In 1992, the inaugural year of the Get to the 'Point 5K, I was a year too young to participate but cheered on neighbors and joined the awards ceremony in a bar under my grammar school. In 1993, I won the bronze in a children's dash. In 1998, I walked the entire route in under 50 minutes. Last year in 80-degree weather, I ran my first-ever mile without stopping and finished in 32:47. This October, I signed up for four 5Ks (two of them back-to-back). Even at my athletic peak from 2009 to 2010, I never considered running and directly credit my increased aerobic capacity to the twice-a-week Insanity-like workout Beastaneitics.
I'm not going to copy and paste my glowing Yelp review but rather want to summarize the events that I've participated in.
Sunday, October 9, 2011: Get to the 'Point 5K (32:47)
As I mentioned earlier, the weather was unseasonably warm for an October afternoon. A challenging run, but I didn't feel like I went in over my head.
Saturday, October 29, 2011: Ho-boo-ken 5K (31:33)
Call me crazy, but I loved this one. I work in Hoboken and left my bags with my building's security. It was raining when the race began and only got wetter, windier, and chillier as the crowd ran up Frank Sinatra Drive along the promenade, made a u-turn, and returned to Pier A. Costumed runners -- many black swans -- lined up according to pace, so I stuck it out for two miles with the ten-minute milers, then had to walk. Everyone looked miserable at the finish line, but I purchased the photo of me crossing for my mom. Made it back to Greenpoint in two layers of drenched clothing to discover the rain turned to snow. My colleague called me "a veritable walking icicle." Indeed!
Sunday, November 13, 2011: Prospect Park Duathlon (1:39:00)
First 2-mile run: 17:41 (When did I get so fast?)
First transition: 0:53
Ten-mile bike ride: 57:20 (Participants were supposed to go three loops around Prospect Park, yet after my second I was told to leave my bike in the pen. Therefore, this time is not accurate because I asked for clarification, left the pen, and did the last loop.)
Second transition: 3:05 (I took off my sweatshirt and had to re-attach the bib.)
Second 2-mile run: 20:02
Final time: 1:39:00
Saturday, April 28, 2012: WCS Run for the Wild/Make tracks for lions (32:00)
Thanks to the MTA, I was almost late for the 5K. I warmed up by running from the subway and through part of the Bronx Zoo to the starting line and had no time to check my bag. We ran by giraffes, zebras, and flamingos. Thankfully, the trains behaved themselves on the way back to Brooklyn, and -- even better -- I had nary a sore muscle the following morning.
It was my first post-surgery 5K; I had had two foot surgeries (on the same foot) in late 2011 and was worried I'd get hurt.
Saturday, August 25, 2012: Color Run (29:45)
A 5K based on the Indian holiday Holi. Participants are pelted with powdered paint after every kilometer, and I was fortunate enough to convince my high-school friend Ashley to run. We customized our shirts with our team name, "Thermos of Christ," the night before, and she expertly drove as I expertly navigated us to Floyd Bennett Field. Not only did we have a blast, but it was my quickest time until this weekend. Since the race was measured in kilometers instead of miles, I think I had a better gauge of my energy. Also, at some point I checked my time and thought You've got ten minutes of running left. Easy!, when in fact I had less than ten.
Saturday, October 6, 2012: WCS Run for the Wild/Make waves for walruses (32:20)
This 5K on the Coney Island Boardwalk didn't go so well. I can't pinpoint exactly what went "wrong." I had the fortune to warm up and start the race with two friends, but the boardwalk and rising sun were unforgiving: after running a mile, I walked and sporadically ran until gunning it for the last eight blocks just to get it over with. Oh, and just for the heck of it I took a "happy healthy hips" yoga workshop in the late afternoon. Figured the stretching couldn't hurt.
Sunday, October 7, 2012: Andrew Harvey Memorial 5K Fun Run (29:35)
This 5K (a day after the one at Coney Island) was a whole 'nother story. I made sure to caffeinate and take some preventative Advil, since I had not done either the previous day. Two guys who looked like they could do the race in their sleep said the route was three one-mile loops up a hill and one lap around the school's track. I started to worry but once the race began, I felt really good. Did two full loops around the hill before walking a few blocks to fix my capris (wedgie), then kept running and didn't stop until the finish line, completing my fastest 5K yet! Oh, and I found out later that I had won a medal, but I left prematurely once a husband-and-wife right-to-life team started making a speech. (It's a Catholic high school.)
