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My monkey has red pants!

claris — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 22:36:05 +0000

Hopefully that works in my favor

In the process of completing a survey as part of a job bid, I finished the Self-Evaluation of Skills where I numerically rated my skills in various software products, programming languages, & miscellaneous skills. In the comments section, I put the following:

“In the survey above, the word “Writing” is spelled wrong.
(I also do proofreading.)”

I’m just sayin’.

Fear the future.

Someone marked a post on pinterest with the caption: “I want to be an Olsen”.

…I don’t know who you are, but I’m really really scared for you.

My monkey has red pants!

Let me start by saying this: I like kids. I do.

Due to the fact that I spent most of my teenage years working as what is now called an au pair* & thus have already raised someone else’s toddler, I don’t presently feel any driving urge to manufacture additional replicants. However, I do like other people’s children & honestly do enjoy interacting with them.
*back then we just called it “babysitting a lot”.

The result is that I am totally the person that stands behind parents at the grocery store & makes faces at your kids so that they laugh & clap and then when you turn around I pretend to be fully absorbed in my iPhone screen, thus causing you to wonder what on earth is wrong with your offspring that they are having spasms of joy over what appears to be nothing at all.

And then, when you turn around, I start making faces at the kids all over again. :thumbs up:

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That said, even I felt a little bad about this one.

I was in Target, & a very cheerful toddler stood up in the cart & began waving at me. As the housewares department normally doesn’t see that kind of enthusiasm, I happily waved back. She obliged by displaying the odd plastic green rubber… thingy that was in her hands (I have no idea what is the new…toy…thing or whatever) and said, “My toy!”

To which I said, “Your toy is very nice. What color is it?” When her face was clearly stricken at not knowing the answer, I said, “It’s green. Your toy is green.”

Toddler was rather delighted by this, and started looking for something. “Monkey!” she proudly said, thrusting out the tiny plush monkey which had been by her feet. “My monkey is green!”

“No,” I told her gently, “Red. Your monkey has red pants.”

It was at this point that her mother decided it was time to move to the next item on her list & we waved goodbye.

However, as I walked around the corner, I heard a small voice saying, “My monkey has red pants!” “Hi! My monkey has red pants!”

And, from my viewpoint, I could look down the line of aisle openings & see that my tiny new friend was indeed now riding the cart through Target, greeting every single person they passed & letting them know that her monkey has red pants.

To her mother:

I am so sorry.

I know what it’s like when I toddler grabs onto an idea & won’t let go, and I realize there’s the very real possibility that you heard about the monkey’s red pants for at least half an hour straight following our conversation, so yes. My utmost, honestly sincere apologies – I had no idea things were gonna go down like that.

Seriously. My bad.
~ Claris

Music: Howie Day – She Says (Stop All the World Now)

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Ernie’s Adoptaversairy! Also? Expectation vs. Reality.

claris — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 23:19:57 +0000

So, remember how, around this time last year, I was going to foster this Chihuahua mix because Dao guilted me into it? And how I was totally only going to keep him for the weekend just so they wouldn’t gas his skinny little ass?

…and thus entered Ernie into our lives.
Much to Zoey‘s deep chagrin.

Also? Holy crap lookit how skinny he used to be.

As such, despite several attempts by his older sister to sell Ernie to gypsies for a quarter, Ernie survived his first year with us. And since we’d don’t know his actual birthday, it’s been decided to make Valentine’s Day his Adoptaversairy Day, so today, Ernie turns seven.

In fact, Ernie comes into his seventh year having learned many important things.

Things I Have Learned!

by Ernie.

It’s better to poo outsidethe house. ’cause when you do that, they say, “yay, good boy Ernie!”…and when you don’t, you have to sit in the corner. :sigh:
it takes some time to learn how, but if you’re quick, you can follow Mom everywhere & not get stepped on.
if you want attention, it’s better to sit with all four feet on the ground, ’cause Mom says making a dog dance for treats is demeaning.
if you are quiet & patient & okay with her always being in charge, eventually Zoey will tolerate you, and then you can sleep on the same side of the bed and she’ll let you give her kisses! (I love my big sissy!)
Quiet Time (when mommy meditates) is the bestest!
before I pick a fight with a bigger dog, I should check to make sure I am bigger than their head. I don’t understand why that is, by the way – I’m a scrapper from south central, yo — I can totally take them!
turns out that when I get to eat, I’m a whole different breed of dog. Who knew?
when Mommy teaches Sculling I & I go in the launch, I am an excellent assistant coach. Mommy showed me that someone put it on their course evaluation, so it must be true!
we’re not supposed to attack random people, even if I think they’re shifty.Sometimes I forget this one.
I sleep curled up by Mommy’s tummy. Zoey sleeps behind her knees. Why? because that’s the way we roll.
Zoey gets the big couch, & I get the little couch. Unless Zoey wants the little couch. Then I go sit on Mommy’s feet.
My first night, Mommy got me a blue Thomas the Tank Engine blankie because she wanted me to have something soft & she thought that was better than the pink Disney princess blankie. It’s a year later, and I still really like my blankie.
when Zoey walks over & looks at you, it usually means she wants that spot, so you should move. Some people think she only does that to me, but I’ve actually seen her move humans that way. It’s amazing!
it’s nice here. I like it.Thanks Auntie Dao.

Expectation vs. Reality: the Adoptaversairy Version

Expectation.
Now, considering the way our house is, you’d probably hear the word “Adoptaversairy” and think “Oh holy jesus, you like, put the dog in a hat, didn’t you?”

source: Huffington Post

No, indeed I did not.

Reality: POO. omg, people. So. Much. Poo.

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Instead, we’ve spent the last two days with a puggle whose tiny tummy was hugely upset, an event that he kicked off my walking up onto my bed and vomiting – luckily, I was awake and thus able to cry out in alarm as I quickly stripped the topsheet off before it could soak in — to be honest, the part that took the longest was convincing Zoey that no, get up for real. Dammit Zoey, this is not a drill, get off the bed!

