InnerTeub

When I travel for work, I rarely have time to socialize in whatever city I’m in; it’s normally a combination of fly-in, check in, work, work dinner, fly out. But I had a D.C. trip popped up and allowed for some leeway and I was able to sneak in fairly solid friend-spending throughout the week.

(Aside: pro-tip, ladies: If you ever feel bad about yourself, go hang out by yourself at the W roof top bar around 5:30 on a weeknight. I got to happy hour a touch early, and if I was the type of person to mis-use the word literally, I would tell you that I was literally fighting off middle aged professional men with a stick. Luckily my girls arrived quickly and we were able to insulate ourselves fairly easily, but, damn. I haven’t felt that good about myself since college. (kidding.))

I wasn’t able to stay at this happy hour as long as I wanted – early work day and all that – but my dear friends ended up staying till past midnight, which for a bunch of women with children and full time jobs, let’s just say that was completely unexpected. While with them, I had small internal hissy fits ( “Why did I move so far away from my friends???”), but we all readily acknowledged the  extreme exception this night was having to every rule (at one point, we all agreed that it had literally (for real, this time) been years since we all decided to rage on a weeknight. Life changes, and so do we, but it was nice we could organize a night for ourselves.

I stayed over Friday night, and had arranged to surprise my friend Chris for dinner at his house, which, if you read that correctly, means I invited myself over for dinner with no warning. I figured it was best if I interacted with Chris as I always did, and showing up unannounced and expecting food is fairly par for the course. I love a good surprise, and I love a good family dinner, and I got to have all those Friday night. I spent this rest of the weekend running long with friends, eating sweaty brunch with friends, and even hitting up my old yoga studio, which, even though I was by myself, felt like seeing an old friend in its own way.

The people combined with the awesome spring weather was basically D.C.’s way of being an  ex-boyfriend: doing everything right for a few days so you forget everything wrong. And in so many ways, the things ‘wrong’ are so minimal, although there was a hilarious moment on dinner Saturday night when someone mentioned a purse costing “$1500 – the cost of a mortgage!” and then we all cracked up, because: not the cost of our D.C. mortgages, not even close. I was ready to leave by Sunday – back to my house and my boys, and well, my life –  but it was great to be back in a place that is still so much an emotional home to me, and the people I consider family.

*Jack Nicholson in ‘A Few Good Men’

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One thing I love about my parent’s house in Minneapolis is the quick access to the Arts and general culture. (Whoa. Trying writing that sentence without sounding pretentious.) Within 20 minutes you can get downtown to one of the best theaters I’ve seen outside of Broadway (The Guthrie, of course), great music clubs, restaurants; for all that I keep hearing the Midwest is devoid of culture and general awesomeness, I have to say: growing up outside Minneapolis was a fabulous thing.

It was my hope to find a similar scene in Denver, and I think we’re on track. This past weekend we went to an amazing show at the Denver Performing Arts Center, and I don’t think I can express to you how absolutely breathtaking it was. So, instead, I offer you up a clip of the show, and tell you that if this group comes to your town: go. Go immediately.

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I met my friend Devon the first week of college. She was in my dance class, and she was really good. So good, in fact, I was trying to decide if I should hate her just on principle when I caught her giving me the stink eye and I realized she was doing the same thing to me. I was quite sure she would be my nemesis for the next four years, the person with perfect hair and cute leotards and an annoying tiny waist and I’d just have deal with her presence with what little grace I had.

Luckily for us, she had a wicked sense of humor and I decided her waist was really that tiny [Ed note: it totally is, I am lying here], and we could be friends, after all. And we’ve been great friends for 12+ years since, the kind of friends that even though I think I see her maybe once a year, it feels like I see her all the time.

In that spirit, I took two rare days off work last week and traveled to her parent’s house in upstate New York to help her with final prep for her upcoming wedding. We jokingly called this her Bachlorette Weekend, which is only funny if you expect bachlorette’s to don tiara’s and sashes and go clubbing instead of donning sweatpants and watching Downton Abbey in the basement of your parent’s house, which is what we did (it was awesome, btw) (and by “it”, I mean: the sweatpants, the Downton Abbey, and the parent’s house) (what?)