My upcoming 5Ks for the remainder of October are the Get to the 'Point on Sunday, October 14, and the Ho-boo-ken on Saturday, October 27. I'll be running with the Beasts again for the former and decided to dress up as a gymnast for the latter (leotard, nude tights, and the medal from the Andrew Harvey Memorial Fun Run). I'll add short summaries when they're finished.
Monday, October 08, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
a true beautician
I've been looking for a regular stylist since Heath Ledger bought the space my old one worked from and made it into a restaurant. After several disappointing years of trying trendy Williamsburg spots that didn't make a "t-shirt and jeans" gal like myself comfortable and using Groupon deals for highlights but never really finding a great fit, I took my friends' recommendations and headed to Mousey Brown Salon. I kindly asked the owner if she'd take a chance on me -- we know each other from the neighborhood -- and I'm so glad she did.
I am notoriously bad at bringing in photos (when will I learn?), but Meredith didn't mind at all. I explained my pelt's wavy idiosyncrasies, and she understood the look I was going for (short but not boyish). My natural copper had been highlighted gold in the beginning of the summer, a look I wanted to continue, and Meredith suggested going for a warmer honey shade for the cooler months. No argument here.
After attentively weaving highlights, she popped me under a hood dryer that looked like a psychedelic astronaut helmet -- very cool -- and then washed my hair with peppermint-scented shampoo. When it came time for the cut, I was surprised that she really didn't take too much off but rather was keeping the thickness for volume. She applied curl enhancer and gently blow dried with a diffuser, making soft waves. It was my first experience without a round brush. Meredith taught me to embrace the wave and how to easily re-create the look myself. I felt radiant.
In all, I left with the impression that Meredith was more of an art restorer than a stylist, using a subtle cut and subdue color to bring out the beauty. Can't wait for my next appointment.
I am notoriously bad at bringing in photos (when will I learn?), but Meredith didn't mind at all. I explained my pelt's wavy idiosyncrasies, and she understood the look I was going for (short but not boyish). My natural copper had been highlighted gold in the beginning of the summer, a look I wanted to continue, and Meredith suggested going for a warmer honey shade for the cooler months. No argument here.
After attentively weaving highlights, she popped me under a hood dryer that looked like a psychedelic astronaut helmet -- very cool -- and then washed my hair with peppermint-scented shampoo. When it came time for the cut, I was surprised that she really didn't take too much off but rather was keeping the thickness for volume. She applied curl enhancer and gently blow dried with a diffuser, making soft waves. It was my first experience without a round brush. Meredith taught me to embrace the wave and how to easily re-create the look myself. I felt radiant.
In all, I left with the impression that Meredith was more of an art restorer than a stylist, using a subtle cut and subdue color to bring out the beauty. Can't wait for my next appointment.
Sunday, December 04, 2011
everything but the sex
Originally written November 16, 2011.
To the spaceman: You're a history of New York nerd like I am, and our first date was spent out-geeking each other in Lower Manhattan. However, I wasn't looking forward to the second date after I realized I wasn't ready for something serious. Pulling away and stiffening when you kissed me in darkness that simulated the space station, I never spoke to you again.
To my twin: I really liked you: tall, Jewish, and from the Upper East Side. We spoke as if we were old friends -- we're New Yorkers after all -- but I found out we were much too much alike. "You have an alcoholic father? I have one too!" That's not the kind of similarity I'd like to share in a potential mate, and the likenesses didn't end there. We're both "adult children," and though I found you sensitive (as I am), your obsequiousness repelled me: how you ached to please me because you wanted to keep me since someone who understands you is hard to find (I would know). I saw too much of myself in you, and if I wouldn't want to date me then I'm really in trouble.
To the cartographer: We platonically saw Sufjan Stevens in Prospect Park, and you convinced me to have a birthday party even though I didn't want to. We had a great time with gin and oysters, and my friends noticed how you took care of me that night. You walked me home, and I thought I was ready to date again. You slobbered while making out, and I didn't care since I was excited to see you again. Instead, I discover you're dating the hairdresser I recommended to you. Hope you told her how enthusiastically you went down on me.
To the brand-wearing name-dropper: You have an odd personality that first comes off as insincere, but you're a syncophant at heart. At first I didn't want to go out, told you as much, but dressed up anyway. You flattered by calling me a celebrity since we have a mutual friend. We cabbed it back to my place, and both a hangover and orgasm greeted me in the morning (I really needed the latter). I was surprised how easy it was to please you, especially since you did most of the work for both of us. Too bad that after a night of courting me, you told me to get lost after I expressed an interest in dating, whereas you'd like to keep it casual.
