Good morning. Let’s chat over coffee. Or, if you’re like me, some black tea with honey and cream. Decadent, right? I had better drink it fast though. Once the clock strikes nine a.m. around here, you can’t eat or drink anything but ice chips for the rest of the day. Unless of course heat stroke is something you enjoy. At least finding some comic relief in this heat wave is easy. All you have to do is turn on the news. On Good Morning America this morning, the anchor advised everyone to just stay home. Don’t leave your house because “believe me folks, the worst is YET TO COME!” But if duty calls and you simply must leave, make sure to travel with a “Heat Wave Survival Kit.” Lemme get one of those, you’re probably saying. Well, all you need is a fan, two dozen ice packs, two misting spray bottles (one full of water, the other full of peppermint tea…what?) and drinking water. Sure, I’ll just toss all that in my purse and head out. No problem.
If we were having a drink this morning, I would tell you I shouldn’t be doing this at all and that really, I should be packing. I’m moving this week. Moving as you probably have experienced, is both a blessing and a curse. Like a lot of young twentysomethings, I’ve moved every year for the past six years. This is great for de-cluttering purposes. I’ve gotten really good at just throwing shit away. Haven’t worn it in six weeks? Get rid of it. But here’s what I can’t figure out. The stuff I choose to throw out–t-shirts, shoes, hoodies, the 18,000 pairs of free sunglasses I got in college–is nothing compared to the crap I still keep. I think you’ll find nearly every greeting card I’ve ever received tucked away in shoe boxes upstairs. That, and enough stickers to wallpaper my bathroom. I love stickers. It doesn’t matter that I have nowhere to put them (I refuse to put them on my car until I drive something a bit sportier), I’m addicted to them and I can’t stop. It’s disgusting.
I’m gonna run to the kitchen and brew another cup of tea, maybe brew you some more coffee if you’d like (all the while wishing I had a freaking Keurig machine) and then I’m going to tell you all about how nervous I am for this triathlon I’ve got on the docket in just over a week. I promised in this post I’d write more about training later – mostly for my own sanity. I could very easily turn this space into one of those health/fitness blogs everyone reads, but I won’t. I will, however, tell you I’ve been swimming, biking and running like a madwoman for the past few weeks and that I’m up to my knees in new gear. Triathlon is not a cheap hobby to take on. I’m getting good use out of everything, don’t get me wrong, I practically live in Lycra these days. But if a year ago you had told me I would be dropping Benjamins on lock laces, race belts, bike cleats and open water-specific goggles, I would have told you to get outta here.
But hey, at least once this race is over I can add another sticker to my collection.
Our nine a.m. heat wave quarantine hour is drawing near, so before you go (if we were having a drink, that is) I would tell you about my summer travels. Once this move is done, I’m actually looking forward to staying in the same place for an extended period of time. I just returned from a week spent in Colorado where I hiked my first 14er (Colorado speak for a 14,000 ft. mountain). It wasn’t until I was back down in Denver, safe and sound, that I learned I had just summited the third highest peak in the contiguous U.S. (Alaska is clearly in a league of its own). It wasn’t a technical climb by any means. We didn’t carry a rope, a helmet or an ice axe. So why am I telling you this? Because HOLY COW! Altitude. One day you think you’re in shape, then the next day, you go up this mountain where you literally feel like your lungs are collapsing and you’re simultaneously going into cardiac arrest. This sensation does not help you calm down, either, as you scale a very exposed, very high ridge where the wind is whipping against your bare legs and hands (because you’ve never climbed a mountain and you forgot pants and gloves). It also doesn’t help you speak reasonably to your boyfriend, who is just trying to help you calm down, so you don’t have a panic attack at 14,000 feet and kill him, too. Panic aside, though – what an amazing view.