel 5 van can get the bloodshed on camera.

And, lest you be mislead to believe that this event is going to be televised, it's not. At least not as far as I know. But any time there's a chance for public embarrassment, you know there's at least a few people lurking about with a FlipCam or digital something or other and ready to go to YouTube with it, so there you go. That passes for TV for me.

Anyway, to sum up this poorly-crafted pre-race post:
I've done exactly TWO brick workouts in preparation for this race - one with platform pedals and one with proper clip pedals.
I'm planning on taking the bike and transition portion of the race pretty slow and easy so that no one dies at my hands.
I have a crazy ass outfit to wear, so I'll look head to toe the part of "Rookie".
And I haven't yet figured out how to work the water bottle, so that will be used only during transitions when I'm not actually ON the bike because last weekend when I attempted to, while riding, remove the water bottle and then drink from it, the mechanics got a little too squirrely and I had to stop altogether and stand in the bike lane while drinking my water and then re-cage it before moving on.  Seems I can't do all that while riding the actual bike.

Again - reminder - ROOKIE.

This should be fun. For onlookers anyway.

The Farmshare Project: Week 9 [RecipeS]

Would you like to know what I did NOT remember to do last week when I picked up the share as a small thank you to my neighbors who picked it up and dispatched with it while we were galavanting on the White River in Arkansas the previous week?

Take the photo of the farmshare stuffs.

Lose track of what I was talking about? Yeah, it happens.

Basically, I just realized I forgot to take the photo of the basket with all the shit in it. I'm sure you'll forgive me. If not, you better find another farmshare blogger to follow because I imagine this isn't the last time I'll be so honed in on getting through my evening's chores so that I can have my G&T that I forget to do frivolous shit like arrange my farmshare produce in a basket and take a picture of it.

Meanwhile, want to know what ELSE I didn't take a picture of? Any of the recipes that I'm prepared to share with you this week. Which I'm now going to tout as my way of persuading you to stick with me and the idea of farmsharingness even though I've apparently become a lackadaisical photo taker.

You have imaginations right?

You can imagine what it might look like if you had a white bowl and filled it with pink ice cream looking stuff, except the ice cream is more a dark pink with little red specks because it's actually strawberry sorbet made almost entirely of fresh organic strawberries? Right?

I knew you could do it. Nice work, folks. Really working out those brains.

So, now that I know you can bend your imagination into the shape of strawberry sorbet, I can trust you with the rest of this week's Farmshare Project.

[Now bend your mind into the shape of a basket of sexy vegetables]

Last week's box had:
Arugula
Broccoli
Carrots
Chard
Fava beans
Green garlic
Kale
Lettuce or Napa Cabbage
Young onions
Rapini
Spinach
Summer squash
Strawberries

And their fate was:
We ate them
Green garlic: Hot Grilled Salad (recipe below), Chopped Tuna Salad (recipe below), fish tacos
Kale: White Bean Pasta with Kale
Lettuce: Hot Grilled Salad (recipe below), fish tacos
Young onions: Hot Grilled Salad (recipe below)
Summer Squash: Hot Grilled Salad (recipe below)
Strawberries: Strawberry sorbet

We stored them
Arugula
Broccoli
Fava beans 
Carrots
Rapini
Spinach

We gave it to the neighbors
Chard

We're planning to be OK with it going into the composter if it's gooey when we finally get to it
Arugula
Lettuce or Napa Cabbage
Rapini
Spinach

We're eating it TONIGHT DAMN IT
Broccoli

We stored it so we can have a juicing party of 1
Carrots

So, as you can see, this last week's share sort of got neglected.  Which I can tell because when I open the fridge, there's not the usual Thursday Void happening in the crisper area where all I see is the paper towel lining on the bottom of the drawers.

I'm not sure why I do that - the paper towel thing. Does anyone else do this? I guess it helps pick up the dirt that gets knocked off the vegs from the garden, but I'm not sure. I'm a mystery to even myself.

Anyway.

This week the fridge looks pretty green and colorful in the crisper area and that freaks me out. Because, for the next two weeks, the share is all ours since our neighbors are going out of town and we're going to have to somehow consume a full family share-sized box of produce ourselves. Which is going to mean that some of my other neighbors who ARE in town are about to get door-ditched some really good strawberries and a lot of salad greens.

Have I told you lately that my own garden's lettuce is exploding because it is. And I don't need other salad greens distracting me from the gorgeous Lollo Rosso out there. Or the head of it that's hanging out in my crisper yet still.

Y'all, I'm haunted by greens.

For those recipes though. I promise they're good even though I don't have photographic proof of their goodlookingness.

Strawberry Sorbet
Recipe by moi because I reject the one from the Cuisinart cookbook that came with my ice cream maker which called for corn syrup BARF.
Makes 1 1/2 quarts

Ingredients
1 quart of fresh strawberries, hulled
2 C sugar
2 C water
1 T lemon juice

To make
MAKE SURE YOUR ICE CREAM MAKER'S BOWL IS FROZEN SOLID. Just saying.

In your food processor, armed with the metal blade, add the strawberries and blend until they're nearly pureed, or to the point where they're the consistency you'd like to see in your own sorbet. I'm flexible like that. You can do it how you like it.

Then pour in the lemon juice and mix it briefly. Set aside.