To my rolling partner: You don't fit in with the other guys since you're still in college, and we were both on drugs when we made out, but boy was it good. (Seriously, you could teach the cartographer a thing or two.) I would do it again in a heartbeat because it was so much fun. Half of me wants a round two as soon as possible, and the other half is afraid you'll reject the idea.
To the married man I'm dating: We're really good friends, and I thought there was nothing wrong with our "relationship" until someone pointed out that I'm dating a married man. I do this because you're a safe bet: you're not looking to break up your marriage, I actually do have a lot of fun with you, and we both realize your family comes first. However, the more I date you, the less I'm making myself attractive to men I can potentially date, fuck, and have a real relationship with. You were a good rebound from Prom King, but I'm ready for something new.
To the spaceman: You're a history of New York nerd like I am, and our first date was spent out-geeking each other in Lower Manhattan. However, I wasn't looking forward to the second date after I realized I wasn't ready for something serious. Pulling away and stiffening when you kissed me in darkness that simulated the space station, I never spoke to you again.
To my twin: I really liked you: tall, Jewish, and from the Upper East Side. We spoke as if we were old friends -- we're New Yorkers after all -- but I found out we were much too much alike. "You have an alcoholic father? I have one too!" That's not the kind of similarity I'd like to share in a potential mate, and the likenesses didn't end there. We're both "adult children," and though I found you sensitive (as I am), your obsequiousness repelled me: how you ached to please me because you wanted to keep me since someone who understands you is hard to find (I would know). I saw too much of myself in you, and if I wouldn't want to date me then I'm really in trouble.
To the cartographer: We platonically saw Sufjan Stevens in Prospect Park, and you convinced me to have a birthday party even though I didn't want to. We had a great time with gin and oysters, and my friends noticed how you took care of me that night. You walked me home, and I thought I was ready to date again. You slobbered while making out, and I didn't care since I was excited to see you again. Instead, I discover you're dating the hairdresser I recommended to you. Hope you told her how enthusiastically you went down on me.
To the brand-wearing name-dropper: You have an odd personality that first comes off as insincere, but you're a syncophant at heart. At first I didn't want to go out, told you as much, but dressed up anyway. You flattered by calling me a celebrity since we have a mutual friend. We cabbed it back to my place, and both a hangover and orgasm greeted me in the morning (I really needed the latter). I was surprised how easy it was to please you, especially since you did most of the work for both of us. Too bad that after a night of courting me, you told me to get lost after I expressed an interest in dating, whereas you'd like to keep it casual.
To my rolling partner: You don't fit in with the other guys since you're still in college, and we were both on drugs when we made out, but boy was it good. (Seriously, you could teach the cartographer a thing or two.) I would do it again in a heartbeat because it was so much fun. Half of me wants a round two as soon as possible, and the other half is afraid you'll reject the idea.
To the married man I'm dating: We're really good friends, and I thought there was nothing wrong with our "relationship" until someone pointed out that I'm dating a married man. I do this because you're a safe bet: you're not looking to break up your marriage, I actually do have a lot of fun with you, and we both realize your family comes first. However, the more I date you, the less I'm making myself attractive to men I can potentially date, fuck, and have a real relationship with. You were a good rebound from Prom King, but I'm ready for something new.
Friday, July 29, 2011
tripping on a roll with a paper ticket
On June 30 I purchased a ticket to see the Stone Temple Pilots play on the Williamsburg Waterfront on July 25. I'm not the biggest STP fan, but when a band of that magnitude plays a mile away from your neighborhood, you go and see them. Unfortunately Bill was unavailable that night, but Greenpoint metalhead Diana accompanied me to keep the douches¹ in line.
I have a special connection to STP thanks to a pot-smoke-filled night of karaoke during 2008's Labor Day weekend. The host, who I believe is Colombian, sang "Plush" en español. It was hysterical: ¿Dónde vas para mañana? ¡Buscando! ¡Buscando! ¡Buscando! I have since performed the translated material after many a drink on other karaoke nights. One night in particular, someone who's Mexican told me I did her language justice. I can barely pronounce English words correctly and may be the only person whose Brooklyn accent comes out when I speak Spanish, but it doesn't matter in song.²
A week before the STP performance, Ticketmaster e-mailed me a reminder -- as if I needed one. I had only been blabbing about going since the day I bought the ticket and was even more buzzed since I was able to get my hands on something that would enhance the concert. Turns out I was impatient (like always) and took said enhancers on Friday night.
