charlotte harris

There are people who eat to live and then there are people who live to eat.  And then there are people who live to eat who are related to me.

What happens when you get a bunch of us together?  Well first of all, we’re likely socializing over some food.  

Then someone mentions cheese and we will discuss it with great enthusiasm and creativity and little shame.

“What else could we dip in melted Velveeta?”  “Dude, fried mozzarella sticks!”  Fried cheese dipped in melted cheese.  Ohmigod, sounds like the best snack ever.

“I can eat a whole box of mac and cheese, so to feel better about it, I dump in a can of Ro-tel and it’s  kinda like sneakin’ in a serving of veggies.”

“Ever spread pimiento cheese on a burger?”  “I make my pimiento cheese using my Grandma’s recipe.  It’s just pimientos and American cheese in a food processor, right?” 

This weekend I ate olive cheese spread on tortilla chips, pimiento cheese spread on wheat crackers, goat cheese dip on triscuits,  swiss, cheddar & monterey all on ritz, american cheese on a ham sandwich, cream cheese on a bagel, and provolone cheese on a Wawa sub. 

Our adult palates are sophisticated beyond the processed imitation cheese-like product, but we still have love for the bright yellow food of our childhood.  That, and cheese jokes are funny.

These days, I spend M/W/F mornings running in circles (well horseshoe shapes, actually) around my neighborhood.  I generally run the same loop three times, and stop there mainly due to boredom.  Why not change my route a little?  I’m just afraid to cross the busy 6 lane (and that’s not couting the 5 turning lanes - I am not kidding) road outside of my neighborhood. 

Anyway, at the curve in the horseshoe is a vacant parking lot.  It belongs to an office building but nobody’s at work yet when I run by at 6:30 am.  One advantage of being on foot and bored at the same time is that I can’t help but notice the little details.  Like this one dude who drives his bright blue sports car into the neighborhood most mornings. 

He pulls into that vacant office parking lot and every time into the same parking spot close to the road.  He emerges from the car dressed head to toe in workout gear.   But then he sits down on a narrow concrete curb obscured by some bushes with a book and a pack of cigarettes and smokes and reads there for like 45 minutes. 

Alone with my boredom, I have concocted this guy’s life story.  This guy is lying to somebody.

Here’s what I think is going down.  He lives somewhere nearby with his wife and maybe kid(s).  His wife has been nagging him about something… maybe about working out, maybe about helping with the kiddies, whatever.  He has devised an elaborate scheme to buy himself some “me-time” and has told his wife he’s decided to start working out.  A clever choice of lies because what good spouse is going to argue when a loved one wants to get fit and healthy, right? 

He leaves the house at 6:30 in the morning to “go to the gym for a quick workout.”

Instead of heading towards the gym (which is just down the street, also on the same horseshoe loop, by the way), he drives directly to this parking lot to hide out.  Finally alone with some peace and quiet, he relaxes with his book and gets his nicotine fix.  If wifey was ever to drive by looking for him and catch him parked down the street and sitting behind the bushes, he could just be like “well I parked over here so I could jog to the gym for my warmup, but this morning I am not feeling so good, so I figured I’d sit down on this curb here a minute and see if it passes.”

Right?  Have I got this dude figured out or what?!  I am like a secret detective girl.  Or I have a hyperactive imagination.  Or I am just reeaallly bored when I run. 

One of these mornings I am going to decide the life story of the friendly blonde who runs the same loop counterclockwise,  in full makeup (foundation and eye shadow and everything - every day at 6am) and with her long curly hair blowing behind her, also styled perfectly.  I think she’s putting on a “show” and thinks the world must be checkin’ her out.  I don’t even know where to begin…

My friends told me that when it finally did happen, it would happen fast.  And it happened.  Fast.