And such has it been. But only at night.

Two nights in a row Ernie has graced the floors with unintentional cow pies, the likes of which have reminded me of why I prefer hardwood flooring (which we do not have in the bedrooms) and have caused Ernie to hide under my desk out of shame until I coaxed him out to assure the poor baby that I wasn’t mad.

However, some advice from Auntie Anya & two 1/4 tsp doses of Pepto Bismol later, we seem to be on back on the right digestive track, thank $deity.
Thus, with a (arguably) more refined sense of decorum & a markedly more stable intestinal system doth Ernie enter the age of 7. Personally, I’m just hoping that this year involves such valuable things as finally getting The Ernie Noise recorded for you guys, maybe helping Sachiel figure out how to hold a puggle, & the vague notion that Ernie will become blasé enough about his security for the separation anxiety to ease just a bit — at least enough that his sister will no longer exercise the one thing she’s found Ernie to be useful for: Getting him to do shit, as she did one night when I shut them out of my room in the hopes of being able to eat in peace, and instead started the video on my phone because I… heard something.

I know this will seem odd at the beginning, but just… hang out & wait for it. Trust me.

Happy Adoptaversairy, lil’ man. Next year though… I’m totally gonna see if Auntie Mia can find you a tiny party hat.

Music: Twenty-three – Tristan Prettyman

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First 2k Trauma: For the love of god, STOP DOING THIS TO PEOPLE

claris — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 20:29:07 +0000

So yes – as mentioned in my last entry, I 2k’d again last weekend. It went better than I expected – I pulled the exact same split, but at no point in the before, during or after process did I throw up, so in my world that’s the actual victory.

However, my avoidance of neurosis-induced vomit is not what today is about.

Instead, I would like to take a moment and make a plea on behalf of some of the girls that I’ve competed with over the last two weekends.

Please stop making new adult rowers do their first 2k at erg competitions.

Ya know, doing it to kids is bad enough – as much as we naysay, the truth is that every coach gets a little amusement out of making the children suffer athletically* – I’m not a coach anymore, so I’m just gonna go ahead & admit that.
*within ethical boundaries, of course.

The thing is, new adults are different.

In this case, there really is a difference between “to-may-to” & “to-mah-to”

I think the fact that indoor rowing classes are gaining popularity is good – it brings a higher awareness to rowing, increases the mass market exposure of an otherwise niche sport. These are all great things.

On the other hand, I’m cool with being the snob in the room by making the statement that erging in a group exercise class and training as a rower are two completely different things. For those of you that may be new to my ongoing adventures, I say this with the experience of someone who didn’t row in high school or college – I stepped in a boat at the age of 26 & have been working on sucking a little less every day since.

But before I ever considered the life choice that I might be bisweptual, I taught spin & kickboxing and worked doing sales & operations at a gym, interacting with the very demographic of new clients that indoor rowing classes are trying to attract.

So just as I would not send one of the girls that took one of the cardio kickboxing class to step into a ring with some of the guys I learned to fight with, I would like to state that it is not fair to send inexperienced people to race against rowers for their very first 2k without preparing them for what’s going to happen beforehand.

Yet, for the last two weekends, that is what I’ve seen on the erg to the right of me.

Two Saturdays in a row, some poor girl who’s probably working on a BMI shift will sit down, looking nervous as all hell, hit the first 500m really hard, and then proceed to fly & die.

Two Saturdays in a row, I have finished my piece, cheered her through the finish of her last 500, & said, “It’s okay, just breathe. Is this your first race?”

Both of those girls managed to sort of nod their heads as they tried to regain some semblance of what their life was before they’d been smacked face-first into a wall of pain while 30 people screamed and yelled for them to go faster.

Each time, I patted the poor thing on the back, told her she did a good job, & encouraged her to just try to keep breathing as I got up & walked away. I had to walk away so that I wouldn’t stop & ask the coxswains what the hell they were thinking throwing a new athlete to the sharks like that.

Let me be clear – I am not saying that erg athletes and/or novice rowers shouldn’t do competitions.

But for the love of god, let the poor bastards go through the indignity of their first 2k in the relative privacy of their own home!!

While on the outside, an erg race looks deceptively relaxing, for the person doing it, it’s a special kind of hell on earth. And an athlete can’t know what that experience will be, or how to deal with such things until they’ve done it at least once.

True Life: Pudge on my wudge

Ya know what? I used to weigh 60 pounds more than I do now. You ever want to see me bitter, try to get me to talk about my hatred of Presidential Fitness tests in high school – I was the kid who had trouble running a mile.

So while there admittedly is still pudge that could be worked off my wudge, there also used to be a lot more of me to lurve, and lemme tell ya – at that stage, having to do an athletic feat of any kind is personally challenging enough. Adding in the experience of being thrown out there & left to flounder is horrible.

A good amount of coaches and instructors are people who’ve been athletic for most of their lives, so I’m working from the assumption that there were the best of intentions, and an understandable lack of personal experience regarding what it’s like to approach sport at such a mental disadvantage when I say the following:

Putting someone in that sort of situation is inconsiderate. And while probably inadvertent, it’s also kind of mean.

Give them time. Give them at least one practice run. Let them be mentally prepared for some semblance of an idea of how much it’s going to suck. One junior novice coach that I know preps her novvies by having them do their first 2k test at the beginning of January, & in the interim erg pieces, adding a little more pressure each time – ridiculously loud music, and after I pointed out what the Beach!sprints are like, having people that are on land that day yell at them from in front of the erg.

Even with that effort on that novice coach’s part, I’ve still been knocked over in the lobby of Beach!Boathouse by a novice that tackle-hugged me crying, “Oh my god, that was the most horrible thing ever!”

If nothing else, a practice 2k is the best way to create a personal goal to work towards so that if they don’t get a shiny medal, the newb still has a sense of personal accomplishment for the day. It also sets the precedent of individual markers for achievement, which is what’s going to keep them training even if they’re not winning.