That Friday, if you remember, was dreadfully hot. I had plans to see a musical in New Jersey in which a colleague (nicknamed Fresh Meat since he's an intern) was performing. I decided not to travel back to Joisey and instead attended Word's matchmaking night co-sponsored with the Brooklyn Kitchen at Diamond Bar. Though I am certainly off the market -- staying single is safer for me and everyone else -- I had no idea if anyone would show up and thought I could have fun without breaking hearts. I introduced myself as Ginger and said that my favorite pie was cheesecake. (It has a crust!) I also wore a kick-ass red halter dress.
Around ten the event disbanded, but I was just getting started. (Speedy little suckers.) Biking six miles to the Bell House, completely aware I was going to have to bike six miles back, seemed like the perfect idea, especially since Twitter buddy Ben (@misterdisco) was DJ-ing there. Again, I went to show support, not to actually take part in the dancing. And I did not dance until a girl who looked like she was on more stuff than I was asked me and someone I was chatting with to dance "the last dance" per tradition to send off the DJ.
Since the Bell House is also a frequent Skint hangout, we got in touch and he arrived just as there were rumblings of Amanda Palmer being present. She was, and I washed my hands in the bathroom as she was splashing some water on her face.
The next night I dined with the Heathers to Manetta's in Long Island City. Before heading to to the beach with Rowan and Diana Sunday morning, the Brooklyn outpost of Trader Joe's called to inform me that I had won a $25 gift certificate for re-using grocery bags.³ After napping on the beach, which was much cooler than my bed had been all week, I enjoyed caipirinhas with the UCB1PSCLA, the Unofficial Ladies Auxiliary group of Greenpoint-Williamsburg that was formed after this infamous outing.
Suffice it to say that it was an incredible and amazing weekend, which was just going to get better on Monday thanks to STP.
Tweets of the night:
Add Brooklyn, NY -- not Williamsburg ferchrissakes!
STP opens with "Crackerman":
Scott doesn't need two turntables with his microphone:
Before the inevitable "Plush" -- which I did not sing in Spanish -- the band jams Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side":
Loved the lights:
STP closes with "Dead and Bloated" followed by "Tripping on a Hole in a Paper Heart":
The band says good night at 10pm sharp, which is why I got tickets to another show, serendipitously the day before Bill's birthday:
Since Monday I've been listening to as much STP as I can get my hands on, including Velvet Revolver -- I never was a fan of heroin chic, but Scott Weiland does skinny better than Mick Jagger or David Bowie, probably because he still looks like a guy -- and if I have half as much of a good time September 10 in New Jersey, it'll be a successful night. One request, though, boys: "Dancing Days."
¹ The Greenpoint Gals have an affinity for the word "douche" and its variants ever since Subway Douchery came into existence. Keep on douchin'!
² Oddly enough, my Polish was praised by a native Polish speaker recently.
³ It was then that I thought one of the "m"s should stand for "magic."
I have a special connection to STP thanks to a pot-smoke-filled night of karaoke during 2008's Labor Day weekend. The host, who I believe is Colombian, sang "Plush" en español. It was hysterical: ¿Dónde vas para mañana? ¡Buscando! ¡Buscando! ¡Buscando! I have since performed the translated material after many a drink on other karaoke nights. One night in particular, someone who's Mexican told me I did her language justice. I can barely pronounce English words correctly and may be the only person whose Brooklyn accent comes out when I speak Spanish, but it doesn't matter in song.²
A week before the STP performance, Ticketmaster e-mailed me a reminder -- as if I needed one. I had only been blabbing about going since the day I bought the ticket and was even more buzzed since I was able to get my hands on something that would enhance the concert. Turns out I was impatient (like always) and took said enhancers on Friday night.
That Friday, if you remember, was dreadfully hot. I had plans to see a musical in New Jersey in which a colleague (nicknamed Fresh Meat since he's an intern) was performing. I decided not to travel back to Joisey and instead attended Word's matchmaking night co-sponsored with the Brooklyn Kitchen at Diamond Bar. Though I am certainly off the market -- staying single is safer for me and everyone else -- I had no idea if anyone would show up and thought I could have fun without breaking hearts. I introduced myself as Ginger and said that my favorite pie was cheesecake. (It has a crust!) I also wore a kick-ass red halter dress.