I didn’t start to fall at the Keane concert, but that night I saw that he was willing to step out of his comfort zone to spend time with me.   It didn’t start to happen when he ran with me around the lake, but when I learned that day that he is realistic and patient and encouraging.  Not when he put a cage on my bike and brought me chain lubricant, but when I discovered that he is thoughtful. 

Not when he offered to wash the dishes or when I waited for him to carefully tuck his Ipod into its case, but when I noticed that he has respect for others’ possessions as well as his own.  Not when he told me about his Khaki pants organizational system, but when I learned he is comfortable revealing his quirks to me.  Not as I listened to him and his buddy swap stories, but as I witnessed that he is a good friend. 

It wasn’t every time he kissed me or reached for my hand but when I realized I didn’t want to be kissed or have my hand held by anyone else.  It was still new and incomplete but it was real, nonetheless.  I was so excited for everything more I was about to learn about and fall head over heels for and that I believed in everything I knew so far.

And then his grandma died, and a family feud erupted, and he heard rumors of being deployed to Iraq and he just fell apart.  He fell apart in a serious way I can’t help fix.  And he doesn’t want help fixing.  This is way bigger than “having a bad few weeks” and he doesn’t know when he’ll be himself again.  I wish I could have said I’d wait it out, but it hurts too bad to be repeatedly denied affection in the meantime.   

So I said goodbye and he let me say goodbye.  I cried a little and a tear fell into my peanut butter this morning.  Heart found - it happened fast like they said it would.  Heart broken - that happened fast too.

Inside the stadium, it’s easy to forget that it’s a weekday, a workday, and that as I settle into my plastic seat to watch a 1:05 game, the world beyond this big concrete donut is rushing from lunch to the office and just easing back into their desk chairs to put in 4 more hours of the grind.

I limit my imagination to the green grass in front of me and the circle of blue sky visible above my head.  Where I sit in RFK section 202 on a Wednesday afternoon, the world is just a baseball game, the weather is always sunny, and my neighbors are all happy and wholesome.

Everyone is relaxed, I bet because we haven’t forgotten what the alternative is to being here.  Work or baseball?  We all spread out in the empty seats, sit back, and simply enjoy.  Not all of us fans of the game, but most definitely fans of a day off, of team spirit, and of the energy of a happy crowd.  There is absolutely no stress here… people are just chiiiiilllin’ out like I have rarely seen before.

Sort of like that Saturday night a couple months ago, I think we all realize how good we have it, and we just appreciate life for a few hours.  Nobody boos, nobody shouts or jeers.  People clap, wave, grin for the cameras, and some even dance. 

The Nats win. 

Coincidence?

*********************

Thanks WaPo Express for the BlogLog nod!

Working through the mortgage figures for my potential future home, I quickly identified areas of my budget that need to be cut back.  Cut off the cable, eat less sushi, forego my weekly personal training session, and… this is akin to selling the kids… trade in the Jeep.   MAYBE.

The monthly payment is a little indulgent - a hasty decision that I made three years ago when I had a brief “ohmigod, I turned 30!” crisis.  I do not regret buying the Jeep, but now I am going through an “ohmigod, I’m 33 and renting” crisis and I think selling it might be a good way to make a mortgage more manageable.  In addition to the $400+ dollars I send to Chrysler each month, I spend a wicked amount on really expensive gas since I cruise around town at about 16 mpg. 

Anyway, since I started considering selling my Rubi, I have been reflecting on all the things that make it so damn awesome.  Here they are, in no particular order.