In a small sauce pot, mix sugar and water together and bring to a boil. Continue to stir until the sugar dissolves, remove it from the heat (and turn the burner off! Geez. Why do I always forget this part and then set my sleeve on fire?) and let it cool completely.

When everything's cool, mix it together and let it sit and, like, mature or something, for about an hour.  Then set up your ice cream maker with the freezer bowl (WHICH SHOULD BE FROZEN FUCKING SOLID. GOT IT?), the stirring blade and lid and turn it on. When it's spinning, pour in your strawberry mixture through the hole on top.

Let it ride for about half an hour. It will be pretty soft, but totally edible and passable as sorbet. After a night in the freezer it will be the most perfect incarnation of strawberry sorbet a person could hope to enjoy. Really, now.


Chopped Tuna Salad
Recipe adapted from Farmgirl Susan's recipe for Healthy Swiss Chard Tuna Salad with with Scallions and Kalamata Olives
Serves 3


Ingredients
1  6 oz can of solid white albacore tuna packed in water, drained
1 15 oz can of garbanzo beans, rinsed well and drained
1/4 C of that good olive oil mayo that doesn't taste like a rear end, or whatever YOU like
1 t dijon mustard
2 t champagne vinegar
1/4 C chopped marinated kalamata olives
2 t brine from marinated kalamata olives
3/4 C chopped bok choi stems
3/4 C chopped bok choi leaves
3 T chopped green garlic
1/4 C chopped fresh parsley
1/2 C chopped scallions
1/2 C chopped red onion
Salt & Pepper to your liking

Whisk the mayo, dijon, vinegar and brine in a medium bowl. The add in everything else except the salt and pepper which you always add last so that you can season and taste and season and taste so that it doesn't get too salty or ACHOO peppery. 

Toast some wheat bread and serve the salad on top of it even though you're not making a sandwich.



Hot Grilled Salad
Recipe by moi. But don't get too excited because it's not much of a recipe. 
Serves 2

Ingredients 
1 Leek, sliced lengthwise
1 Onion, sliced
1 Summer squash, chunked
2 T chopped parsley 
4 T olive oil, divided
Juice from 2 lemons
2 cups of salad greens
Handful of feta or goat cheese
Salt & Pepper to your liking


In a saute pan, heat 1 T olive oil over medium high heat until it smells real nice, then add the vegetables and a bit of salt and toss to coat. Let them brown for a few minutes, stirring and tossing if you're so inclined. You want them soft and slightly browned.


Whisk together the rest of the oil, the lemon juice, parsley and some salt and pepper.


Now pour your vegetables over your salad greens, the dressing over the greens + vegetables and then the cheese over that. Add more pepper if you're a psycho like I am.


Go to town. Salad-wise.

Sucking Less has stopped sucking quite so hard.

 Honestly, I haven't 100% enjoyed the process of watching this meadow grass establish because it looked kinda spotty and shoddy and WTF did I do here all winter and I could feel the neighbors' doubting stares.

But, I soldiered on. I held my head high. I waggled the shame finger in their directions when they turned their sprinklers on to water their lawns. Then I went inside and ordered more grass plugs to fill in the blanks.

And I don't want anyone to think that this super cool and wet spring has been all super fun and I enjoyed it or anything because I was OVER IT about two months ago, but it's really done me a solid in the whole Establishing the Meadow Grass department.

Suck THAT doubting neighbors.

Yeah, so all that rain really was good for something. Even though we're still not out of Drought Status High Alert Stop Showering in California, but I kinda think it's a conspiracy to keep us all scared and dehydrated so that Arnold can maintain a super secret water slide park at his house in Sacramento, but whatever.

Drought Alerts or no, the meadow is definitely coming in.

You didn't know that Toyotas were native CA plants? Pfffft.

 And the rainbow poppy seeds and 800+bulbs I scattered over the whole mess are helping the scene quite a bit.

And then there's the fescue from our former overturned lawn that decided it liked growing upside down and from beneath a layer of weedblock and and mulch better than right side up with regular sprinkling, so we've got that going for us, too, since some of it has decided that the tiny grass plugs wanted to share their tiny grow hole with their fescue ancestors.

MOVE OVER!

I can't necessarily speak for the grass plugs when I say this, but I imagine they would have been fine with their own room. The fescue has turned out to be sort of a bully. But at least it's a green bully that lets me look like I know what I'm doing with the landscaping, so for now, it gets to stay.

OK. So I don't *really* look like I know what I'm doing, but at least it's not just dirt.

The fucking crab grass though? DISS. I pull it and throw it on the street pile for Pinchy to haul away. Hate you, crab grass.

Anyway, that's the latest on the Suck Less project in the front yard. The grass plugs, which I'd given until June (Hello, it's June. Handy!) to do something OR ELSE, have headed my warning and done things. Growing and Looking Decent things. Which makes me exceedingly happy.

I have put my bare toes right in this grass. It's pretty heavenly. If you like your feet tickled. Let's not talk about this anymore.

Also, when I was out cutting the seed heads off the combative fescue, one of the formerly doubtful neighbors stopped by and commented on how pretty the poppies looked and OH HEY maybe I'll switch to drought tolerant meadow grass, too, since my lawn is such a water-sucking pain in the ass.