Around ten the event disbanded, but I was just getting started. (Speedy little suckers.) Biking six miles to the Bell House, completely aware I was going to have to bike six miles back, seemed like the perfect idea, especially since Twitter buddy Ben (@misterdisco) was DJ-ing there. Again, I went to show support, not to actually take part in the dancing. And I did not dance until a girl who looked like she was on more stuff than I was asked me and someone I was chatting with to dance "the last dance" per tradition to send off the DJ.
Since the Bell House is also a frequent Skint hangout, we got in touch and he arrived just as there were rumblings of Amanda Palmer being present. She was, and I washed my hands in the bathroom as she was splashing some water on her face.
The next night I dined with the Heathers to Manetta's in Long Island City. Before heading to to the beach with Rowan and Diana Sunday morning, the Brooklyn outpost of Trader Joe's called to inform me that I had won a $25 gift certificate for re-using grocery bags.³ After napping on the beach, which was much cooler than my bed had been all week, I enjoyed caipirinhas with the UCB1PSCLA, the Unofficial Ladies Auxiliary group of Greenpoint-Williamsburg that was formed after this infamous outing.
Suffice it to say that it was an incredible and amazing weekend, which was just going to get better on Monday thanks to STP.
Tweets of the night:
- Alkies are separated from the druggies who dosed before the show, which I believed was crucial at keeping the douches away from us.
- Firemen just showed up. Be still my heart! I really wanted to ask if they would be able to enjoy the show instead of be "on duty."
- If I feel like dancing to the opening act, then this stuff is working too quickly! Unfortunately didn't get the timing right, but I was still up all night.
- A Jimmy Buffett shirt? Really? Who are you impressing?
- Many dads here with sons younger than I am. It's cute. Bill and his son belonged there.
- They're testing the lights! Holy shit this is going to be amazing! And it was!
- Woman told me she loves my haircut, its authenticity makes her happy. I'll have what she's having! Strangest compliment ever, but I'll take it.
- Not minding the second-hand high. I'm not a stoner, but this is responsible drug use right here. First time ever I have not minded marijuana smoke.
Add Brooklyn, NY -- not Williamsburg ferchrissakes!
STP opens with "Crackerman":
Scott doesn't need two turntables with his microphone:
Before the inevitable "Plush" -- which I did not sing in Spanish -- the band jams Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side":
Loved the lights:
STP closes with "Dead and Bloated" followed by "Tripping on a Hole in a Paper Heart":
The band says good night at 10pm sharp, which is why I got tickets to another show, serendipitously the day before Bill's birthday:
Since Monday I've been listening to as much STP as I can get my hands on, including Velvet Revolver -- I never was a fan of heroin chic, but Scott Weiland does skinny better than Mick Jagger or David Bowie, probably because he still looks like a guy -- and if I have half as much of a good time September 10 in New Jersey, it'll be a successful night. One request, though, boys: "Dancing Days."
¹ The Greenpoint Gals have an affinity for the word "douche" and its variants ever since Subway Douchery came into existence. Keep on douchin'!
² Oddly enough, my Polish was praised by a native Polish speaker recently.
³ It was then that I thought one of the "m"s should stand for "magic."
Monday, May 16, 2011
we can all use a little chauvinism sometimes
Since I was going to be someone's date last Tuesday for the Farewell Fearless Leader party -- what I called the retirement party for my company's CEO/the coronation of our new captain -- I brought in a few dresses to work, wore a different one each day, and felt glamorous the entire week.
My office husband and I take in the "new" Meadowlands:
Look at the rock star:
My boss was also in town. Slowly but surely she's figuring out that I hang with the bad boys, and she's actually sort of proud. She claims I'm good at networking -- it took a lot of willpower not to reply If that's you call showing a little leg and having guys get you drinks -- and gave me an amazing compliment: "You look so happy. You must be in love."¹
I can't recall the last time I've been so comfortable in my own skin. I'm still not ready to date -- I went on a few recently and just kind of shut down during the last one -- but the IT cronies are helping.
I went out with one of the guys on Wednesday. Sitting in the sun at a rooftop bar we ordered the booze not served at the beer-and-wine-only event the previous night. After four drinks each -- three on him -- we called it a night. During the train ride to the city, we somehow got to talking about Green Day. He asked what my favorite song was, and I answered "Jesus of Suburbia."
"Mine too!" he replied, and he inched into the seat between us, a gesture so young and innocent -- except he's not young and I'm not innocent.