Hard Currency: Even if you don’t really care about people’s feelings, being an asshole is bad for business.

If nothing else, let’s look at this on an economic level:
If you scare the crap out of your clients/club members, they won’t come back.

By not preparing your newbies for the race & failing to help them determine a realistic split, you’re setting them up to feel defeated.

End result is that if they start to associate negative connotations with the activity, after a while they’re not going to want to do your class or row for your team.

Logic would then dictate that since the long-term economic health of any business or rowing club is dependent upon having a solid base of repeat clients, this course of behavior is not good for your bottom line.

Mass market means changing the way things are done.

One of the things that I’ll talk about for ad nauseum is that with the introduction of indoor rowing as a group exercise activity, the rowing world is going to encounter people who aren’t like normal rowers.

As a sport, rowing is a niche area with very specific environmental & equipment requirements. Because of this, most boathouses are used to being the only opportunity in the local area for time on the water, and there are a lot of rowers who can, will, & have put up with a lot of crap because of that.
(Rowers: see, you totally just nodded & thought of an example, didn’t you? I’m just sayin’.)

Indoor rowing clients are different.

These are not people who are crazy for the sport, it’s something they’re trying for fitness. They can come to you, they can go to spin class, they can Zumba.

The upshot being that because you are not working within the smaller pond rowing world, but competing instead in the much larger ocean of the fitness industry, you are not this new market’s only option. If they don’t like the way you treat them, they can walk away.

This new contingency can’t always be treated like athletes – they need to be cultivated as clients.
They have to feel safe, they have to feel secure, they have to have a sense that you care. If you can create that sense of comfort & trust, they’ll be happy to pay. If you don’t, they’ll go somewhere else.

It really is just that simple. Things are no longer about the sport. Now, it’s just plain business.

Conclusion: Have a heart, people. Life works better that way. #trufax!

So from now on, please extend some semblance of humanity to your newbs, lest they end up walking away from an erg competition looking like Zoey did when she realized that the Saturday which involved a 2k for mommy was followed up a bath for her:

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Music: Hey Mama – Mat Kearney [Young Love]

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Rowing creek: letting go, finding flow & being really freakin’ selfish.

claris — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 07:29:11 +0000

Bear!Boathouse sits on a finger of land that separates two bodies of water – marina & creek.

Marina is just that – it’s an open marina that you row in a counter-clockwise loop, and depending on your course it can be about 6000m, not counting inlets. You’re out there with everyone else – rowers from other boathouses, recreational motorboats, sailboats, a couple of commercial tourist fishing expedition boats, and the occasional Catalina-bound ferry. As you might guess, sometimes that makes for an adventure wrapped in chaos punctuated by many an utterance of “What the fuck?”

Creek is different. It’s an outlet of the LA river which has about 2400m of protected water between two bridges that’s two, maybe three boat lanes wide. Thanks to our location, Bear!Boathouse has a dock that lowers down directly to the water. Everyone else has to actually row out of the marina, go out around the breakwater & surf about five or six hundred meters of ocean waves to get access. As such, the course doesn’t get much play beyond some of the local Masters who know how to manage that sort of hazard and college crews who have a coach launch as safety escort.

I like rowing in the creek. Not just because the water is flat – after six years in our marina, shit water is just part of the game. No, I like creek because it helps me let go.

Truth told, I really needed that this week.

Laziest. 2k. Ever.

I did a 2k piece last weekend. I went to SD & did their Indoor Classic, and while everybody else in my heat was busting their ass racing, I just went ahead and… did a piece.

One of the Juniors described it later as “the most casual 2k ever”, and it’s true – I pretty much did the anti-2k.

I sat down, I did a nice steady state piece. I adjusted the volume on my ipod twice, I deliberately didn’t go faster than the girl who was winning the lightweight division (open & open ltwt went together) & and I really only put pressure on for the last 400m when I looked the screen & saw that Hoff (who came in 2nd in the lightweight division) was +10m up on me, which the junior rowers described as, “it literally looked like you said, ‘ehhh, screw it, I’m gonna go ahead & beat Hoff‘.”
That was actually a very accurate assessment, except that longtime readers will not be surprised to know that in my mental version of that statement, I dropped the f-bomb.

After I was done, I put my handle in place, reached back for my phone, took a picture of my screen, then cheered on the girl next to me for her last 500m & waited for everyone else to finish.

Rowers reading this story are either laughing or horrified right now. Or, as JRo said to me at work on Tuesday when she heard, “Wow. You seriously did that & still won your race? You’re kind of an asshole.”

Salter: hahaha…what a good example you lead for the high school kids

Claris: what? i cheered the girl next to me on – that’s totally sportsmanship!

Why did I do a piece instead of a race?

Because the problem isn’t my body, it’s my head.

For me, last weekend wasn’t about winning or busting my shit out, it was about composure. It was about rowing a piece without freaking out. Last Saturday, I pulled a 1.53.7 average split – pretty much the same time I pulled last year. The difference is that this year, it wasn’t a fight. I wasn’t hyperventilating. There were no panic attacks. Honestly, if I was anything last week, I would describe that piece as oddly detached.

I wasn’t rowing for time. I was rowing for flow.

One of the things that I’ve come to realize over the last few months is how much I’ve lost my flow.

High School Locker People: where you the shover or the shovee?

On the water, athletically, I love rowing.

Off the water… well let’s be honest, folks – the rowing community has a lot of crap.

Rowing is a small group of people to begin with, and each individual boathouse is a bit isolated from others, so oftentimes you end up in what I can only describe as high school, only nobody is ever forced to graduate, so they just sit at that maturity level. Forever.

The result? You see a lot of dumbass crap.

For people like me, who didn’t participate in high school when I was in high school, being different can make you a target. Add in that I’ve never been one to duck a punch, and you learn real fast what it means to stand alone.

But having to deal with that sort of thing, to keep taking care of yourself over & over… after a time, expending that energy takes its toll. And in the course of that, I’d lost much of what made me love my sport.