Ok, so he didn't say it exactly like that, but if one neighbor considers replacing their lawn with low water native grasses, then I feel like my project is a success. Even if the whole neighborhood goes back to looking like a Chaparral forest like it was before we all got here and replaced it with the mall, which would obviously be terrible.

No sounds of lawn mowers at 7am on Saturday mornings. No gas fumes wafting up from sidewalks. No green manicured postage stamps devoid of natural life. No welcoming zones for pooping dogs passing by. No over-sprinkled walkways or gutters in the middle of the god damned summer FIX YOUR SPRINKLERS YOU LAZY ASSHOLES.

Yeah, that'd be a real shame if, instead, we had wildflowers and grasses blowing in the wind.

Sorry, sometimes I can be a preachy bitch. Enjoy!

Adopt a Crop 2010 : Finally. Something to stare at.

Wow. It's been a while.

Since I planted all those seeds and was all, "Hey! It's gardening time! Let's watch my seeds grow all fat and happy since the frost date has passed!" and then we all sat around for two months (seriously, since March) wondering what the eff the deal was with the weather/seeds/plants/weather.

OK, so it was probably mostly me obsessing wondering and it was mostly about the weather.

Y'all, it's been a vuuuuuuuuurry cool and rainy spring. To the point where putting on a dress and heels instead of jeans stuffed into albeit hot knee-high boots with a sweater and scarf makes me ultra nervous because I'm sure that as soon as I walk outside and The Weather sees that I'm not battened down for winter, the sky will open and a deluge will soak me in my summer wear. And I can't have my new dress soaked with a June rain.

Rain in June? Really? Snow in the Sierras? Really? Nature - I thought we were friends. What is this BS? I don't know you anymore. You've changed.

Anyway, despite the craptastic weather we've had since I planted the garden back at the end of March (which, I'll admit, is a bit brazen anyway), all plants are now accounted for and actually growing. And we even have some newcomers that were brought in to ride the bench in the event that some of our first-stringers decide to get chewed by mystery bugs.

Because it's obviously the little seeds' choice whether they live or die at the teeth of a mystery seedling devourer, don't you just know. I take no blame for this whatsoever.

And to kick off this garden update right, I'll start with our Adopted Crop, the infamous African Horned Cucumber Jelly Melon.

Yes, people, you chose this monstrosity, so don't get all, "What the fuck is that? I voted for tomatoes." because tomatoes weren't on the list. I plant those automatically.  Nice try, liars!

Good news is, for those of you who did vote for the jelly melon and are man enough to admit it (even if you're a girl, you can be man enough for something. True story.), that late comer has actually germinated. Finally. After I stared so hard at the soil (and resowed the seeds 3 times)(Three)(THREE)(!) that I nearly pooped my pants.

Plop.

The shriek I let out when I came back from Arkansas to find the newly emerged leaves standing proudly (and singularly, only one of 7 seeds germinated) got Bubba running from the garage to see what horrible gooey creature I'd encountered only to find me crouched over (and gently petting) the jelly melon seedling.

He already knows I'm strange, so no worrying that he's going to leave me for a Normal Wife, he gets it.

And then I saw that the previously empty watermelon mound was suddenly inhabited by TWO sprouting watermelon seedlings. TWO. HOLY CRAP. Again, nearly shit myself. This was the third sowing there, too, so I was getting worried that I might have to give up and go find ready-made seedlings at the nursery and give up my dreams of The Giant Watermelon That Looks Like a Snake and The Nerf Football Sized Melon That Looks Like a Weapon of Space War.

The excitement was short lived, however, because when I returned to squeal at the melons a day later, half the jelly melon seedling had been gnawed and the watermelon seedling was leafless. It had a stem, but the two emerging leaves had been eaten and the emerging seedling, still wearing its seed hat, had been demolished.

Current melon seedling status: 
1 half-eaten but stalwart jelly melon seedling
1 stem-only watermelon seedling
1 normal watermelon seedling

This guy was waiting for me at home tonight. He's hot.

This changes day to day, so I'm going to let this status stand because I can't be coming back here every day with updates because it would bore you. Not that I wouldn't do it, but you'd leave me. I know you would.

Though, when I tell you what I'm about to tell you, you might never leave again and you may beg me for daily updates because EXCITEMENT (do whatever you do when you get excited) the first tomatoes have landed.

These are the Black Krims, which are popping loose with an unpredicted amount of wrinkles, much like a newborn Sharpei puppy, but way more delicious (I assume. Your puppies are safe around me. Promise.) and I can only assume they will grow up to be like grown-up Sharpeis but with less attitude. Basically, bigger and less wrinkly versions of their baby selves.

Did that make any sense? You know what I mean.

And not to be outdone, the Better Boys have started setting fruit to, so as not to be outdone by the new glamorous tomato addition.

We win.

The amount of probing around in the tomato bushes that I had to do to confirm that there were tomatoes set on all three plants was *thisclose* to requiring a latex glove. I was determined and ready to use lube if need be. Even though that makes no sense.

Also exciting, because excitement in my life is as easy as seeing a plant do a new thing, are the beans. Which have now begun to latch on and climb their poles just like the little strippers that they are. What? You don't agree? Beans are not strippers to you?

You know they wear strings, right? Because these are both string varieties and who's to say that they're not G-strings? Not you or I, that's who.

Pole dancing strippers, they are.