My only requirement for this weekend was in between dress fittings and hair and make-up trials and gift bag labeling that we finally, FINALLY, get a picture of the two of us, preferably without sweatpants on, fully showered and make up’d and looking nice. A picture I could frame, if you will. Because I have to tell you, after 12 years of friendship, this is the only picture I have of the two of us:

Yes, we’re drinking wine out of measuring cups. Why? Because Devon is too short to reach the shelf where I kept my wine glasses, and didn’t see the point in bothering with asking for help, when the measuring cups were at eye level and would work just as well.

Anyway, we didn’t get a picture.  And while I really, really want a *nicer* picture of us (in focus, perhaps, and maybe with some effort given towards our general appearance), I cannot think of a *better* picture of us – after all, I just spent a weekend recreating that exact motif: sweatpants, wine, couch, laughter.

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This week has been rough. I was traveling for the first half, up at 3:30am to get home on Wednesday, and then had back to back days of 5am conference calls (in the Eastern/Mountain time zone throwdown, I clearly lost). So to be fair, I was in the right frame of mind to be broken. I was, at best, teetering on the edge of hissyfit for the back half of the week.

I got online before my early morning call on Friday, and quickly browsed through Twitter as I waited for the conference call to boot up. And that’s where I saw it: someone on Twitter saying they couldn’t be bothered to worry about government employees losing pay during the (possible) government shut down, as it was “about time they felt the effects of a bad economy just like everyone else.”

Uuuughhhh. Ok. So I (briefly) got into it (see above re 5am/impending conference call), and the thought was clarified that the writer felt that it was unfair for her to have to go through layoffs while government employees had unlimited job security, and, besides, they don’t work that hard anyway (I’m kind of paraphrasing that last part, but I find this overwhelmingly implied sense that people believe all government employees basically sit around and wait for retirement, wasting your hard-earned tax dollars on laziness and entitlement .)

I worked in the D.C. market for 10 years, and it’s impossible to not be in some way touched or related to the Federal government industry (Um, well, impossible if you work for a Federal government consulting firm, anyway. Ahem.)  My job aside, I would say that a majority of the people I know in D.C. work for or with the government. The suggestion that these individuals have been living some kind of high life, immune to downturns in the economy, and that it’s time they got a taste for layoffs and hardships makes me batty.

Example: I have two good friends who work for government agencies: one is a pediatric oncologist who does research at FDA, the other is a lawyer for OMB. Do you have any idea how much money a pediatric oncologist could make doing drug research in the private sector? I believe the scientific measure of the difference between her earning potential in private sector vs. public is “a metric shit ton.” Same for my lawyer friend, who with her time and experience could have easily taken partner track at a law firm and be bathing in Le Mer every night. But they didn’t choose those roles, they chose to go into public service, to work for the government, and I promise you, they are not working fewer hours than you and I, they are no less immune to the rise in gas prices and plane tickets and crashing of the housing market. And I promise you, neither one of them were thinking “oh, gee, I hope the government shuts down, I could really use the time off” — they were thinking “Holy crap, if the government shuts down, how am I going to pay my mortgage this month?” If the increased job security they have over those in the private sector is one of the benefits they get for sacrificing a seriously significant earning potential, well: they deserve it. I personally seriously WANT the really really really smart doctor at the FDA making sure the drugs that get given to kids with cancer are safe. I want her to stay there, and keep doing her work, and not bail out to the private sector (a move I wouldn’t judge at all; I mean, I did.) And I don’t sit there and go “Oh, good, now those lazy government workers can get some perspective for what getting laid off feels like.”

And even if we take people like my friends out, and we are talking about the stereotypical government employee who sits at the post office and is purposefully unhelpful while they count the days to their retirement (and I would argue the number of people that fit this description is MUCH smaller than you would knee-jerk think): I still don’t want them to go without their salaries. Assuming, for a second, that most government employees are part of a major government works program: can you imagine the effect on the economy if all those people suddenly couldn’t pay their rent, mortgage, bills? My God, that would make 2008 seem like the good ole days.

So anyway, I was kind of working my way through all those thoughts on Twitter (really fun in a 140 characters, by the way), and then I see: “And military healthcare is just like welfare!”