So I retreated. I purposely backed away from people & just concentrated on the rowing. Z changed the metrics of my training plan so that I couldn’t measure things the way I usually would. And while the detailed entirety of the tale will no doubt be a different blog entry at another time, for the last four months, I have simply dialed things back & worked the problem.

All of which is why, last weekend, I rowed a piece for flow. I rowed it like I was in the creek.

While the water conditions are mostly flat, unless you have very specific conditions, the split you pull in the creek isn’t really an indicator of your actual speed – since we tend to row early in the morning & later in the evening, the tide is almost always either coming in or out, so one direction your split will be really great, and the other… not so much.

If I really wanted to, I could I find those perfect conditions – as Z happily pulled out his phone on Sunday to demonstrate, there’s totally an app for that.

Do I bother? Nah.

Right now I just need to row to row. After Saturday’s 2k, I came home, went to sleep, headed over to Bear!Boathouse on Sunday and hit the creek for a 4×20′ under 155 HR where I literally spent and hour & twenty minutes just playing around with the technicality of my stroke.

The truth is that right now, I am a selfish rower.

Christmas Day, I rowed a 2x with Stesha Carle.
@Steeesh & I had known each other for a bit, but really only started talking over the last year or so, & have never actually rowed together, so when there was nobody around & neither of us had a training plan for Christmas, we decided to meander out & see what there is to see.

…and I was reminded that damn. I row selfish.

Overall, it was decent for never having rowed together. Balance was good, & as someone who normally rows a single, I was perfectly happy to let the little control freak bow so I didn’t have to steer.

There was some slight mismatch – due to yoga having allowed me to develop the ability to scrunch my body into as tiny a ball as one could be when 5’10″, I have a fair compression at the catch so my front angle is deeper, but Stesha comes off the footplates & turns around into the drive much quicker & harder than I do — which is probably why she’s got the silver medal for team USA from this year’s Worlds in Bled and I’m just mucking about in a creek on my own.

…but the thing that struck me the most about that row was the difference in how we balance.

As we would go up the slide, I could feel Stesha behind me – there were wiggles and twitches and movement from her calves and toes as she counterbalanced me.

For me, balance comes from relaxing – I tend to deliberately loosen my upper body as I go up the slide, push my shoulders away from my ears, finesse the oar handles, and allow the boat to roll around me.

Now, to be clear, neither approach is wrong. It just illustrated to me a difference in mindset.

Competitively, Stesha rows a quad, so she’s used to counterbalancing and working with other people in the boat. As much as she concentrates on her own performance, there’s always a part of her brain that also constantly adjusts what she’s doing to better mesh with her teammates.

For the most part, I row a single – because I don’t have to worry about what anyone else might do to offset my motion, my instinct is to just keep my body in line, allow the shell to go where it’s gotta go, & re-engage as I approach the front in order to allow for as little disturbance as possible.

While neither of us knew it at the time, looking back, I know now that really needed that row. For me, that row, and the lesson that I learned from it – athletically, it was a kind of blessing.

When you learn to row, you’re taught to row with others – the most common boat is the 8+. You work as a team, you compete against others for your seat. So much of what & how you do things involves other people.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I love an 8+. Rowing-wise, I was born & raised to be an engine room, and after the practice row for last year’s Crew Classic, I was the one going, “Sweeeeeeep – wait, why are we stopping? Let’s go again!”

But, much like the fact that my parents raised me in a Catholic Republican environment only to have their daughter send them a copy of Farenheit 9/11 right before the 2004 presidential election, how I was raised is not who I turned out to be.

What that row with Stesha taught me is that right now, I’m a single rower. And there’s nothing wrong with that other than that I hadn’t accepted that because what I row has changed, how I approach how I row has to change. I have to be selfish. More importantly, I have to be okay with being selfish, and doing what I need to do for me, no matter how that stacks up to what other people think or expect.

I’m just now getting to the point where I can start to put my head back in the game. Last weekend was the first time in three years where I rowed 2000 meters on something other than the paddle and didn’t feel like my heart was going to explode from neurosis.

Was I at full pressure? Hell no.
Athletically can I do better than that? Yah, I totally can.

But mentally, that was the best 2k I’ve rowed in four years.
There was no psychologically abusive coach telling me I’m not “a real athlete” because I hadn’t hit a certain split, no lung-stealing panic, no feeling that the walls were gonna close in on me. I stopped thinking about anything other than what I needed to do for me, & I did a piece. I did okay. I didn’t freak out. I was okay.
I am okay.

This weekend? Round 2.

There’s another erg sprint at Beach!Boathouse, so I’m going to build on what I did last Saturday & try it again. Based on the heat sheets, I know there’s at least one other girl who’ll probably beat me in the event, and honestly… I don’t care. All I want to do this week is to be able to go a little faster than last week & still have the same composure. To push out of my comfort zone a bit more & still be okay.

This isn’t my endgame. This is a step. This is part of my process. To get to there, I have to get through here. So if I lose on Saturday, that’s fine. Right now, I’m finding my flow.

I’m not racing to win. I’m not there yet. Today, I’m just rowing for me.

Music: Falling – Staind (Chapter V)

previous adventures

letting go & learning to breathe.

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Sh*t we say in LA, 21 Jump Street, & storm troopers on the highway.

claris — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 17:31:24 +0000

I have actual content, I swear.

But before we get to the fact that Gina Curano is my new girl crush, I thought I’d share a few things with you:

sh*t people say in LA

While I have not snorted coke with Skeet Ulrich, I am verbatim guilty of the parking quotes, and yes, a couple of other things:

21 Jump Street? I am SO THERE.

Much to Sachiel‘s horror in the movie theatre lobby, I fully intend to partake of this, because unlike my erstwhile roommate, I’d already seen the trailer:

I love two things about this movie:
1. They’re not even trying to take any of it seriously.
2. The fact that every time they do promos for this movie, they’ll have to say “Oscar nominee Jonah Hill” really is just made of farcical win.