Thankfully, and I mean SUPER THANKFULLY, I planted two varieties of cucumbers, and despite the stubbornness of these allegedly "easy to grow! Great for kids!" Mexican Sour Gherkins, they are all now growing happily and the pickling one is setting fruit. 

My gardening advice: Always grow cucumbers. They never let you down. And then you can make pickles. Which I really like.

We're going to be dill relish because sweet relish is the devil's work.

Are you dying to know about the two tomatillo plants? Because they're doing really well and not just producing empty lanterns so that I have to come back in a few months, with tears in my keyboard, to report that my beautiful plants were just full of empty husks. 

No, friends, I've been squeezing the husks. Because I'm porny and also because I MUST KNOW what's going on in there. Specifically, whether tomtatillos are happening or not.

And they are. Happening, that is.

There's no doubt that the lettuce is also happening since it's basically been happening all over our lunches and dinners for the last month and then last week I had to pick a whole bag's worth for my Pilates instructor so that it didn't take over my yard while I was gone. 

More gardening advice you don't need: Always plant lettuce. It grows so fast that you never feel like a loser and you know in a few short days whether the seeds were duds and if you need to reseed.

This was our first try. We're good like that.

 Then there's that jalapeno. It's doing fine. Like, it set a few buds and they've opened up and I saw a bee hovering around there, so I'll probably get some jalapenos. But I'll be honest, I'm not impressed. It's still pretty small. However, it's an improvement over last time I grew jalapenos and the friggen thing just totally withered and died for no good reason other than its vicinity to the chard.

Though, if I were living next to that chard forest, I'd probably take my own life, too.

Jalapenos. They are chard-haters, too.

Did you know that my cherries are ripe? And not in a porny way? Because they are. And we're not even trapping them under the netting like last year because we're just going to duke it out with the birds and then go steal bags full from my neighbor's tree because we're thieves like that.

Stealing and fruit pie, it's a natural combination.

I will just say this about the artichokes: WOW. Oh, also - we need to buy more butter.

OK, friends, that's enough gardenblahblahblah for one day, but I hope you're secure in the knowledge that the jelly melons are *hopefully* on their way and that this year's Adopt a Crop won't be a complete failure. And if you're into anal retentive data tracking (and, if not, why? It's wicked fun.), I am keeping track of the harvest again this year and WHOA NELLY are we going to hit that zero barrier fast this year.

Yes, I'm very nerdy. I've just proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

OYW: Super easy! If you're not retarded like I am.

Hey Donk,

You might say I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to be working on this project at the exact moment I chose to do so, since I'd been out working in the suddenly steamy hot garden all morning and had exhausted my patience on the cucumber cages I was creating from scavenged chicken wire (WHY SO POINTY?), but I had determined that Sunday was going to be the day I tackled one of our two projects for this month, so obviously I had no choice but to bite the bullet and go ahead with it.

Because you know how I am with a schedule.

But that lack of patience combined with the reintroduction to sweat on my brow was the perfect storm of no-nos that resulted in the first 30 minutes of my experience with this pattern to be, let's say, less than ideal.

This poor top came into the world amidst a sea of swears.

Because me, oh stupid get off the phone when you're starting a sewing project ME, spent half an hour hunting through all four of the pattern sheets looking for the skirt pattern piece and swearing up a frenzied blue storm while on the phone with my mother before realizing that OH there is no pattern piece for the skirt part of this pattern because oh right there it says to cut two pieces 21x26x17 in a trapezoid shape or something equally simple and not warranting new swears.

Oh.

So, sometimes I can be dumb and mildly heat-stroked and just not be able to make rational thought happen.

Sorry, mom, that you had to hear me berate everything from the book to my sewing machine to The World We Live In and so on because I'm too stupid to read through the pattern while not also doing 60 other things at once so that I could absorb the pattern's message which was: There aren't pattern pieces for the skirt, just easy measurements.

She's a patient one, me mum.

ANYWAY. Once I got done being a psycho, hung up with my mom (again, sorry mom, I totally ruined our Sunday call. Happy Long Weekend! Enjoy bbqing tomorrow!) and restarted my brain with the help of some freshly brewed sun tea (yay for sun! And caffeine.) - this super cute project took me all of an hour to finish.


And I really like the result. Which sort of surprised me since I figured I'd:

A. Look like I was wearing a trash bag.
B. Feel like I was going to loose a boob out of the front or side while wearing it.
C. Look like I was wearing a trash bag.

I'm sure you can see why I was afraid of boob popage.

I mean, yes, the pattern is very cute and I was sure it was *one of those* patterns that looks good on super small people with conveniently compact boobage, but I was pretty sure that since I don't fit that description it was going to look like a trash bag or a poorly constructed boob bag and it would maybe take some special alteration to make work.

Did not!

What? You thought I was going to model it as a nightie? Don't be porny.

This was the first shot out of the cannon and I really like it.

Plus, I got to use some of that Heather Bailey fabric that has been haunting me ever since last summer's multiple failed attempts at that muther effing sundress with The Devil's Elastic Thread that caused me to create a sundress fit for a four year old (Hi, Emma! I hope you like your dress!) rather than a 31 year old woman like myself.

How a pattern can turn an adult sized dress into one fit for a small child with just the misuse (on my part) of elastic thread is a physical conundrum with which I still haven't been able to come to terms.