And I short circuited and woke a day later, sputtering obscenities and twitching. The Internet (aside: are we capitalizing ‘Internet’ these days? Still?) officially broke me.

(PS: IT’S NOT WELFARE IT’S A BENEFIT FROM A WORKPLACE OH MY GOD)

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After taking a month off from work travel, I’m back at it. I don’t really mind traveling for work; my team is scattered across the country and there is no one place I could live where I would see them every day; as such, when I’m not traveling, I’m generally working alone. And that is GREAT when you need a break and to hibernate and get things done, but my personality is such that I can’t really do that full time without going crazy and getting depressed. It’s great to see my teammates in person and spend days working in a big group, almost as great as it is banging through spreadsheets while sitting in sweatpants and homemade coffee in my mug.

Balance, is what I’m saying.

A couple interesting quotes have caught my eye this week:

Is Obama doing to the US what Reagan did to the Soviet Union? I don’t know, but Michael Reagan is doing a good job scaring the pants off me about it.

(See, last week we were all abortion talk, this week I’m linking Fox News. Truly, I am a woman of many onion-like layers)

“I decided it just wasn’t worth it” This is a quote from the beginning of a book called “The Female Vision: Women’s Real Power At Work.” I haven’t read it (though that’s my plan for the plane ride home tonight), but it sparked a really interesting conversation with a coworker regarding our definition of success at our company – which is an “up or out” partnership based model – and what it was worth to us to be successful – here, or in any job. I know this sounds like another “Women kind of bitching about how sometimes working a lot isn’t very fun” (to be fair: I don’t know many men who are asked if they felt their jobs were ‘worth it’ ; I think the luxury of choice adds an additional element of angst that we (the womenfolk) tend to take for granted)  but it’s still interesting to have an intelligent discussion with your coworkers about core values.

(This actually brought up an additional conversation which I found just as interesting: Some people operate under the policy that they work when they’re at work, and then they leave, and their lives are their own, completely separate. I don’t work like that, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to be good friends with all my coworkers, but I very much want to know them and enjoy spending time with them, and I want them to know me and feel the same. I tend to think that a lot of effectiveness at work is personality driven, and it’s important to me to understand (and hopefully respect) the personalities around me. )

And lastly: Blinded Seeing Eye Dog Gets Seeing Eye Dog. Say it with me: awwwwww.

So that’s all I’ve got for you, folks. Republicans, ‘Women’s Issues’ (cough), and puppies.

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Hey guys, I’ve ended my self imposed hiatus over at Bodies in Motivation – I’ve got a new post up there about getting back to Crossfit.

“Come to the 7pm class – given today’s workout, you’re probably better off with the beginner class”

Is that not the scariest email ever? Being told that the nature of the workout is so hard that you need to start back at the beginning? I didn’t even have time to get my ego in a huff, because when the coach at Crossfit tells you to be afraid: dude, be afraid.

In other news:

I had to take a new corporate head shot and, seriously, there is NOTHING that makes me feel as big a dork as doing that, and I always look about 13 years old and playing dress up, which, as you can probably guess, is exactly the look I am going for. (Not really.)

(Relatedly, I showed up at a meeting with a client last year and my client’s boss looked at me and said “I didn’t realize I was paying for interns!” I. Died. More accurately, me and my master’s degree DIED. I have always been the youngest person on any team I’ve been on, and that was fun in my early 20s because everyone was always happy to mentor and teach me but I’m getting to the point where I’m tired of being the little girl in the group. Which is why I was happy to see my first gray hair, because, seriously, people. Intern? Bite me.)

(Also relatedly, my company accidentally removed me from the Outlook exchange [something about switching me to the Denver office from the Arlington office apparently…deleted me? For a few days. Or so I am told.] Anyway, they promise me it was a mistake, but I still had a few Office Space-esq moments where I was all “Maybe they were just correcting a payroll mistake and I don’t actually work here anymore? Uh oh.” This was all punctuated by no less than 4 phone calls from people asking me why I didn’t tell them I was quitting, and honestly, by the end of the day I half believed I was no longer employed. [I am employed. Um, as far as I know.])

And in conclusion, it would appear that “relatedly” is not actually a word. So! That’s my Friday. Enjoy your weekend, everyone.

