charlotte harris

Twenty or so of us stood on the edge of the Potomac this morning.  It was 7am, and a fog hung over the river.  Two small speedboats dropped the course buoys and five novice kayakers paddled out to monitor the swim route.  There was seaweed washed up all around our bare feet, giving us hope that it might mean less seaweed in the water.  It wasn’t a race, just an open water swim ‘practice’ that had been pre-arranged with the parks. 

At the last minute we peeled off out sweatshirts and kicked off our flip flops and waded into the water.  A huge relief because the river was at least 12 degrees warmer than the air.  One by one, we swam off into the fog, hoping to sight the next buoy as we approached it. 

Immediately, I became tangled in some long and scratchy seaweed.  Without the added layer of a wetsuit, it caught my bosom and I scrambled to pull it out of my swimsuit and from around my neck.  Every couple hundred yards or so, this would happen again.   In between my encounters with the floating blobs of vegetation, I swam peacefully and the water felt glorious. 

But in the back of my mind was the constant fear of tangling in a mass of Hydrilla.  I made it a half mile and decided to call it quits.  I was in the water less than 20 minutes.  That water tasted terrible and I haven’t stopped sneezing in the two hours since.  Glad I got out but I do already want to go back and just do it a little differently. 

I want to return at higher tide.  I don’t want to be alone out there… 20 people thin out pretty fast in a big river like that, and I felt alone and scared.   It’s not an ‘ability’ thing… I’m a very good swimmer - it’s just a psychological thing about being in the deep and murky unknown all by my little self.  Not like in a triathlon where there are hundreds of people around kicking and thrashing.  I want to swim with a buddy next time.

I found and thanked the swim organizer, the coach of another local tri/swim team, who was kind enough to extend the invitation to other area swim teams like mine.  He promised to invite us join them again in the spring and I promised to be back.  “I’ll be back,” repeated another swimmer in her best Ahnold voice.  It’s true… I’ll be back… but with a wetsuit and a friend… and at high tide!!

The kiss at the end of our first date caught me a little by surprise.  I blamed myself for being off guard and goofing it up but looked forward to a do-over on date # 2.  I was confident I’d be able to make up for it. 

After all, my kiss has been given at least one rave review in the DC blogosphere.  NO I will not link to the guy’s post because then you all will know who I kissed.  And I really truly have only ever kissed one fellow blogger, and it was like last year, so don’t go judgin’ me, OK?

Anyway, in the 2 weeks that spanned date #1 and date #2, I got more than the requisite phone calls from him while he was on vacation out west, as well as a handful of text messages and emails.  “I sure did have a nice evening.”  “I look forward to seeing you again.”  All the polite things to say.  I had mooned over him for several hours that first date and I did so again tonight.  Watching him across the table as he told stories, noticing his cute crooked smile and his big hands, basking in his attentive gaze and thoughtful questions.

I was really liking this guy… and I really wanted that do-over kiss. 

And I got it.  After dinner in the parking lot next to his car.  And I found out quickly that I didn’t flub that first date kiss after all.  It really WAS a bad kiss.  HE really is a bad kisser.  OMG… I have never had a kiss so disappointing in my life.   Nothing to compare it to.  I can’t even use words to describe it to you, my internets!!!   It was like he has never kissed a woman before… he DID NOT KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING.  My first innocent closed-lips kiss when I was a teenager was actually sexier than this.

I couldn’t hide the expression of disappointment on my face.  I couldn’t even think of anything to say except a meek little “ok, bye.”  I do NOT want to see him again.  That is the power of a kiss.  When it’s great, it’s like the first tiny step to falling in love, or lust at least.  When it’s bad, well… it’s devastating.  Love is stopped dead in its tracks.

What is worse than having a great date, or two of them, with a really great guy then finding out you are FAR from kissing compatible?!?!

“I’ll hop out and ‘monback ya,” he offered.  “You know what that means?”

“Yes, please… I am dangerous in reverse.”

My Dad and I had pulled into the Fairfax County transfer station minutes earlier, my rented cargo van just a tiny little matchbox car among the Tonka trucks.  Huge payloaders, bulldozers, garbage trucks, rolloffs, dumptrucks, semis and construction vehicles milled around me in an ordered chaos, as if manipulated by the invisible hand of a giant child acting out his ”I wanna drive a backhoe when I grow up” fantasy.

Dad ‘monbacked me into one of maybe ten huge bays.  In the bays on either side of me were construction vehicles unloading debris.  Behind us, the most gigantic bulldozer I have ever seen (imagine the biggest bulldozer you can think of then double it!) plowed the piles of trash out of the bays, coming within mere feet of us.  “Enter at your own risk,” a sign had warned us upon entry, and standing there I understood why.

