Yesterday I left Seattle and it was about 40 degrees and raining...as if I needed any more convincing to snow bird myself south. My mom called before I went to the airport to supplement NBC's report that there were thunderstorms and tornado warnings in Georgia...When the first plane bounced into Atlanta for my connection, it seriously looked like I hadn't left home...gray, rainy, blech. Atlanta's airport was packed with travellers who'd been delayed by the storms for hours. Pretty easy to figure out that when my flight was delayed (less than 2 hours for me, no big deal) and I went to the bar for a beer (wait, that wasn't the easy to figure out part...or, OK, maybe it was), I met some people who'd invested a large portion of their day and their credit limit in the overcrowded bar while waiting to get to Phillie...whoa, boy, were they lit. I had a single Michelob Light and chatted mostly with a dude named Maurice who had spent at least $100 in that bar. He apparently lives part time in Seattle, has run several marathons (he runs faster than he slurs, I assume), hadn't been "this drunk" since college--or maybe in the military, it was a toss up, and told me about a guy under his command in the army who shot over a hundred goats for target practice one day. Not sure why he thought that would be an impressive story...yikes. The bartender kept putting people's checks on the bar and the guys paid theirs. When it was finally time for us all to get on our flights, there didn't seem to be a tab sitting there for me...although I know I'm probably going to hell for this, I didn't ask the bartender for my check and decided that my weenie little beer was on the house. Although my karma didn't bite me in the ass immediately (i.e. the puddle jumper plane to Brunswick didn't crash, just a bit more bouncy turbulence), I'm hoping that somehow somewhere I'd paid this one forward or that it was simply a gift from the Universe.En route yesterday I also read the first issue of "Triathlete" magazine that I've read in several months...Due to my hamstring, I've either not felt worthy of my subscription or have not wanted to get more depressed by reading it. However, I was pleasantly surprised. Reading it made me feel a little more connected to the Tri world rather than less...like maybe I'll be back out there again...and today when I finished the magazine on the beach, I came upon a great article advocating regular massage for triathletes...whoo-hoo, marketing material.
Today was a great chillax day...slept in, grocery shopped via my mom's cabrio with the top down, hung out on the beach with the Spring Break crowds (holy crap, when did college students start looking like they are 12? I'm old), and took my stepdad's mountain bike for an easy 10ish mile spin before a great fresh shrimp dinner. One way to bike and not aggravate one's injured hamstring, I learned, is to make it impossible to USE the hamstring. Flat pedals, no toe clips, and an upright position. Bingo...I decided this is biking for "exercise" and tanning, not for a "workout." At least it's biking and in a tank top and 80 degrees; for the time being, that works for me.
Tomorrow's plan is to hit an early masters' swim workout in Brunswick and then go to watch the prelims of the Bausch & Lombe women's pro tennis tournament down near Jacksonville and tan while watching healthy hamstrings in motion.
I heart vacation.
3 comments:
I'm relaxed just reading your synopsis of the day on the island. Glad you're there! I'll send a photo of what it's like here. Basically, I ran in shorts and T-shirt yesterday, now there's snow. Enjoy yourself.
hooray for sunny vacations and leisurely bike rides!
the story of everyone tanked in the airport bar was hilarious.
have a great time (is that even a necessary command?)
Lucky you! Great to hear the mag was motivating and reassuring (have been avoiding such reading myself but you are helping me be brave). Enjoy the sun for all of us.
xo
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