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We saw Drive Angry this weekend. Now, I hate — “FLAMES ON THE SIDE OF MY FACE” hate – movies in 3D. Granted, I’ve only seen two, but they were both The Suck. Not only does the 3D give me a headache, it seems so blatant that movie felt like I should be entertained by the absolute and total coolness of the 3D in and of itself that and that I there was no need to worry my pretty little head about anything else, like, you know, story or script, and… I wasn’t.

(Full disclosure: my entire sample size for my “Do I like 3D or not” was Avatar and The Green Hornet (wait. Lantern. Hornet? Seriously, how these are two separate movies I will never understand. The green one with Seth Rogan, that’s the one I saw.) (And it sucked.) (Seriously, the movie’s main tension point revolved around getting a thumb drive to a specific computer to upload something. Remember that South Park episode that was a spoof on 24, where every time the gov agents were like “We need to re-route those satellites!” and the kids were all “No worries man, we’ve got that Google app up and running already.”? That episode aired FOUR YEARS AGO, and you’re telling me the people on the set of The Green Hornet/Lantern/Hornet couldn’t figure out that Thumb Drive hijinks might be a touch out of date? No? Really? Wait, I’ll distract myself with some 3D cars shooting at the audience. That’ll help)

ANYWAY – the point: it has been my experience that 3-D movies are totally boring and give me a headache to watch. Which explains why neither my brother nor my husband told me that Drive Angry was a 3D flick, and, frankly, that’s fair, cause that movie is kind of a hard sell anyway, without bringing in a genre that I have exactly zero desire to give even a little bit of the benefit of the doubt. I could see it in their faces, too, when I bought the tickets and was like “Wait, why did I just pay $10 for a Sunday afternoon movie omg omg omg WHY are you handing me 3D glasses nooooooooooooooo”- – they were both like “Yeah. It’s way too late for you to change your mind about this, so the we’d appreciate the most minimal amount of bitching you can limit yourself to”

Sigh.

But you know what? DRIVE ANGRY IS AWESOME.

Yes, of course: It’s Nic Cage, with bad hair, doing his…Nic Cage halting creepy talking Nic Cage thing. You’ve got a gun called the God Killer. You’ve got shoot outs involving naked chicks still having sex with one of the shooters (that was, actually, kind of cool. In a very distasteful way.) It’s ridiculous on so many levels that I don’t even know where to start, but the most amazing thing is the fact that the 3Dness of it actually made it better. In many parts, using 3D was a really valid and, God help me, artful way of telling the story. Don’t get me wrong – this movie is a hot mess (and I think I actually mean that as a compliment), but not because it’s in 3D.

So anyway, I’ve made my piece with 3D – clearly my issues were more with – gasp – the actual movie than the annoying technology behind it.

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So, I know I should support local running shops. They’re good for the community, the local economy, etc etc. I know. I really do.

But when I need new running shoes (shoes that I was admittedly sized for and recommended by my local running shop), I go to Zappos, everytime.

Yesterday I went to re-order a pair of running shoes. I looked up in my order history the model and size, and did a search on the main site to see if they were there. The shoe itself had been updated (No longer a Nike Free 5.0, it was now the Nike Free 7.0), and they only had them in men’s sizes. Bummer, but not horrible; I could probably order the men’s shoe  in a corresponding size, except I didn’t know my corresponding size.

So instead I did a Google search for the old model in my size, which I found, payable by Google Checkout, easy as can be.

But, you know, I wanted to order from Zappos. I knew I’d have them by the next day, in time for this weekend’s run. I knew I’d get a friendly email telling me that my shoes were being lovingly plucked from the shelves, and I knew that then I’d have a record of which shoe I bought when, so I’d know when and what to re-order.

So I popped open a live chat window on Zappos, and told the Live Chat Dude my problem: I’d ordered this one shoe in the past, I didn’t see any women’s sizes for the corresponding shoe now, and could he please advise. I even mentioned that I found the old model online, but that I’d rather buy from Zappos if they could find a women’s size or advise me on the men’s size. Live Chat Dude responded: “Yeah, that shoe has been updated from the 5.0 to the 7.0. We don’t carry the 5.0 anymore. Have a good day.” And then he signed off.

