Happy Days

Last weekend was the Komen Race for the Cure in Boston. Once again, Team GDT was the largest non corporate fundraising teams, per capita. We raised over $87,000, which is more than we raised in the past three years combined.

We also had a fabulous weekend together, which isn't easy to accomplish with 50 women. But we all seemed to get along and just have a good old warm and fuzzy time together. The alcohol helped!

The best moment of the weekend was watching the survivor's victory lap prior to the race start. I don't know how I've missed this truly moving experience the past few years. Its simply amazing to me how strong these women and their families are. I think the part that touched me the most was the man who pushed his wife in her wheelchair, not only for the lap, but for the entire race. That's true love.

The happy day from this weekend was that the Red Sox clinched the AL East for the first time since 1995. Yay! I missed the celebration, as I was busy drinking beers by a bonfire and biting my tongue for various reasons. But we were lucky enough to go to Fenway for the next to last game of the season. It meant almost nothing, but we won, the Indians lost, and we got home field advantage. Double yay! The postseason is never easy. I'm off to the store for Tums & Coffee!

Its the most wonderful time of the year

No, silly, not Christmas! My birthday!

I love my birthday, because its the one day of the year that its all about me. Well, and the Nana, seeing as though its her birthday too. But, for argument's sake, we'll say its all about me! Because this may very well be the last birthday I celebrate, as I will soon slip into the realm of thirty somethings, I decided we should do this in style.

Last weekend J & I went to see Wicked. It was wicked good! J was a bit overwhelmed by all the singing, so I had to remind him, "Duh. Its a musical." I also ran a race with my dad. It was technically a 5K, but half of the people went the wrong way, making it more like a 6K. Imagine my surprise when I hit mile 1 at a whopping 14 minutes, after hoping for a 9 minute mile! Luckily, I was not planning on breaking a course record, nor was I planning on qualifying for the Olympics (this time at least) so all was good with the world. We then had dinner & sangria at a fabulous restaurant in RI, kicking off my week of non stop eating!

My birthday itself was lovely, complete with munchkins, sushi, ice cream cake, Mexican & margaritas. I may have technically had 3 desserts that day, but who's counting?! I got lovely presents from J, including earphones that stay in my ears, and windshield washer fluid. So romantic! I also have balloons all over my house. Festive, but it smells like a condom in here, and they make vacuuming a royal pain in the ass!

Tonight I am headed to dinner with friends (more food!) and this weekend is the big Team GDT weekend (yeah, more food). I'll be sure to give a full report, but I'm fairly certain we were the top fundraisers again this year. Go team! After that, I guess its back to the daily grind of watching the Red Sox in the post season and waiting to turn 30. I'm not sure what scares me more!

Runners are weird

I know this sounds odd, as I consider myself a runner. But, really, you should see some of these people, particularly before a race. There are many runners who insist on running before a race. Now, I get the need to warm up, but I usually accomplish that task walking from my car to the starting line. And its not like I run uber competitive races. The 4.6 mile Fourth of July jaunt through Rich-town, MA isn't exactly the Olympic time trials, people. The tee shirt isn't even that great.


Which leads me to two of the big reasons why I run races: the tee shirt and the food. The tee shirt is usually ginormous on me (really, a men's XL does me no good for anything; even J swims in that size). But, every now and then I get a really cool one. The technical shirts are particularly good, since I hate running in cotton, and, really, how many places can you wear a race tee shirt anyways? A close runner up to the technical tee is the elusive long sleeved tee, perfect for covering up after the gym or at the ball game.


The food ranges from water bottles handed out from the back of a pick up truck and maybe a too-yellow banana, to full out breakfasts (guess which one I prefer?) Even a 5K is enough running to justify a good bagel, in my warped little mind. The thing that cracks me up are the people who take not one, but six bagels, or a whole box of 100 calorie packs, as though they can afford the $20 race fee, but not to feed their family for a month. Save some for us slowpokes, please!