• Tire porn and the way that Jeep makes me feel when I catch a glmpse of it from across the lot.
• Random men come up and talk to me.  “So, I like your Jeep” or “How’s the Rubicon different?”  Somehow I think ”Hey, nice Hyundai” wouldn’t be quite the same conversation-starter.
• I have a subwoofer in that thang.  Grandmaster Flash and Chemical Brothers sound awesome on it.  To me and to everyone else sitting around me in rush hour traffic.
• Carfuls of twenty something dudes craning their necks and flashing me their white-toothed grins.  Look, a chick in a Wrangler!
• Making acquaintances with other Jeep drivers everywhere I go.  What a close knit but welcoming community.  They love offroading and wrenching and genuinely want everyone to experience the fun.  Maybe one day I will actually drive a Jeep off something besides pavement.  LOL.
• That first stretch of warm dry spring days - 3 or 4 in a row with no rain in sight, leaving the top off and just finding excuses to drive.
• Driving with my cousin Jess, it’s easier to throw our hands way up in the air and yell “woo hoo!” especially when we forget that other people might actually see and hear us.
• If someone hits me in a parking lot, my steel bumpers stand up to the impact and prevent me from suffering any damage.
• When my 5 foot tall friend Andrea tries to get into the passenger seat, she has to climb in with her right foot first, stranding herself backwards so she has to turn around somehow.  It’s hilarious.
• How when my niece sees my Jeep and points and says “Charlotte!”
• When I accidentally leave the windows open/off in a rainstorm, I can just pop out the drain plugs and pull back the carpet.  And voila… dry!  Does your car do that?

Anyone who knows me knows that I looove my Rubi, and that the Jeep has become a part of my identity in its own little weird way.  We have had some good times together and no automobile will ever give me the pleasure quite like these carefree Wrangler days. 

If I do sell it, and no I have not decided yet, may we be reunited again one day when I once again have room in my budget to be “indulgent.”

I suppose I have loved Fig Newtons since the first time I had one.  When my mom picked me up from nursery school one day and asked me what we had for snacks, I replied “raisin cookies and green juice.”  That’s 3-year-old-speak for Fig Newtons and Hi-C.

A fig was a foreign concept to me, and the only food in my little world at the time that resembled anything brown and chewy probably would have been raisins.  So I concluded that I had eaten a “raisin cookie.” 

I had Fig Newtons today, for the first time in years.  They taste sweeter when it’s been a while.  Yum.  I can imagine the grin on my mom’s face every time she tells the “raisin cookie” story and I can even picture my old nursery school classroom and the tiny little tables and chairs where I would have sat and eaten that snack.

Race: Musselman “mini-Mussel” Sprint Distance Triathlon
Date: Saturday, July 14, 2007, 10:00 am
Location: Geneva, NY
Race Type: Triathlon - Sprint Distance
Age Group: Female thirtysumthin’
Time: under my target of 2 hours
Overall Place: in the bottom 15% - ba ha ha
Age Group Place: in the bottom 25%

Comment: My first tri, ever!

Time Recaps:
Swim - about 4 minutes slower than I ever imagined
T1 - around 3 mins
Bike - on par with/slightly better than my training ride pace
T2 - around 2 mins
Run - right on par with my training run pace

Note: I am not posting any of my actual stats/times here because someone could too easily use it to personally identify me, but if my homies want to know, just email me.

Pre-pre-race: Thursday morning, I wore my wetsuit to swim practice at the pool and got a feel for it.  No rubbing and as a bonus it was super-buoyant.  My coach told me that I looked “so cool” and I got some last minute encouragement from my peeps at the pool.  After practice I ate, packed the car, and hit the road. 

8 hours to Geneva NY and I drove directly to the race course to check it out.  I walked a section of the run course, killing some time until I was to meet up with my Aunt.  It was a gorgeous afternoon and the breeze was blowing off the lake.  I started to get psyched because I knew if that breeze was blowing again Saturday, it would keep me cool for the run.

Friday morning, my aunt and I rode our bikes from her house in town down to the race start and transition area to check things out.  The Musselman volunteers were hard at work setting up.  We rode out of the park and out a little ways onto the race course but I didn’t want to fatigue my legs in the slightest, so we turned back.  Rode about 11 miles that morning round trip.  My parents arrived in town that afternoon. 