Nails popped through boards, mystery dust kicked up around us, and heavy dumptrucks rolled by.  The loud BANG! CLANG! BOOM! CRASH! of trash flying and engines turning heightened the excitement.  We unloaded the van easily, I think because my energy was cranking from the experience.

For 20 minutes I felt like I was standing in the velcro blinky shoes of a 5 year old boy.  “This is soooo cool!  Dad, if I ever have a son, I am totally bringing him here!”  I wonder if he ever imagined the giant smile on his own daughter’s face after showing her a place like this!  It was an exhausting day of cleaning, packing, moving and driving but totally rewarded by our 20 minutes at the dump!

  Race: General Smallwood Sprint Distance Triathlon
  Date: Sunday, September 23, 2007, 9:00 am
  Location: Marbury, MD
  Race Type: Triathlon - Sprint Distance
  Age Group: Female - pink caps!!
  Swim - 750 meters (plus a crazy long run to  transition) / Bike - 16.5 miles /  Run - 3.1 miles

Note: As usual, I am not posting any of my actual stats/times here because some weirdo could use it to personally identify me (but that IS me in the pic), but if my peoples want to know, they can call or email me.

Pre-pre-race: My last workout was Thursday morning swim practice and then I had no workouts planned for Friday or Saturday.  I did stay active however, because this race fell smack-dab on the same weekend that I was moving most of the big stuff to my new condo!  Lots of cleaning and packing kept me on my feet and moving.

Pre-race: Sunday morning, breakfast of sprouted grain toast with organic peanut butter, blueberry organic yogurt, one medium coffee and more water.

I had biked and run this race course earlier in the month, so knew how to get there and what to expect.  I hit the road before 6am and got to the transition area just as they were opening.  I was second in line for packet pickup and body marking… yay!  I set up my transition area and recognized some faces from the pool and from the other gym.  I stopped a woman with a familiar face and she invited me to train with her informal group of triathlon enthusiast friends. I have her card and plan to get in touch with her after Giant Acorn (coming up on 10/6 and my last tri of 2007).

I sucked on an Apple Pie Clif Shot and walked down to the water, as I had plenty of time before the race start.  Oh My Gosh!  Seaweed city!  Actually it is not seaweed, but some sort of rampant underwater vegetation, but because I don’t know it’s real name, I will refer to it as seaweed. “How am I going to swim in this?” I wondered.  I almost packed up and went home.  But everyone else was kinda freaking out about it, too, and nobody else was letting it deter them, so I just tried to forget about it. Finally, with about 5 minutes to go before the pre-race meeting, I pulled on my wetsuit and headed off to the swim start.

Swim:  There was no good entry point for the swim, so one wave at a time, we walked down the boat ramp, stepped onto a submerged picnic table, and then swam off to the start buoy.  It was an in-water start, so we all had to hang out there treading water in thick “seaweed” for a few minutes prior to go-time.  I floated on my belly in my wetsuit during this time because I was NOT putting my bare feet down in the unknown.

When our wave finally got the “go,” I swam off, immediately in a good rhythm.  This was the highlight of this race for me.  I did not have the open-water mental hurdle to get over this time.  I fell immediately into my groove.  This was especially momentous because I did this despite the crazy seaweed tangling around my arms, legs, and swatting me in the face throughout the entire swim.

T1: OK, so the swim finish was across the park from the transition area, so a good couple minutes of transition was spent running barefoot through the park.  The length of my farmer-john style wetsuit cuts off right at the calf, and I have found that this causes spasms.  When I started jogging barefoot with the wetsuit on, blood rushed to my calves, causing the neoprene to tighten and nearly give me a cramp.  I charley horsed in this same wetsuit in July, so now I know the cause.  I will not use this wetsuit again.  The rest of T1 was uneventful.

Bike:  Hillier than any of my training rides, plus I kept completely spacing out, forgetting that I was in race mode.  I kept falling into “leisurely weekend ride” state of mind, reminded only when someone else would blow by me.  These two factors slowed me down a little but I didn’t do miserably and I passed a bunch of people, so really I don’t care!  Nutrition wise, I ate another gel and 3 endurolytes and nearly a bottle of water on the ride.

T2: How do people do T2 in under a minute?!?  I feel like I couldn’t have done this much faster. 

Run:  Almost immediately, we had a couple hills.  Whoever labeled this run course as “Flat” was a LIAR.  That’s not even my “opinion.”  There were the same “rolling hills” for the first 1.5 miles as we had on the bike.  Only the second 1.5 miles of the run could reasonably be called “flat.”  I did it anyway!  Just forced myself to take tiny jogging steps until the end.

Just before the finish line was a short little uphill.  At the bottom, a spectator said “c’mon, this is it, give it all you have left, EMPTY THAT CAN!!”  And so I emptied the can.  I felt AWESOME crossing the finish line! 