How to mess with people on the highway:

That’s right, it’s a storm trooper motorcycle suit.
I’m not even gonna comment, you just go ahead & think up your own remark for this because anything associated with this will automatically be awesome.

Other news?

I got my arse in gear & fixed the couch, thus making the dogs very happy.
Slowly but surely unpacking things, thus making the cardboard box recycling plant busy.
Have been sucked in over on pinterest, thus losing hours of my life, but with some good source material.
Now need to actually do something with said source material
I am in a waiting mode for a few things, and it’s driving me beserk.

More to come:

At one point last week, I tried to work out but was defeated by my lack of a dollar bill. I really wish I was kidding about that.
Ya know, for a group so up on relaxation, yoga peoples need to chill the eff out.
Haywire made my world shiny.
There actually does come a day when you stop missing wheat. Now, if I could just give up sugar.
When in doubt about a soup recipe, just throw it in the slow cooker for a day. It really does make everything better.
… except cheesy cauliflower. (don’t worry, the crock pot is fine. I didn’t even try.)

Music: Bach, the Cello Suites – Yo-Yo Ma

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The irony? It’s street cleaning day.

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Princess & the Pea: why I’m healing up a hurty knee.

claris — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 17:15:59 +0000

As of late, I have been athletically cranky.

Why, you might ask?

One word, people: Crosstraining. Cross. Training.
Okay, yes. I think it may be two words. shush.

Here’s the thing – when you’re a rower, you can’t just row. If you do, two things happen:

1. you get hurt because you’re overworking those muscles.
2. your brain gets bored & you burn out.

Thus, cross training. Swim, bike, run, whatever – you do something that’s not rowing.

Last May, I joined up at YAS.

YAS is exactly what its name stands for – Yoga And Spin. That’s it. That’s all they do. No upsell, no attempt to get you to do personal training or their diet program. Yoga & Spin, in one form or another. Very cut & dry.

Thus for me, as someone who used to teach spin & is already inclined to yoga, that’s pretty much perfect. And I loved it there. Loved it.

At least, it was until my right knee decided to get all… wonky-like.

Lemme ‘splain.

If you’re going to spin regularly, it’s highly advisable to get shoes & clips. This gives you a better footing on the pedal than using your regular sneakers with a basket on the pedal.

Now, when I was teaching, spin was still fairly new, and I was poor & in college, so I didn’t get clips. This time around, however, I decided to take care of business, & caught a good sale on some Sidi shoes.

At the time I didn’t know anything about spin shoes & just went with the philosophy that I wanted the lightest hardshell shoes I could find, because to me that seemed the logical choice. I later learned that I’d lucked out not only in price but also in brand since, as YAS instructors Diane & Gina said when they saw my new shines, “You got the rockstar shoes! Nice!”

However, you also have to get clips to go on the shoes before you can use them.

So, that in mind, one Saturday I stopped by MDR bike on Lincoln in Marina Del Rey & said, “Hey, I got these shoes, I need to get clips, can you help me?” And the guy in the shop said, “Sure, here you go”, installed clips & off I went.

No problem, right?

Wrong.

I have a bad feeling about this… No, seriously. There’s actual pain. It feels bad.

As time went by, I began to notice that

a) the right shoe always seemed to be loose
b) my right knee was beginning to be sore

Well… crap.

At first, we thought it was just that the bikes needed to be tightened.
(because yes, I’m a princess & pea about my equipment, so Gina & I started testing the bikes)

After the regularly scheduled maintenance at YAS came & went and I was still having problems, I was willing to admit that yes, it was somehow my shoe, & this time I headed over to Helen’s Cycle in Marina Del Rey & explained that I didn’t know what was wrong, but something was just not right.

Their shop guy was really great, and sat down to look at my shoe – took a look at the shoe, at my foot, opened everything up. In the course of this, he discovered two things:

1. the clip had been placed way too far up on my foot – basically, every time I was out of the seat, I was on my toes instead of the ball of my foot.
2. the washer on the right shoe… yeah, one of them was in backward.

Possibly the words “this is just not even an amateur screw-up” may have been used in the course of that conversation as they asked who set my shoes up originally. I’m just sayin’.

Sadly, even with the shoe fixed, my knee remained sore. Damage was done, man – every time I went to spin, my knee hurt like a bitch the next day. The incident which led to our Holiday Zombie Abandonment Poll? At the time I thought it had been from my erg, but looking back, totally because I’d been on a bike the day before.

So I took three weeks off at the end of the year, thinking I’d just give my knee time to recuperate, and the first week of January, off I went back to YAS.

…where I didn’t even make it through the warm up song.

Instead, I did something I’ve never done before in a spin class – I got off the bike, packed up, & had to leave. Waved to Gina, pointed to my knee, she was cool about it, but yah. No spin for me for a bit.

Instead, I get to work on diversifying my cross training, which isn’t really a change you want to have to figure out in your training during a month which ends in two consecutive weekends of 2k races.

The moral of the story:

When it comes to your equipment, when things don’t feel right, never be afraid to be steal a little something from the Princess & the Pea. As the freelancer without health insurance who was happy to be able to run a slow 5k last week for the first time in three months, I guarantee you – it’s worth it.

Music: Baby You’re Gonna Have to Pay – Victoria (Alcazar)

previous adventures

A guy, a girl, & some heavy breathing: Welcome to Ayurvedic Healing.

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Bits, bobs, boundaries & being a sleeper agent for the arts.

claris — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 17:14:18 +0000

Well, we’re moved. Things thus far?

- it would seem that, according to DJT, I have an entire magical adventure within my apartment. More on that later.

- I’m pretty sure Zoey thinks we’re house sitting, as whenever we go out for a walk she tries to find the car. Sorry, ZeeZee, this is where we live now, kiddo.

- Ernie just thinks everything’s an adventure. I’m astounded at how well he’s been behaving as of late – he’s even already figured out to wait until we get down to the sidewalk & pee on the streetlight, as I don’t want him to get in the habit of just lifting leg on the stairs leading up to the building… which I suppose counts as me teaching my puggle not to piss off the neighbors.