Pre-race: Saturday morning, breakfast of sprouted grain toast with organic peanut butter and jam from Wegmans, Stonyfield organic yogurt with fresh blueberries and banana, one small coffee and more water. 

After running through my checklist one last time, I headed out and got to the transition area at about 8:30.  I set up my area and gabbed with some neighbors, sucked on a Clif Shot (apple pie flava!) and waited to hear if the race would be wetsuit legal or not.  Got my chip and numbers and hit the porta-pot.  As soon as we got the wetsuit OK, I pulled it on and headed off to the pre-race meeting.

While at the meeting, I spotted my family who were waving colorful decorations so that I could easily spot them.  My mom started snapping pics and I got one more round of good luck hugs.

Swim:  The race director announced, “go” and my right calf spazzed out - a charley horse.  I pulled my heel down and stretched as I swam off.  Wow, all those hours and yards in the pool and my “natural” and “pretty” stroke (as my coaches refer to it) did not prepare me for getting swept along by Seneca Lake.  After a few lungfuls of lake water, I gave up on my form and just pulled through the swells with my arms, holding my head above water.  I rolled onto my back twice because the wetsuit was choking me, but the swim felt like it passed very quickly.  It was physically not demanding, but very frustrating because I wasted probably over three minutes out there flailing around instead of swimming efficiently with good form.  This was the only part of my race where I feel I *should* have done better given my current training and fitness levels.

T1: Moved along just fine.  Wetsuit peeled right off. The sunscreen application, posing for the camera, carefully hanging my wetsuit, and triple-checking that I wasn’t forgetting something all probably cost me half a minute here, but no big deal.

Bike:  Very scenic, and I wish I could bike here every weekend.  I pedaled at my best pace, which just happens to be only 15 mph.  I need to put more miles on the bike to get faster, plain and simple.  I also lost my water bottle (full of Nuun) and had to pull over, throw my bike in the ditch, run uphill to retrieve the bottle, and then back to my bike, replace the bottle in its cage, then get moving again.  Bike people were very nice… lots of “good job” “good luck” etc etc from passing riders.

T2: How this time could have been any faster, I do not know.  I hustled here.  Apparently my “hustle” after getting off the bike is akin to pouring concrete.

Run:  Speaking of concrete.  Picture my torso atop two heavy stumps.  That’s how running felt coming off the bike.  I saw my folks immediately and said “see ya in 30 minutes!” as I passed, and I was barely putting one leg in front of the other.  No form, no stride.  No glide.  I just told myself not to slow to a walk because I’d never get moving again.  So I “ran” for three miles like that.  I paced a power walker, in fact.  A guy power walking was moving at the same speed as my jog.  I need to do more bricks. 

I approached the finish line and my eyes started welling up.  I rounded a corner and heard the announcer say my name over the PA.  I reeeally lost it, then.  That was right when I looked up and saw my family there, and the waterworks just opened.  The volunteers cut the champion chip off my ankle and I moved out of the corral, tears streaming down my face.  Good tears, “wow, I just finished a triathlon” tears, “damn I’m tired but my adrenaline is crankin” tears.

Post Race:  The first person I saw beyond the finish was my aunt Marty.  I gave her the biggest hug and buried my sweaty face and snotty nose into her shoulder and just bawled.  Then my Dad got a big long sweaty hug from me, and my mom got off easy because she was busy snapping photos and I was starting to dry out by the time I grabbed onto her.  

I headed back to the transition area, where I intended to return a borrowed race belt to another competitor I met, Lisa, but she had already cleared out, so I will remember to pay her favor forward one day.  I packed up my gear and my Dad drove my Jeep out of the park.  It was over! 

The rest of that afternoon I pretty much felt like I was coming down with the flu.  I wasn’t, but that’s the only way to describe how I felt.  Fatigue, soreness, coming down off an adrenaline high.  I had been so tense during the entire race, and that made me more sore than I should have been.  My charley horse finally relaxed overnight, after a good long sleep. 