But I got to use this fabric which I love with a fiery passion and then YAY also got to use up the rest of my tiny elastic and some random bias tape I had lurking in the sewing box.

Oh, by the way, this pattern takes all 3 1/2 yards of the bias tape it calls for so don't get all, weeee let's just not pay attention and trim off ends all mamby pamby because whoopsy you may get 90% of the hem sewn on and run out and have to finish up with some other bias tape that's not the same color.

Just saying.

Beyond that, though, super easy. Directions made sense. All pattern pieces were included, despite my initial assumptions. Final result is cute, flattering and will make a very nice nightie or tank top (over another tank top and with jeans) once I wash the starchiness out of that fabric because, yes, I'm one of those people who still doesn't wash fabric before sewing with it because I'm lazy.

Hey, you knew this.

xo
Finny

I really enjoyed standing around.

So, I wish I had some wild stories to tell you from our flyfishing trip, but as it turns out, standing in a river in the back waters of Arkansas results in very few wild events.

Bubba thought this was wild. Breathables are apparently the next wave of fashion.

Which, frankly, I found to be perfectly acceptable.

See, I'm used to fishing on fast moving water. Where wading in is half the fun because there are errant logs jutting out everywhere and giant boulders waiting to drop you off into the dark nevernever. And then when you actually find a suitable spot to hang out and consider fishing, you immediately lose your fly on the first back cast into some gnarly bush of thorny hair from which you can't extract your fly without YAY traipsing back out of your sketchy wading spot to find the source of the snare.

And when, by whatever miracle, you get to a decent spot and manage to cast without losing it all in the shrubs you find that holy crap, the water's moving really fast so it's like a manic struggle to keep your fly on viable water long enough for some speed demon of a god damn trout to snap it up.

Eventually, cold seeps through even your wooliest of wool socks and you get tired of bugs trying to make a nest in your nostrils, so you wade out ever so carefully and drag your frozen peg legs back to the car.

Dudes, I love to fish, but I will admit that I don't really know why.

It can all just get super tedious is what I'm saying. Not that I don't like to fish here in NorCal, I DO, but so far I've not planted myself in a river as accommodating and pleasant and lovely than the Spider Creek area near Beaver Dam in Arkansas.

Friends, I  fished for three days. And during this fabulous yet rare event, I did not participate in any of the following activities which typically make up my fishing day:

1. Accidentally stepping into a depth which SURPRISE YIKES COLD FUCK exceeds the height of my waders.
2. Freezing my ass off because I'm wading waist deep into snowmelt straight from the Sierras.
3. Retying my fly 170 times because oh damn it all I just lost another behind a mystery somethingorother under the dark water.
4. Harvesting a poisonous nut in bulk with the intention of cooking for Bubba and I because I became inspired during a frozen club footed walk back to the car.
5. Slip sliding away while holding various bushes at various angles with the intent of making it *just to that spot over there* only to find that my rod is all wound up in the variously angled bushes when I actually get close to *that spot over there*.
   
   

Thankfully, I also participated in the activity known as CATCHING A FISH, so while there were many differences between my usual fishing itinerary, this was the most welcomed.

And then let's not get too excited beyond that. Because I just caught The One. But it was the most beautiful and graceful and lovely creature I'd ever seen and so I immediately decided that she was a she and barely resisted giving her a name before she slid out of my fingers back into the river.

It was awesome. The whole day was awesome. The whole weekend was awesome. And at the end of every day, we retired at the sound of the horn (when they start "generating" - which means "opening the gates of the dam and filling up the river around your dawdling ass" - they sound a loud horn which sort of sounds like an uninterrupted air siren and you have 10 minutes to move your ass or start paddling.) and drank our faces off. Oh, and because these friends are of the Arkansas and Missouri variety, we ate the requisite amount of proper BBQ so that we wouldn't be held back at the gates of the airport for not adequately observing local custom.

Of course you need two kegs of microbrew for 7 people.

Brisket. Beans. Sauce. All food should taste like this.

This is serious work I'm doing here, friends.

And because a trip report to the great and diverse state of Arkansas wouldn't be complete without an awesome WT story, here you go. Arkansas friends - I love you very much because I know that this doesn't represent everyone in your fine state and I'm sorry if this was your sister:

Once upon a time on our drive out to the river, we stopped in some along the way town (and now that I think about it, it could have been a town in Kansas or Missouri, so who knows who I'm offending at this point) for gas and I went inside to buy what fruity Californians buy at a gas station: a bottle of water.

As I stood in a line that was inexplicably long, cradling my bottle of Dasani, a scene unfolded behind me that was so awesomely perfect that I'm only sad that I couldn't have been standing somewhere with a better view so as to appreciate it in all of its glory.

Girl of youthful years (let's say she was *maybe* 17) holding a toddler while wearing a bikini top and jean shorts: Bay-be, you're hang-gry ain't ye? (SERIOUSLY. THAT'S HOW SHE SOUNDED.)

Boy of youthful years (perhaps 17 as well) staring off blankly while wearing an oversize tank top with a race car on the front: Uh, bay-be, I got the pizzas. 

Girl: I kin see thay-at. But do ya have the cooooou-pon? I don't have enough muuun-ey for them pizzas without a cooooooou-pon.