So. Un.Helpful. Sure, Live Chat Dude probably had something else going on, hadn’t read my question correctly, was in a rush to get to the next thing, I don’t know: he wasn’t focused, it happens, but it wasn’t helping me out, and the impression I got was “Whatever, spend your money where ever you want. Not my problem.” What should have been a five minute task (Go to Zappos, find shoe, click order, confirm order, done) was turning into A Thing and I just wanted my damn shoes, GRUMBLE.

The thing is: I don’t really expect a lot from live chats and email customer service accounts and general helpfulness from nameless companies. But I expect a lot from Zappos, because they brand themselves that way and because in every other interaction with them, I’ve had no reason to expect anything less. And frankly, when I tell someone “I can buy what I need from somewhere else, unless you can help me find a way to buy it from you,” I expect them to, you know, do that.

So instead of just closing out the window and buying the shoes from the other place, I opened a NEW live chat, and started over. And got helpful info (“your size in the men’s shoe is ___” ) and was able to order the stupid shoes and move on with my life.

But first I sent an email to Zappos with the transcript of the first live chat, saying, in effect: “Wow. This was unexpectedly bad service. Total suck.” (I’m paraphrasing)

Within five hours I had a response back with an apology, and a $50 gift card for the inconvenience. Which was totally unnecessary, and totally awesome.

I know that Zappos works in such bulk that they can afford to comp shipping and offer stuff at prices local stores can’t. I do understand that they are a stupidly big company and that I’m hurting my local running community by not patronizing the shop that has the local running experts. But for all the talk of how evil big corporations are, how all they care about is profit and not people, there’s a couple big conglomerates getting it right. $50 is not a lot to a company like Zappos, but it’s a lot to me, and they were smart enough to authorize their customer service people to distribute that money as they saw fit. Sure they get major discounts in shipping because of the vast amount of shipping they do, but just because it costs them nothing to give me free overnight shipping doesn’t make me any less appreciative of getting my stuff from them quickly and cheaply.

Zappos makes it easy for me to spend my money there, which is the most compelling reason for me using that service, but there’s another level why I love them: I really respect how GOOD they are at this. Every company wants their customers to be happy. Every company wants to quickly correct bad experiences and send customer’s away feeling happy. Wanting to be good at those things is not rocket science. Trust me – I work in the Client Satisfaction group of a really big company, and we would love nothing more than to very quickly respond to every disgruntled customer in such a way that makes them feel fully satisfied. The difference between Zappos most other places is that they’ve figured out how to DO that – they authorize their customer service people to provide comps as needed, they have dedicated staff on Twitter that is linked up with the main account team; every part of that company is dialed into the customer’s experience – from a process perspective, they have it nailed.

When I got that email response with the apology and the $50, I literally said to my husband “GOD, I love giving Zappos my money.” And you know, I do. I gotta get running shoes from somewhere – why not a place that gets them to me quickly, for a fair price, and goes out of their way to make sure I enjoy the experience? That’s win-win.

And it doesn’t hurt that their shipping confirmation emails say “You shoes are being lovingly plucked from our shelves” –  it really doesn’t.

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Last week, Ben Does Life reminded me of the old Adidas marketing campaign: “Runners: Yeah, We’re Different”

I loved looking at these ads so much – they reminded me of the 4 or 5 years of my life I spent deeply immersed in running and triathlon… running a 5k in Disney with character costumes on a few weeks after heart surgery, volunteering at Ironman Arizona and cheering on my friends racing that day, six exhausted runners sharing 2 beds in a crappy motel after the Sunmart Ultramarathon in Huntsville, Texas, Sunday morning brunches in sweaty running clothes.

In the spring of 2005, I had just finished my masters degree and was working full time, and found myself worried about leaving behind school and the inherent social element that came with it. Around that time, I went to a running clinic hosted by the D.C. Triathlon club, with the intent of trying to meet people. (As I explained to my grad school roommate at the time: “I dunno, I gotta find my people SOMEWHERE.”)