- We had a moment to appreciate that I had one large box of clothes and seven medium boxes of books — and that’s after I’d culled the herd.

The result is that I’m torn between getting a Kindle Fire and waiting to see if they actually come out with the iPad Mini (I find the current iPads a bit too large for my taste) and possibly that would help cut down on the space taken up by my book collection.

h/t to k-walla for this one.

- thanks to her present decor involving red sheets over the windows until we figure out curtains, Sachiel‘s room looks a bit boudoir-esque. This impression would probably be greatly improved by a lack of plastic bins, but I figure hey – at least she’s got the lighting down. Gotta start somewhere.

- mostly at this point, I feel like the apartment presently resembles dominoes — if I do this, it will affect this, this & this, which is a bit overwhelming.

Because boundaries are our friend.

In the course of conversation with DJT & Math on Saturday, DJT attempted to share an aspect of the collegiate experience & I quickly interrupted to set up the new rule that, unless it was something of an AfterSchool Special nature, stories involving their sex lives were to be witheld until they’d reached the age of 26.

When DJT wanted to know why 26, I informed him that was we would call the age where they became Actual People instead of Guys I Knew When They Were in High School — the first is acceptable, the second…just kinda creepy, especially since they’re approximately a decade younger than my younger brother. Or, as I have been known to refer to it, Situational Jailbait.
A term which, at one point when I was coaching, led to me walking away from a kid as his teammates explained to him what jailbait was. Ah, the joys of educating the young…

What does it say when me as a sleeper agent wouldn’t really surprise anyone?

Pause for backstory: Math‘s new girlfriend at school is an Illustration major, a fact which he & I have made several jokes about considering my profession.

As we were cleaning out the back closet in my apartment & pulling out a drafting table, art supplies, portfolios of work & paintings, I said to DJT, “See DJT, this is what I meant when I warned Math that dating an artist meant there’d be a lot of stuff to carry around.”

DJT, with one of my paintings in hand, asked, “Well, who was he?”

“Who was who?”

“Ya know… the guy. That you dated. Whose stuff you have.”

“What… what are you talking about?”

DJT pointed to the paintings & asked, “The guy that you dated who did all this stuff.”

At which point I laughed & said, “No, DJT – I’m the artist in question here. My degree is actually in fine arts.”

“Psh. yah, right.” When he realized I wasn’t kidding, there were genuine flabs being ghasted as he cried, “No way! You couldn’t have been an art major! I thought it was like, design & business or whatever… Really? Really? Are you serious?”

“DJT, why is this so weird to you? Yes, outside of all the other stuff, I actually am an artist.”

“Because, it’s just – Okay, you just – you look really normal, that’s all. Most of the time, artists don’t look normal.”

“…thank you?”

Because you see, the truth is that, much like the Boston mob in The Departed, every year the art community takes a few of us art majors aside and says, “Okay, here’s the deal – we understand that you want to dye your hair blue and spend most of the year planning your costumes for Burning Man, but we’ve selected you for a higher cause. We need you to go infiltrate yourselves into everyday society and learn to blend with, well, the Art Muggles, whom we refer to as Auggles. Once amongst the Auggles, it’s your job to subversively promote the art community’s leftist agenda so that when The Revolution comes, we’ll be able to topple the Establishment from within.

“… also, if you get a chance while you’re there, spread around some of The Gay. Even if you’re straight, just… see what you can manage — it’s a side project we’ve been working on. Great distraction, that. Gets ‘em every time.”

But alas, now DJT knows the truth behind the mild-mannered appearance I’ve cultivated via my natural hair color and quiet, understated wallflower-ish personality.

Pity. He seems a decent fellow… I hate to kill him. Ah, well.

Music: My Body – Young the Giant

previous adventures

d-u-n done, geekery bits & bobs.

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A tale of moving house: Tumblr style.

claris — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 17:23:49 +0000

First: let’s play a round of “Expectation vs. Reality”

Expectation:
For the record, I had plans for these last two weeks of the year. Seriously. I was going to go through, finish cleaning out my apartment, organize my electronic files, finish up some lingering projects… you know, all those things that allow one to feel like they’re starting the new year in some semblance of control over their life.

Reality:
…did I mention that I’m moving on Saturday?

But we are! The week before Christmas, Sachiel & I took the Friday beforehand to go look at a couple of possible apartments… and came away completely disheartened. Personally my favorite was the guy that was willing to rent to us and then when he found out I had two dogs, told me the rent had just increased $100/mo. Seriously, dude? I mean, I’ll pay a full deposit or a pet fee, that’s fair, but you want me to pay you $1200 more a year for the entire time I rent from you?

Yeah… we decided to pass.

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Episode II: The Search Continues

Christmas Eve, we had one place to look at before Sachiel went to visit with Polgara’s cats for two weeks & I migrated with the puppies to the Long Beach Menagerie for a week. When we’d looked at the ad earlier in the week, I’d said to Sachiel, “I vote we just show up at the open house with the dogs and let them charm the landlord the way they do everyone else in the entire world.”

Sachiel was in agreement with this, so when we walked in & the property manager appeared to be a fairly normal, non-shifty lady who responded to my question about two dogs with, “Oh, I have a 13 year old Doberman, that’s fine” — I’m not gonna lie, I could have hugged her. However, this is California, and thanks to the celebrities we have laws about touching & keeping a legal safe distance from strangers, so I held back.

Instead, I offered to bring in the miscreants so Property!Manager could meet them.

On the way in, I looked at my errant canine children & said, “Okay, before we go in, both of you need to pee now or forever hold your peace. Go on, go potty.”

Ernie, always happy to show off that he’s a little boy, obligingly lifted leg & emptied the tank.

Zoey on the other hand, looked at me & was all, “I’m good dude. Totally good. Let’s do this.” Since Ernie is normally my troublemaker, I let it pass & we went in to the potential new apartment.