Boy: Uh, I think I left it at tha house.

Girl: Well, you better just git back on over they-are and git it because the baby's hang-gry and I don't have enough muuun-ey for them pizzas without it. Now move!

Boy: Yes'm.

Baby: [Silence]

And then Mr. NASCAR tank top slinked out of the glass doors and back to their house which I assume had wheels. And the girl kept nagging on this miraculously silent child about how useless his father was while fulfilling every stereotype imaginable.

It was, in a word, perfect.

As was the weekend and our super hospitable friends and most every person we met along the way and then the river and the fish and the food. I liked it all and now I want to go fishing again nownownow.

The Farmshare Project: Week 7

I know you were all waiting desperately for me to tell you how I ate all the vegetables from this past week's farmshare the exact same way I always do, so here I am to give you the full, mostly predictable, report.

But, there was some fun revisiting of spring dishes that made me glad that I started saving (and organizing by season, like a huge dork) all those recipes I've used to get through our farmshare every year.

You could maybe look at this project the way I look at my recipe binder - as a savior in times of great vegetable overload. Like when you're staring down an untiring crisper full of greens and you can't even remember when the last time was you ate anything other than greens with greens on the side and you have to tame the crisper even if it means eating greens one more night in a row so that you can slam shut the fridge.

Is it too much to call this project a savior? It might be, but I'm moving on with it anyway because I like the idea of a blog post being heroic enough to unearth someone buried beneath a life-threateningly large pile of bok choi.

Take that, bok! We win!

Not really. The bok actually always wins. It's written into its contract, I'm told.

Anyway.

Get a load of those friggen huge radishes. They're the size of lemons. I'm not sure that's right.

Last week's box had:
Arugula
Broccoli
Carrots
Chard
Escarole
Fava beans
Red Russian kale
Leeks
Meyer lemons
"Little Gem" romaine lettuce
Bok choi
Young onions
Red radishes
Spinach
Tatsoi
Strawberries

And their fate was:
We ate them
Arugula - Giant Salad with Your Leftovers Night
Escarole - Giant Salad with Your Leftovers Night
Red Russian kale - In my latest version of White Bean Pasta with Kale that is SUPER GOOD. (see below)
Leeks - In my latest version of White Bean Pasta with Kale that is SUPER GOOD. (see below)
Meyer lemons - In aioli for artichokes and mixed with olive oil, salt and pepper for salad dressing
"Little Gem" romaine lettuce - Giant Salad with Your Leftovers Night
Bok choi - Best Chicken Salad Ever
Young onions - (green stems) Best Chicken Salad Ever
Red radishes - Giant Salad with Your Leftovers Night, on fish tacos
Spinach- Best Chicken Salad Ever
Tatsoi - Giant Salad with Your Leftovers Night
Strawberries - #1 Strawberry Pie of the year and for breakfast with yogurt, flax seed, walnuts and honey

We stored them

Broccoli
Carrots
Fava beans
Meyer lemons (2)
Young onions (bulbs only)
Red radishes (1 Giant Monster Radish left)

We gave it all to our neighbors
Chard

We harvested it from the garden and got a glimpse into the chaos that the garden will bring when it's in full swing
Lollo rosso lettuce
Bibb lettuce
Basil

To look at the recounting of how we dispatched all those vegetables, it would appear that we had very few meals, but, in fact, we had a full week's worth, and the farmshare played the important role of The Thing That's Not Leftovers So Therefore Edible on the menu.

Which is the story behind the Giant Salad With Your Leftovers Night. See, I feel like serving leftovers for dinner is some sort of poor reflection on my cooking skills. Or Bubba's eating leftover for lunch skills. Or our refrigerator's ability to digest human food skills. Any way you look at it, I don't really relish the concept of eating leftovers for dinner. Because that's like, so yesterday's news, that pasta I remember having at this same time last night.

So, to make leftovers for dinner seem more glamorous or at least less repulsive and because I usually only have one serving's worth of leftovers left over (because it's supposed to be Bubba's lunch), I split it in half and serve it with a monster salad full of good things that can distract your taste buds from the pasta they totally remember from last night.

It's like Texts From Last Night, except with food. And it's way less entertaining and salacious.

Thankfully I had peppery radishes, hot green garlic, tart lemon dressing and a wild mix of salad greens to keep our minds off of boring pasta that woke up with the imprint of a toilet seat on its chest.

wait...what? I'm confusing things.

And it didn't hurt that the White Bean Pasta with Kale that I made, and then served again as leftovers, was the best version of it that I've made ever, so eating it again wasn't even half bad. Though we complained just the same.

To make this excellent dish (which is meatless and still somehow one of Bubba's favorites) in this new and improved way, saute two sliced leeks in the oil before you add the garlic and red pepper and then sub out half the vegetable (or chicken) broth with white wine.

And not that it's related necessarily, but if you really want to save Leftovers Night, just serve Strawberry Pie for dessert and all will be forgiven. Believe me, I knows it to be true.

Now I am going to go run off into the backwoods of Arkansas with Bubba and some good old friends for a weekend of fishing and drinking straight from the bottle, so there won't be a Farmshare Project: Week 8 report since the vegetables, as well as the bloodthirsty cat's care, will be in the hands of our fair neighbors.

Next week we can just talk about hangover recipes. With hushed voices. In a dark room.