And that’s about when I started wondering when I might be able to do another!  For real!

OK internets, today is my last day online until at least Monday. 

I will go to swim practice this morning (Thursday), where I’ll test the fit of my rental wetsuit.  After that, I’ll indulge in some breakfast and a nice latte, then hit the long road to central New York.  Me ‘n my mix CD’s.

Friday will be just a day of fun in Geneva with my Aunt Marty, and we may even leisurely bike part of the race course as well.  My parents will drive over from Vermont and join us just in time for me to probably start getting nervous and antsy. 

Saturday is race day.  528 athletes are registered.  I’m in the third wave (of four) of the swim.  Hoping that I don’t get a flat tire on the bike and that the run course has a breeze blowing.  Those are really my only worries.  I am prepared, I am confident, but I am super anxious! 

I will wait for the official race photos to be posted and pass my approval before I dare share my bib number with anyone, OK?!?!  Tee hee.  Wish me luck!!

XOXOXO to everyone who’s put up with me talking incessantly about exercise and “my race” for the past 4 months and to everyone I’ve had to say “no” to just so I could fit in a workout or some much-needed sleep.  Thanks and love to the folks who have been reminding me how much more fit I have become and who have never doubted that I’d be ready by race day.

P.S.  Knock on wood.

I was in rare form Monday night.  I guess it had been a long day.  The professor said something about the chapter being “calculator intensive” and for reasons I do not know, I reached for my calculator and typed in: 7734 and then turned the calculator upside down.

As if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, I didn’t even try to wipe the stupid grin from my face, and I barely stifled my giggle.  You know the kind where the mouth stays closed but you laugh by exhaling out your nose.  Like the reverse of a bunny sniffing.  That kind of giggle.

On a calculator, 7734 upside down spells hELL 

Of course you know that, though, because every silly American schoolkid learned that during some math class when the teacher’s back was turned.

It’s been years since I did that.  It felt great to do it again and still think it was hilarious.

“Thanks for getting me in and out of here so quickly, and thanks for figuring out a way to apply that coupon.”

30 minutes earlier, I had explained how I left my coupon at home and hoped he might still be able to give me the lower price for my oil change.

“Well, really all you needed to do was walk in here and smile and I still woulda given you a discount.  I’m a sucker for a pretty lady.”

Let me tell you, a girl never gets tired of hearing that.

I used to be off-put by men who would compliment me like that.  No warmup, no feeling me out… just a big ole’ compliment BAM! in my face with no warning.  I realize now that there’s no reason to be afraid.  Not every compliment is followed by an awkward unwanted  dinner invitation or a “can I get your number?”  Sometimes a compliment is just a compliment.  I have learned to look a man in the eye and say “thank you” with a genuine smile. 

I reflected on my day and thought about all the kind words that were said to me today, with no expectations.  My swim teammate who bragged on me in front of the coach “you’re getting fast!”  Or the cheery gal at Starbucks who noticed my fused glass necklace, complimented me on it, and pointed it out to her friend, “Look at her necklace, isn’t it cool?”

Almost daily, strangers and bare acquaintances are so nice to me in ways like these.  Nearly everywhere I go, people are kind to me for no particular reason.  It’s a constant reminder that I should reciprocate in other ways, by genuinely complimenting strangers I encounter or taking an interest in the stories of others.

I definitely need a nudge sometimes to pay more attention to the people around me instead of plowing full steam ahead through my errands and chores.  It’s hard for me to slow down, but lately I have found myself stopping to chat with my neighbors, lingering after my workouts to catch up with the gym ladies or swim teammates, chatting up the salesgirls at Nordstroms, or taking two extra minutes to ask a coworker about his weekend.  It’s been quite enjoyable! 

Days like this are just the reminder I need how good it feels to be on the receiving end of some unexpected and positive attention.  I’ll definitely be paying this one forward.