…where, after prancing about & initiating Property!Manager into their fan club, Zoey promptly trotted over to the smaller bedroom & hunkered down to pee on the carpet.

OMG NOOOOOOOO!!

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Luckily after a decade of hanging out with Zoey, I know the signs & was able to rush over, pick up her troublesome ass & scoot her out the door with Sachiel before she did any major damage.

After apologizing profusely to my prospective landlord, I went outside to get napkins from my car to sponge things up. Sachiel, who’d been outside with my urinary miscreant, took the napkins inside, and I stood there with Zoey.

“Well go on then,” I told her, “you might as well pee the rest of it out & finish what you started.”

At which point she laid down on the grass as if to say, “Nah, I’m good. I just wanted to do it there.”

:sigh: Little bitch.

Thankfully, Property!Manager wasn’t offended, and let us know there’d been another dog in the apartment with the last tenant, so Zoey was probably marking territory & they’d been planning to shampoo the carpets before the new tenant moved in anyway.

She was also really nice about the fact that, in the hubub, we’d totally just left Ernie with her in the apartment off his leash.

I don’t know if the two dogs had decided to declare Opposites Day just to screw with the humans or what, but while Zoey was expressing herself, Ernie was, according to Property!Manager, “Such a good little boy — so cute and well-behaved!”

:pause:

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Okay… okay sure. Why yes, yes, he is like that all the time, it’s great. Awesome. Totally. Right.

Luckily, Virginia, there is a New Apartment Santa Claus.

Needlees to say, we applied for the apartment then & there, and got a call the next day saying that yes, we’d been cleared & it was ours for the taking.

:fist of triumph!:

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oh, but don’t worry – the universe continued to screw with me. because it’s fun.

For oh yea, there is joy in the land, my beloved miscreant readers – Sachiel & I went forth & offered up two cashiers’ checks to the Gods of Security Deposit & First Month’s Rent, and I left my 30 day notice letter at 1049. We got keys to the new abode, and Property!Manager promised to email us the lease because her printer had run out of ink that morning.

All was well.

Then, as we were at 1049 (where my printer lives) and I was reading the lease, I saw this:

No it is too long, let me sum up: The lease says that if the landlord gets through the condo zoning process & decides to start selling the units off as condos, they can kick us out at any time with 30 days’ notice.

…and I was like, “WHOA. What?”

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Because no. No way. No way was I going to move into a place, thinking I’d be there for at least a year, & then get told that I’d have to move out & have only 30 days notice to find a place that would take two dogs. No.

I mean, seriously, I was trying to be like, an adult & be calm & reasonable about the whole thing, because hello we’d already put down the deposits & sh*t, so we kinda had to sign the lease & move — but that wasn’t mentioned in our tour or anything, so while I could plan contingency and all, the five year old in my brain was totally not dealing well.

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However, Anya talked me off the ledge and I emailed Property!Manager & managed to very calmly & casually be all, “Hey – what up with that?”

…and a few hours later, I got a response from Property!Manager that no no, this was just something they have for all their properties, the owners have held the property for nine years & had no intention of selling. It seems the properties had actually been zoned for condos about five years ago, and she kept telling the owners they needed to change the language in the contracts because it keeps causing this question from new renters, etc. ::insert further annoyance with employer here::

Short version: we’re good to go.

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You know what the hardest part of moving is? The part where you move.

…which is where we are now. Sachiel & I had two options: we could shift things over a bit at a time over the course of the month… or we could just freakin’ do it & try to get everything in by this weekend so it would all just be over.

Of course we chose the crackhead option.

Which meant we spent our New Year’s cleaning the new apartment, and in my case, packing up the old one. and yesterday, doing online traffic school, but we’ll talk about that later.

On Saturday, Math & DJT are going to come help us move the larger furniture-type things (big couch, oversized armchair, bookcase, desk & a trunk) and various other shiznit, after which Sachiel & I will no doubt have to fall over & sleep for a while.

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Hopefully by Monday the only thing left to do will be for me to go back & clean the old place, hand over the keys, and glare ominously at Old!Landlord to remind him that he should get my deposit (and the 10 years’ interest that West Hollywood renters’ law entitles me to collect) to me quickly because let’s be honest – should the occasion require, sometimes… I’m kind of a bitch.

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And after all that’s done, I just have to circle back to where we started: Expectation.

because all of those things that I was going to do over Christmas break before I knew I was moving?

Yeah. they still need to get done. But at least now that I’ve moved significantly west towards where The Things That Make Up My Life reside, I’ll have an extra hour & a half of time not spent in traffic each day to work on actually accomplishing them.

Which means I’ll probably only have 45 minutes of free productivity time because really, who are we kidding — I’m totally going to sneak in some sleep.

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Tru fax?

Honestly, my real fear is now that we have an apartment with a garage to work in, I may come home from work one day & find that Sachiel has decided to give Ernie a makeover.

source

Good luck, little dude. Just remember – Mommy loves you.

Music: Jason Mraz – Sleeping to Dream – Live from Montalvo (Selections for Friends)

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Puggle-bomb: why we’re looking for a 2 bedroom

claris — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 19:31:59 +0000

As we’ve mentioned, Sachiel migrated to LA right before Thanksgiving this year and, while in pursuit of gainful employment, took up residence on my couch. Since I’d been looking for a new place anyway, we decided to just chuck in & get a place together.

Thankfully, in what I may dub a Holiday Miracle if it goes through, I think I may have found a place yesterday (application pending).

In the meantime, I took a picture this weekend which best illustrates why we need to get a place so that Sachiel can have a room with a door:

Trust me – it’s even cuter if you click to enlarge.

Ernie: He know when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake.

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Zombie Abandonment Poll: A holiday activity

claris — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 18:21:18 +0000

The right side of my body is a bit for sh*t. And it turns out – so is Sachiel.

As I’ve mentioned in other entries, I’ve been having some issues since September with strain in my right forearm/elbow. I’ve also been having twinges in my right knee, which of course is just fantastic.