The Big Stupid Idea grows ever bigger and stupider

You should know that after I hit, "Publish", on that last post I did go immediately to the race site and register for the duathlon.

Something about seeing all my irrational behavior in black and white pushed me over the edge. I can shame myself! What a fun and useful skill.

So, YAY, we're all signed up. I'm going to drag my uncoordinated ass out in public on June 6th and attempt to conduct myself in a manner befitting a rookie multisport athlete.

What kind of manner is that? Uh, well, not really sure. But, thanks to Bubba, I will not be sparing those around me on the bike course the horror of my clip-in pedal klutziness because when I came home all aglow with my recent race registration, he immediately went out to the garage and swapped out my biggie platform pedals for clip-in ones.

Though, I should say that he did pay attention to my whining a bit and put his superior pedals on my bike and my less superior clip-in pedals on his bike. "Just for the race."

What can I say? I'm a total whiner. Of course he wasn't going to let me participate in my first bike race in EW LOSER heavy pedals. In fact, he didn't even want me taking my bike in for a tune-up with those things on it.

Always on the lookout for my public image, this man.

Also, I'm sure he also thinks I should be using these things for the purpose they were intended rather than letting them gather dust whilst I tool around on sub-par pedals while wearing flip-flops.

Have I told you Bubba takes issue with my dislike of "proper shoes", because he does.

It stems from a long history of me heading out on hiking trails wearing flip-flops and then sliding down the side of a mountain. Or stepping out of the truck in Tahoe only to then sprint to the house and stand with chattering teeth because OH HELLO I'm wearing flip-flops in the snow. Or mowing the lawn in flip-flops. Digging in the yard in flip-flops. Working on the car in flip-flops. And let's not even tell him how I used to ride on my college boyfriend's motorcycle in flip-flops and *GASP* super short shorts and tank top and *GASP AGAIN* no helmet.

I know. Pretty retarded. Especially the part about the lawn mower.

Anyway, I have excellent bike shoes and now, thanks to my beloved, I will be wearing them while they are clipped into his fabulous (they really are better than mine) pedals on my lovely bike while I try my hand (legs?) at this new event.

Other Big and Stupid Idea updates:

1. The bike is going into the shop for a tune-up today. 
2. I have carved out time for another brick workout before the race.
3. I will be adding Fun Biking Socks to my list of douchie shit I need to buy. I have drawn the line at getting an actual tri or cycling top because that is, in my estimation, too much.

Obviously, I'm the queen of restraint.

What it's going to amount to though, this "restraint" of mine, is that my ensemble is going to make sense everywhere except my torso. Where I'll be wearing a running top from years passed. So, if you're a cyclist and you think I'm going to look like a major ass in this top, tell a girl, will ya?

If not, it means I'm heading out onto the course in a get-up that includes black spandex shorts, some Fun Bike Socks of unknown color/design, white and baby blue bike shoes, a neon green top and a royal blue and white helmet.

If you just retched, I can't say I blame you. I will be gaining ZERO style points in this race.

Oh, and speaking of style points - I actually purchased a photo from each of my last sub-60 10K attempts because the sporting event photographers decided to stop moonlighting as Mafiosos and dropped the price for a single digital picture down to a more reasonable range. Not that I enjoy paying in the teens for a single digital photo, but it sure beats having to buy a disc (an actual disc? Really? Is this 1992? No.) of 4 photos for $50.

Really, now. Let's not say crazy things, people.

And I thought these photos were decent. Style point rational detailed below.

Style points: 4

1 point: I look like I might be having an OK time when, in fact, I was dying a horrible kidney shriveling death.
1 point: I learned that these headbands are not attractive and so will never wear them again. Points allotted for future style saves.
2 points: If anyone gives me any beef about how come I haven't started trail running yet, I can pull out this picture and correct them accordingly. Because for short, meaningless legs of this race we traveled off the paved path.

Style points: 3

1 point: New shorts with the orange trim are awesome. Obvi.

1 point: New hat is a vast improvement over the freaky bouffant-inducing headband.

1 point: They got this shot off *just* before I took a look at my Garmin.

-1 point: They got this shot off on a down-stride which is unflattering and enhances my slow-and-trudging appearance even though this was the race where I actually DID get my sub-60 10K PR so I could stop having to say sub-60 10K PR like I know you all were wishing I would.

Anyway, I'm hoping I've racked up enough style points to date with running because I'm about to erase them all as I head out onto the du course in my mismatchy outfit, Disaster Maker pedals and numbers painted on my arms and legs by an angry volunteer.

This idea just gets better and better.

My latest Big Stupid Idea.

Back in the good old days, my Big Stupid Ideas (term coined by Bubba) consisted of paddling my kayak into rocky sea outcroppings and starting cocktail hour at noon when we were on vacation. The fact that one of those ideas begets the other is not important. Or, at least, I should ask you to politely ignore your rational thoughts and move on.

Now, however, my Big Stupid Ideas tend to involve me getting up at stupid early hours in order to piece together training workouts for races for which I have not yet even registered.

It is likely that I am getting dumber and more delusional as I age, which would mean the rate of Big Stupid Ideas is about to take a big swing upward.

Yay! Who wants to be my emergency contact?

What? No takers? Jerks.