But the best race "freebie" is beer. There's nothing like a cold beer at 11am after a nice five miler to knock you off your ass. Two and you need an Italian Grinder to make it home safely. Three and you're on the couch for the rest of the afternoon.


During the race itself, you usually have people who run just to run, catch up with friends, see some different scenery, etc. Then there are those who run like its their last race. Its respectable enough to do that, but don't do it with a jogging stroller nipping at my ankles the whole time, for the love of Jimmy. I usually use races as a break from the monotony of running alone, but sometimes I challenge myself to beat my lame PRs. I like to kick it up a notch at the end of a race, picking different people who have been annoying me to pass right before the finish. On one occasion, a girl flew from out of nowhere to pass me, so I determined that I should pass her skinny butt. I took off after her, and, at that moment, her iPod dropped on the ground. I squelched my desire to laugh out lout as she hightailed it back to retrieve her Nano (if she had a snazzy armband like I do, it wouldn't have happened) and passed her before the finish line. I just missed making the Olympics. Good thing it wasn't a qualifying race.

The high and the low.

First, the low:
The only word to describe the Sox/Yankees game last night is painful. At a time when these games mean so much, the collapse of the Red Sox is not acceptable. Especially in a game where we had Petite's number, and a decent lead. One bad, awful, gross inning later, and we're done.

J made a good point about the Yankees yesterday. In general they play good baseball, but when their opponent has a weakness or makes a mistake, they exploit it, take advantage of it, and run them into the ground. Not a bad quality to have.

Let's just hope the rest of the weekend goes a little better for the Sox.

Now, the high:
A few weeks ago, I blogged about Team GDT and our fundraising efforts for the Susan G Komen Race for the Cure in Boston. Today is the last day donations can be counted for the team/individual challenge, and I couldn't be prouder to announce that Team GDT has raised over $80,000 this year alone. That's $30,000 over our goal, and more than the first three years of participation combined. Unbelievable.

This is a fabulous group of women, and every year, I am even more honored to stand at the race and be a part of their team. The race is next weekend, and its sure to be a great, bittersweet time.

By the way, Team GDT has also published a cookbook, with all proceeds going to Komen. You can see it at www.teamgdt.com, and you can also donate through the link as well. Every dollar helps!

If you like pina coladas...

J & I spent one last hot day at the beach this weekend. Okay, when I say last I mean first. J doesn't really like the beach. He's a bit too antsy to sit still in the hot sun. He's also a bit too pasty. The first time we went to the beach together he developed a nasty burn that caused a giant bubble on the back of his calf. He actually went to the doctor for that (come to think of it, that may have been the last time he's been to the doctor).

Anyways, I convinced him to go to the beach with good beach snacks and a bucket o'margaritas. Tricky, aren't I? We got there early, finished our iced coffees, and, once I was confident there was a public bathroom, we had a drink. Hey, it was 11am!

Speaking of bathrooms, I firmly believe every beach should have a bathroom and a parking lot. A few years ago we went to the Cape for the day, and went to this awesome beach. The sign said 30 minute parking, but I thought "Who goes to the beach for 30 minutes? If I park far from the sign, I'll be fine." I was INCORRECT! (You're welcome for the $50, Chatham. I'm sure you needed it more than I did).

Where was I? Oh, the early morning margaritas. We had a few, ate some lunch, and dipped our feet in the frigid water. Seriously, it was frigid. Even children were running out screaming that it was too cold. It numbed your feet, but not enough so they didn't hurt. Thank God there was a bathroom -- I was NOT peeing in that water.

We had a lovely day, and stayed on the beach discussing life until lobster boy turned a pretty shade of red. Then we had to go home so I could apply a half a bottle of aloe to his back. I think that was the last beach day of the summer, which is kind of sad, but exciting because we're closer to your favorite blogger's birthday (that's me, by the way).

A little ego boost

Yesterday, I went for a run after work instead of sweating it out on the treadmill. I have a nice little loop that involves a bike path, swarms of tourists (okay, maybe twenty of them) and America's most disappointing landmark.