One Friday, after a technically challenging erg set, Sachiel & I went out to do errands. In the course of this, we were walking up a set of stairs from underground parking, and just something about the way I put the weight on my right leg to go up the step caused my right knee to take out a cleaver and attempt to sever the bottom half of my leg from the rest of my body.

My response was to make a[n admittedly rather] girly noise of pain and shock. Sachiel, ahead of me on the stairs, started walking up them faster, yelling, “What is it? Are you okay? Is everything all right?” as she’s running away.

Once I recovered and got to the top of the stairs, I made two statements:

1. We’re going to stop at the Sports Chalet in that shopping complex and get me a sleeve knee brace because whatever the frig that was I do not know but have no desire to ever experience it again.

2. Sachiel is a bad friend.

Claris: Dude. You ran away.

Sachiel what was I supposed to do?

Claris: Stay! Help! I could have been in mortal danger!

Sachiel Okay, you know what? Look at you. Now look at me. I am 5’2″ & 3/4. You are a big strong rower type. What could I possibly do to defend you?

Claris: Hello? Safety in numbers!

Sachiel Oh, no. I’ve seen the zombie movies – the people that go back for their friends inevitably end up getting eaten too. Number one rule – don’t go back to save others if you want to survive.

Claris: Did you seriously just say that? You are totally a bad friend!

Sachiel No, I’m realistic. Because I know you, and if there’s something bad enough to make you make that girly scared-girl noise, it’s really bad. Like, ridiculously bad. And if it scares youthat much, the best thing I can do is get myself to safety & see if I can find reinforcements.

Claris: Are you seriously going with the “when scary things get scared: not good” defense?

Sachiel yes. That. Totally that.

Claris: And you’re doing this on a day where I’m your ride home?

Sachiel As long as I’m still alive, I can call a cab.

Claris: Whatever, Zombie Abandoner. Whatever.

When we got to our destination that day, we were still going strong, & upon explaining what happened to the person we were visiting, Sylvie looked at me & went, “So now you know – she is a bad friend.*”
*Due to Sylvie’s country of origin, we also discovered this statement is even funnier when expressed in a French accent.

As such, it’s somewhat possible that in our household, the word “zombie” has become a Pavlovian trigger for Sachiel to begin an increasingly eloquent defense of her actions, which I graciously offered to allow her to present here.

The “girly noise of pain and shock” was a SCREAM. A “OH MY GOD SOMETHING REALLY SCARY AND REALLY HORRIBLE IS NEARBY!!!” scream. The parking garage wasn’t well-lit and I was walking up stairs that were open stairs where something could have been in the process of trying to grab me.

This was the thought process that occurred (more or less):
Lalala. Stairs. Not a fan. I hope I don’t trip.

[Claris' SCREAM OF FEAR!]

%@&^&!!!! WHAT’S WRONG? IS THERE A HUGE SPIDER HEADED TOWARDS ME?! IS THERE A RAT BY THE STAIRS?! IS THERE A SNAKE?! IS THERE SOMETHING REALLY GROSS BY THE STAIRS?! IS THERE A CREEPY PERSON?! OMG! IS THE CREEPY PERSON TRYING TO GRAB ME FROM UNDER THE STAIRS?! MOVE FASTER! FASTER!!! GET AS FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE FROM THE SCARY!!!

Running was the best option. If Claris were in actual danger, then me and my six months of fitness krav wasn’t going to be of any help to the girl who used to like to beat things up.

By running away, I was putting distance between me and the scary, which would allow me to assess the situation from a safe distance. My sense of self-preservation is strong. I may be selfish, but as at least I’ll be alive when the zombpocalypse occurs.

Truly, 1049 is currently a house divided, and there’s only one solution:

Let the internet decide.

So, what say you, interwebs? Is Sachiel’s Zombie Abandonment approach to friendship valid, or am I right in my “bit for shit” classification of her actions?

Welcome to the Holiday Zombie Challenge.

The Game:
- Get Facebook Like count to 100
- Have a minimum 100 votes in the poll below

Reward:
Whoever the internet proves to have the lesser moral compass will make a $100 donation to Toys for Tots in the winner’s name. Word on the street is that this year, the Marines could use a little extra help.

Deadline:
- December 21st

So c’mon people – share us on your social media, spread the word, get your friends in line and help Sachiel and I decide whose morality should win out. Just remember – it’s for the children.

source

Step 1

Why the Facebook like count? So that neither side in the argument can stuff the interweb ballot box by simply ditching the cookies on their browser & voting again. 30 people have already liked us, so each of y’all just need to get 2.3 friends to come play the game. Assuming, that is, that you’ve got 2.3 friends…

Step 2

Take Our Poll

Music: Baby You’re Gonna Have to Pay – Victoria (Alcazar)

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Salter:	hahaha…what a good example you lead for the high school kids
Claris:	what? i cheered the girl next to me on – that’s totally sportsmanship!

Claris:	Dude. You ran away.
Sachiel	what was I supposed to do?
Claris:	Stay! Help! I could have been in mortal danger!
Sachiel	Okay, you know what? Look at you. Now look at me. I am 5’2″ & 3/4. You are a big strong rower type. What could I possibly do to defend you?
Claris:	Hello? Safety in numbers!
Sachiel	Oh, no. I’ve seen the zombie movies – the people that go back for their friends inevitably end up getting eaten too. Number one rule – don’t go back to save others if you want to survive.
Claris:	Did you seriously just say that? You are totally a bad friend!
Sachiel	No, I’m realistic. Because I know you, and if there’s something bad enough to make you make that girly scared-girl noise, it’s really bad. Like, ridiculously bad. And if it scares youthat much, the best thing I can do is get myself to safety & see if I can find reinforcements.
Claris:	Are you seriously going with the “when scary things get scared: not good” defense?
Sachiel	yes. That. Totally that.
Claris:	And you’re doing this on a day where I’m your ride home?
Sachiel	As long as I’m still alive, I can call a cab.
Claris:	Whatever, Zombie Abandoner. Whatever.