Evidence of this new trend: Yesterday morning (that'd be Sunday for those of you reading this on a day other than Monday, you late-comers. SHAME.) I got up at the impossibly early weekend hour of 6am so that I could walk the dog before attempting my first Run > Bike > Run workout.

Why the early hour, you ask? Are you trying to get a workout in before going to church, you ask?

Well, I'm still relatively new to the Biking For a Purpose Other Than To Go Get Tacos thing, so I wanted the roads to be as free and clear as possible so that I could get in a semi-uninterrupted dash to my randomly determined turnaround point without having to dodge those people who do go to church and then immediately flee the place all drunk on the idea of forgiveness pancakes.

Really, though, people - burning rubber out of the church parking lot? Isn't there some rule that says you have to be beyond the church grounds before behaving like an outright lunatic? I'm just saying that you're not going to catch much of a break on that behavior next week when it was witnessed all first hand, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, enough of my blaspheming, the point was to get out and rip the band-aid off this never-before-attempted training of running and then biking and then running again to see what would happen to my body and if, by some miracle, I could actually see myself doing it in two weeks when this event goes off.

Because the only viable duathlon in a 50 mile radius involving biking rather than swimming (for a funny note on how retarded I am with regard to this fact, keep reading) is being held on June 6th and if I want to quench this sudden and inexplicably strong desire for completing a duathlon in 2010, I'll have to jump on it and hope I don't die a shameful and chamois-crotched death due to lack of preparation and/or brain power.

Of course, this does mean that I have to set aside my super A/R Plan 700 Years In Advance For Everything tendencies and it will open me up to much greater opportunities for public shaming, but for some reason that super worry wart A/R part of my brain has been really quiet on the issue.

It's possible that this is due to the extension of Vacation Rules Cocktail Hour to your average at-home weekend, but who can be sure, you know?

Anyway, I went out yesterday morning and completed this, the first and potentially only brick workout and here is what I learned:

1. Running in spandex hot pants is not as terrifying as expected. Even with the My Pants Appear to Be Full of Something Syndrome brought on by the chamois.
2. Running after biking is, indeed, as being-chased-by-a-zombie-in-a-nightmare slow as suggested by all the other multisport athletes I've interrogated on the subject.
3. If I can't get my bike tuned up in time for this race, an awful fate could befall myself, the bike and those around me on the race course.
4. My Garmin is withholding information and I can't figure out how to make it do my bidding.
5. I actually need a water bottle and cage but will still feel like a douchebag shopping for them. 
6. I should probably register for this race if I'm going to waste perfectly good Sunday mornings proving to my neighbors that I'm a psycho who runs the neighborhood in spandex and then bikes the neighborhood in spandex and then OH WAIT THERE SHE GOES AGAIN runs the neighborhood in spandex. 

Fun times.

Actually, I quite liked my little faux-duathlon training test workout thing. I didn't use any official training method for piecing it together, because that would run contrary to all my previous training methods and don't we all know what a finely tuned and impressive athlete I am now thanks to that (ha), but since I know I can physically run and bike the distances this shortie duathlon calls for (1.5, 12, 2.5) I was mostly just curious about the transitions and also how bad it would *really* be going from biking to running.

As for the transitions, they were fine. I mean, I'm going Super Rookie for this first duathlon attempt and will likely leave my clip-in pedals and fancy Shimano shoes at home and instead bike on standard pedals in my running shoes.

Sure, I'll totally look like a douchebag newbie, but since I will be a douchebag newbie, I'm not too super worried about it. Now.

On race day, however, I'll totally bemoan my douchiness and how come I didn't just put my pedals back on and rock my hot bike shoes because why am I buying and having these things if I'm not going to use them because now everyone knows I'm a douchebag newbie all wearing running shoes to ride the bike, but I think I'll live.

Plus, nothing says douchebag newbie like crashing into someone at the turnaround because YIKES I FORGOT MY FEET WERE CLIPPED IN.

I'm just saying, it could happen. And then I'd be worse than Douchebag Newbie. I would probably have a few more swears tacked on and there would be a lot of public shame involved. More so than that of being the girl riding a bike in running shoes. I think, anyway.

So, my thought is that I should, 1 - sign up for the fucking thing and 2 - Save the pedals for duathlon # 2. Which would have to be sometime in 2011, given the shit-tay duathlon schedule for this year that places the only other duathlon in September when I'm scheduled to be out of the country.

And, to be clear, when I say "duathlon", I mean a running and biking duathlon. Not a running and swimming duathlon, which is a different concept altogether and something in which I'm not at all interested. But don't you know that when I was all searching for duathlons on Active.com, I got all pissed off at the results showing all these splash and dash events, which I know to involve swimming and not biking, because in my head a duathlon was running and biking so what are all these stupid running and swimming events oh-wait-duathlon-could-mean-any-two-events-not-just-running-and-biking-I-get-it-nevermind.

I really know how to put the Stupid in Big Stupid Ideas, is what it comes down to, I guess.

So, if you're a multisport athlete, if you've done duathlons or triathlons, if you've made a huge ass of yourself because you forgot your shoes were clipped in and summarily destroyed an entire age group's worth of race participants or you just know a lot about chamoises (chamois'? chamoi? What is this word, anyway? French? Fucking French.)  or tri tops - I'm all ears for your advice.

And you don't have to tell me how stupid I'm being because I know.