And then the announcer called out the wrong name.  For the record, I crossed the finish line as “Jennifer Fisher from Washington.”  That concered me - thought maybe I got a mixed-up timing chip, but when I saw the results posted, I was where I thought I’d be and there were no Jennifer Fishers on the list.  Phew! 

Post Race:  I didn’t really know anyone at the finish line, so I paced around, people-watching while I downed a gatorade and ate a slice of pizza and some pretzel rods.  Grabbed a water for the road and cleared out of transition.  I felt good after this race and I think it was because of the added gel and endurolytes on the bike as well as the immediate recovery gatorade and pizza. 

I am convinced that a good part of this sport is proper nutrition and replacement.  Not that it’s *too* important for a sprint distance, but I am learning lessons that will help me go Olympic distance in 2008!  That’s right, I said it!

The elevator door opened and I found the car already occupied.  Good thing I didn’t attempt tp haul too much stuff up from my car, because this time I wouldn’t be riding alone to my floor. 

I had a cooler in one hand, a purse slung over my shoulder, and a replica of THIS statue in the crook of my free arm.  I am moving this piece from the bedroom at my old place to, well, the bedroom at my new place.  It’s one of my more ’private’ possessions.

I stood to the left so my “faux-din” would be hidden off to my side.  I wasn’t trying too hard to hide it, after all it’s fine art, not porn.  But I expected a typical quiet elevator ride where two strangers in the space the size of a closet stare straight ahead at the doors and pretend the other is not there.

Not the case this time.  “Ooooh!  What’s that?” asked the stranger.

“Ummmm…” I blush, “It’s a replica of Rodin’s Eternal Idol.”

“Where’d you get it?!  Is it new?”

“Well, a friend gave it to me.”

She is examining the sculpture… I look down at it to see what angle she might be catching a glimpse of.  OK, she’s staring straight at nipple and butt.  OK, awkward.

“That’s soooo niiiiice!”

Yes it is nice!  It’s fine art, and this friendly stranger realizes that and doesn’t think anything of the nipple and butt in this context, so why am I embarrassed for having it here in this elevator?  If we were both at the Musee Rodin standing there observing this same sculpture, I wouldn’t be blushing.  

“Yes, this has always been my favorite of his.  I will be happy have it here with me!”

I arrived at the U-Haul center right behind the fire department.  The alarms were sounding but there was no fire… just a dead battery in the control panel.  Four men in uniform stood waiting patiently while the store manager scrambled looking for the proper key.  And of course I made the best use of my own wait in line and flirted with those boys in blue with buzz cuts.

“Miss, I’ll make you a deal,” laughed the blond haired fella.  “I’ll rent you that big truck out there for just $20 dollars,” and he pointed to the red engine idling outside.

“I may take you up on that,” I batted my eyes.  “Does the truck rental come with all these helpers too?” I asked as I smiled at the other three.

It was 7am and I learned from the chief that they were just coming on for their 24 hour shift.  I never did take them up on their offer, but I came to find out those guys kept plenty busy that day anyway.  I passed that same rig and crew out on calls two more times in my travels around town that day. 

Yay for the Fairfax County firefighters… cute and hard-working too!

One fall Sunday a few years back, my friend Christine and I were kicking back in the amazing new kitchen in her fabulous new home.  We were sipping wine and snacking on cheese and summer sausage when there was an unexpected knock at the door.

The mystery visitor was her realtor, dropping off a housewarming gift.  He presented Christine with a beautiful serving platter from Tiffany & Co., packaged of course, in the famous blue box and white ribbon.

Since that day, I assumed it was customary for a realtor to present a gift to the buyer as a gesture of thanks.  When I signed my own first contract in July, after a couple days of stressful negotiations, I sighed aloud, “boy I hope Kitty gets me something really good, after all she’s making a lot of money off this sale.”  Quite literally, I imagined her presenting me with a fragile bisque turkey platter from Tiffany.  Or maybe even a gift certificate to Home Depot or something.

I shared this story with my coworkers over lunch last week, the day before my closing.  They laughed.  A lot.  “I got a calendar from my realtor,”  scoffed one.  “Chinese realtors give the buyer one percent,” boasted another.  “I got nothing,” said my boss.

Fast forward to this past Friday.  At my walkthrough, an hour prior to closing, Kitty presented me with a refrigerator calendar, a sheet of computer-printed address labels, and a lunchbag filled with her marketing materials and some hard candy.  She presented this gift with a beaming smile and giddy joy.  I accepted it with the same. 

Not a Tiffany platter or a gift card to Homer’s, but nonetheless a gift she was proud to give.  It represented a job well done on her part and a milestone on mine.  Her gift came from a good place, I really love my realtor.  I suppose I have no use for a turkey platter, anyway!