I like how things are, that the pressure is off with these men. I can flirt as much as I want, but there's that line that none of us will cross, so it never gets uncomfortable. Too bad dating can't be as fun as hanging out with them.
¹ Here, I didn't hold back my immediate response and said: "I'm in love with my bike!"
My office husband and I take in the "new" Meadowlands:
Look at the rock star:
My boss was also in town. Slowly but surely she's figuring out that I hang with the bad boys, and she's actually sort of proud. She claims I'm good at networking -- it took a lot of willpower not to reply If that's you call showing a little leg and having guys get you drinks -- and gave me an amazing compliment: "You look so happy. You must be in love."¹
I can't recall the last time I've been so comfortable in my own skin. I'm still not ready to date -- I went on a few recently and just kind of shut down during the last one -- but the IT cronies are helping.
I went out with one of the guys on Wednesday. Sitting in the sun at a rooftop bar we ordered the booze not served at the beer-and-wine-only event the previous night. After four drinks each -- three on him -- we called it a night. During the train ride to the city, we somehow got to talking about Green Day. He asked what my favorite song was, and I answered "Jesus of Suburbia."
"Mine too!" he replied, and he inched into the seat between us, a gesture so young and innocent -- except he's not young and I'm not innocent.
I like how things are, that the pressure is off with these men. I can flirt as much as I want, but there's that line that none of us will cross, so it never gets uncomfortable. Too bad dating can't be as fun as hanging out with them.
¹ Here, I didn't hold back my immediate response and said: "I'm in love with my bike!"
Sunday, May 08, 2011
burning rubber
I completed the five-borough bike tour on Sunday, May 1. Bitchcakes and I finished the route in almost exactly four hours, which is pretty good time for ~40 miles with two rests and a few bottlenecks. We biked on roads that are usually off limits to cyclists, like the FDR Drive and Verrazano Bridge, and couldn’t have asked for better weather! The toughest parts were over the Gowanus on the BQE (the elevation is killer) and along Shore Parkway (regardless of the flat terrain we were biking, as Bob Seger would say, against the wind).
I want to give a big THANK YOU to Bitchcakes for allowing me to accompany her during the ride. She prefers riding alone, and originally I was only heading to the start with her (over the Brooklyn Bridge around 5:30am -- the only time it's not flooded with people!), but we made a good team, I think. When my bags fell off my new rack in Astoria, I expected her to zoom out of sight, but she was kind enough to wait. She also took this triumphant photo of me at the end:
It's surprising how great this achievement makes me feel, and it makes me sad that I wasn't able to feel as incredible after last year's 55-mile Century Tour. I was arguably in better shape last year, but that tour took its toll. This year, however, I was all smiles and celebration, kvelling to anyone who'd listen.
And, because I'm insane, I biked to Punk Rope at the 14th Street Y the following day, leaving around 10:30 after two happy-hour beers. I survived the round trip in one piece!
After taking my mom to the much talked-about M. Wells in LIC for Mother's Day, I did something I never thought I'd do: I ran an errand in Manhattan on my bike, taking the Williamsburg Bridge to Housingworks Bookstore Cafe. It's so invigorating, and I wish I had the opportunity to ride every day.
I want to give a big THANK YOU to Bitchcakes for allowing me to accompany her during the ride. She prefers riding alone, and originally I was only heading to the start with her (over the Brooklyn Bridge around 5:30am -- the only time it's not flooded with people!), but we made a good team, I think. When my bags fell off my new rack in Astoria, I expected her to zoom out of sight, but she was kind enough to wait. She also took this triumphant photo of me at the end:
It's surprising how great this achievement makes me feel, and it makes me sad that I wasn't able to feel as incredible after last year's 55-mile Century Tour. I was arguably in better shape last year, but that tour took its toll. This year, however, I was all smiles and celebration, kvelling to anyone who'd listen.
And, because I'm insane, I biked to Punk Rope at the 14th Street Y the following day, leaving around 10:30 after two happy-hour beers. I survived the round trip in one piece!
After taking my mom to the much talked-about M. Wells in LIC for Mother's Day, I did something I never thought I'd do: I ran an errand in Manhattan on my bike, taking the Williamsburg Bridge to Housingworks Bookstore Cafe. It's so invigorating, and I wish I had the opportunity to ride every day.
Friday, April 22, 2011
day 16: a song that you used to love but now hate
The Police is one of those bands that I should listen to more often, but I'm familiar only with its singles. If I never hear "Every Breath You Take" again, though, I'm fine with it.
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