From there things kind of spiraled out of control. I open an account at BeginnerTriathlete.com and met other new triathletes. I kept going to D.C. Tri Club workouts and happy hours (mostly the happy hours), and sure enough, I found my people. In the fall of 2006, when I ran my first marathon, 7 friends – all who I met on BT, all who traveled from different states – ran alongside me, shuttling their own time and goals to pace me to the finish. Training for an Ironman can be isolating, but not when most people you know are training too — there’s no time for isolation, you run into your friends at the pool, in spin class, at the bike shop. My book club started when we were all deep in training and were seeking something non-triathlon related to do with our time. When Mike and I left D.C., almost every single good friend at our going away party we met through the Tri Club; there was a period of time in there when the only friends I had were people I saw in Spandex.

Things do change — of those people at our going away party, the majority now have young children and can’t spend their days on epic bike rides or their nights at epic happy hours, and while I still log at BT, I don’t keep up with the community as much, and my main core group have adjusted their focus as well. But I remember those days of going to work with a dissembled bike in the back of my car, ready to be thrown together to minute the work day was over so I could get in an afternoon ride with friends. I remember the weekends of travel to races for the primary purpose of meeting up with good friends and secondary purpose of racing. When I look at those Adidas marketing ads, I remember being part of a group that did “weird” things but that felt so normal to all of us.

It feels past tense to me, but I suppose that’s not the case; just a few weeks ago I made plans to travel to Duluth to both meet up with friends and run a marathon while I’m at it. I can only hope that as Mike and I set up this new phase in life, we’re so lucky as to continue to have the chance to spend our days and our miles with good friends along side of us.

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It seems that I am finally – finally – getting better adjusted to the altitude.

When we got to Colorado, I was so so so happy to get back to a routine and some normalcy. I spent November/December/January traveling and working out when and where I could, but an extra 10 lbs was telling me that it wasn’t enough. Upon arrival at our new house, I found my running shoes, my PT gear, and the nearest Crossfit gym, and forced myself to get back to it.

(Some back story: Way back in December it came to my attention that several good friends were registering for Grandma’s Marathon, up in Duluth Minnesota. I knew I was spiraling rapidly out of control with my sloth and was still in a bit of shock that I had actually, like, for real, moved away from my close friends, so when presented with the possibility of running a race with good friends in my home state seemed like a great motivator to pull it back together. Also, I’m about 6 months out from the Ironman, which means I can no longer remember how much I hate endurance racing, and have sugar coated over all the horrible parts of marathoning, which all means: Marathon. In June. What’s that definition of insanity again?)

It was rough going that first week of getting back to training; I’d like to blame the altitude completely but I have a feeling that there was a fair element of “out of shapeness” at play. I headed to my new CF gym on an off day from running, expecting that the workout would hurt, but not, like, be debilitating.

You guys, it was both.

The workout was 5 rounds of: 400m run/30 box jumps/30 wall ball. Now, I have many, many shortcomings as an athlete, but 400m runs and box jumps are not part of them. I can box jump like a mo fo, and 400m is nothing.

Excuse me while I change that entire last sentence to PAST TENSE. I died during this work out. I could not easily run 400 meters. I could not easily box jump – so much so that I started doing step-ups just to keep moving. I stopped the workout at 3 rounds, with the coach looking at me, saying: “Are you ok? Just breath. No, really: just breath”

I couldn’t breath. There is no AIR in this effing state. NONE! We’re 1000 feet higher than Denver – which is 5000 feet higher than my last state district of residence – and it feels like death.

(The gym’s website lists everyone’s times for that day’s WOD — and there was my name, with a nice little DNF. Ooooh, my ego. Once again, Crossfit does it’s job of reminding you that you are both awesome and totally not awesome, almost simultaneously.)

But it’s getting better. Not quickly, mind you – I tried to run a 5k a few days later and the combination of hills and NO AIR had me gasping and thinking about taking up knitting – but slowly. In the days after my first disastrous Crossfit WOD I was able to keep up and finish with the group, painfully, but not in such a way that feels quite as close to death as that first time; I ran yesterday (10x200m repeats) and it was the best run I’d had in months.

Which is all my way of telling you that if I ever do successfully adjust to this altitude, I am only ever racing at sea level. I swear to God, this acclimation process will pay for itself SOMEHOW.

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