I prefer not to publish snarky remarks about other people because, well, making mean comments at someone else’s expense makes me feel bad.  Putting people down makes some people feel good, but I just feel guilty when I can’t find something nice to say.   I’m not sayin’ I’m perfect.  Mean-ness happens inside my head all day long.  I just try to leave it there. 

I don’t always succeed and I am definitely guilty of the snark from time to time.  I have had weak moments when I have poked fun at innocent people: Sandra Lee, people who wear wolf t-shirts, and the guy who was driving slow in the fast lane so Sis and I chewed up our Wheat Thins really good then stuck out our tongues and and showed him our “see-food” when we finally passed him.  (Ba ha ha ha!)  But I never do completely forgive myself. 

Today, however, I am going to use my blog for pure evil and not feel bad about it.  A guy in a white Honda Accord rode my bumper all the way up a certain road this morning, and I want the world to know what a hideous driver he is.  He tailgated dangerously close - I am talking a foot away - but was looking at something in his lap the entire time.   He had VA tags “IRKA T” and he was picking his nose like crazy.  Not just a little scratch of the nostril either.  I’m sayin’ he was digging for brains up there! 

I am not even going to start on the chickie in the car in front of me putting on full eye makeup: liner, shadow, and mascara.  I won’t call out her plate number here because when I got a good look at her, I saw that all the makeup in the world wasn’t gonna help her, so that’s punishment enough.  Plus when “IRKA T” rear-ends her one day as she’s primping-while-driving, she’ll lose an eye and really learn her lesson. 

I know this rule about swim breathing, in fact it is second nature to me in the pool.  I don’t think about it anymore, I just do it.  Sometimes I am so zoned out that I even forget to wait until my face is out of the water before I do the breathe-in-through-the-mouth part, but that’s a story for another day.

So I swam my open water mile this morning.  At 8:30 am, I calmly sat on the beach, listening to the RD give us the rundown and I looked out over the calm, clear lake.  I was soooo chilled out.  I thought, “maybe I won’t have my open water freak out moment after all!”

At 9am, my wave was called (we had self-seeded, so I was in wave 8 with my guesstimated time of 38 minutes) and I waded into the water.  I let the rest of my wave take off then I put my face in the water and… 

…the air would not blow out my nose.  Something in my brain was not letting me breathe.   And there’s no way a person can swim a mile freestyle without breathing properly.  This was going to be a problem.  But this is why I signed up for the event.  Practice practice practice to get over my open water panic.

Deep in the recesses I must have been thinking, where’s the black line and what’s lurking under the cloudy green-ness?  So I rolled onto my side and kicked while I tried to calm my breathing.  Waves 9, 10, and 11 swam on by me.  I rolled on my back and floated and tried to repeat my mantra while counting rhythmically, “in through the mouth, out through the nose.” 

I finally put my face in the water around buoy number two.  And that’s when I found my groove and fell into a rhythm, sighting maybe every 10 strokes.  I got so psyched that after another half mile I turned at the wrong buoy, certain I was heading towards the finish.  I heard kayakers shouting but when I sighted it didn’t seem like they were gesturing at me, and I was feeling great, so I kept on going.    

Only when a kayaker paddled up right alongside me and the fireboat pulled in front of me and they boxed me in, did I stop swimming and hear them tell me I had turned too soon.  I had swum way out of my way and had to turn around!  I swear even one of the firefighters was mocking me.  I let that one go with the quickness after I reminded myself that I am the one in the water swimming my ass off and he’s just floating around in a dinghy.

Oh well.  I got back on course and hauled ass to the finish line, swimming strong with good form but certain that I was dead last by now.  I emerged from the water and ran up the chute but there was no big finale.  So I wasn’t the last one to finish?  I looked behind me to see for myself and spotted many swimmers still pulling through the water.  Wow, I couldn’t believe it!  I wasted about 1/5 of a mile flailing around in a panic, and I swam way off course, and I still finished ahead of anyone else?!

I am waiting for results to be posted to confirm if I beat my 38 minute guess (even though I swam over a mile!!) , and in the meantime meditating on “in through the mouth, out through the nose.”

I received a wedding present this week.  A gift my parents had intended to give me when I marry, but since that occasion is nowhere on the calendar, they thought now might be an appropriate time to bestow it upon me. 

It’s the perfect time, in fact.  Their generous gift is going to be of great use next week when I close on my home, and I am so thankful.  I’m sure my future groom would be cool with this too.

Since I received such a fabulous un-wedding present, will I throw a spectacular un-wedding reception?  Yes, and I’ll call it a housewarming party!  An un-wedding registry would be tacky but I won’t be shy about serving some champagne and un-wedding cake!  The place should be furnished by spring and the invites will go out then.*  LOL.

* yes Mom, this is just another one of those jokes