As I ran, I looked at the sidewalk now and again to make sure I wasn't going to fall flat on my face or step in dog poop. And every now and again, I'd see something written on the sidewalk in chalk. Things like "You are so beautiful" (awww, thanks!), "I am so proud of you" (well, yes, my 11 minute miles are pretty impressive), and "I can't wait to see you again" (this one freaked me out a bit, especially when a homeless man winked at me a half mile later).

It made me wonder who took the time to write these messages with his cute little sidewalk chalk, and who they were meant for. Did she see the notes? Do others run those streets and feel like the streets are talking to them, as I do? Will the homeless man ever find true love?

I never said running doesn't get boring at times. So I'm grateful to whoever wrote the notes for keeping me occupied. And gave me a bit of an ego boost, along with the "I am beautiful" earworm.

The Good Bucky.

Last night, J & I are watching the game, and I said "Hey, who's pitching?" He replied: "Buck Holtz." I thought, huh, you don't hear the name Buck too often (unless you know George Costanza's porn star name: Buck Naked). Later, I figured out that the kid's name was actually Clay Buchholz, and he was a 23 year old rookie, making his second MLB start for the Sox, because Wakefield being hurt messed up the rotation a bit.

So, the kid looked good. By the fourth inning, J was saying, but not saying, he was on his way to a no hitter. See, J is a bit superstitious when it comes to baseball. He firmly believes Don Orsillo (Sox announcer) ruined Schilling's no hitter earlier this season by simply announcing he was on his way to a no hitter. So, every time Orsillo or Remy would make note of the zeros on the board, J nearly had a conniption fit at the tv.

He fell asleep in the 8th, and I took over the worrying. They showed a clip of the last Sox pitcher to get a no hitter, Derek (Even though you're a headcase I still miss you since you went Left) Lowe, and I thought, this can't be good for Bucky. Then, they showed a clip from the '67 dream team, who apparently the '07 Sox are being compared to, and a fabulous catch by Yaz in the ninth to keep the pitcher's (whose name I can't remember) no hitter alive. Then lost on the next batter. I wanted to turn the tv off at that point, fearing the worst, but I left it on and woke J up for the last batter.

And he did it! Bucky got the no hitter, on a called strike that seemed to take forever to call. Jason Varitek picked him up (what I wouldn't give to have been Clay Buchholz for that moment) and the team swarmed the field, nearly crushing the kid to death. You could tell he was crying, and so was I. Then you could hear Josh Beckett say, "You just did something Curt Schilling couldn't even do!"

So, there you have it. The first Red Sox Rookie to get a no hitter. And I'm still calling him Bucky. But the good Bucky, unlike the other one, who is known to all Sox fans as Bucky Fucking Dent.

Get Out Your Brooms

After three games in the Bronx, the Yankees swept the Sox in a pitiful series. The Sox now only have a five game lead (which really saddens me, because I have been dying to title a post "Nine Games" ala Ferris Bueller). I'd have to check, but I'm not even sure if the Sox lead at any point in any game this series.

And who is this Joba dude the Yankees have pitching? I'm going to assume he did not really mean to throw the ball at Kevin Youkilis' head. I'm going to assume he didn't mean to do it twice. For his own good, I hope its true (I'm in my pjs, menacingly cracking my knuckles as I type that). APparently, MLB assumes otherwise, as he has been suspended for two games.

After the slamming we did of the "other" Sox last weekend, I was hoping for at least a win. Would that have been too much to ask for? I realize there is no reason to panic here, but its a bit discouraging to not be able to pull it together with a month or so left in the season, against a team we'll quite probably have to face in the playoffs.

So what now? The waiting game begins. The Sox lost last night, but so did the Yanks. Phew -- still at 5 games. I really think it will be this way throughout September, as the happy May days of 11 game lead are long behind us. But that's okay. That's what September is all about.

PS -- J took the picture at the top of this post after the parade when the Sox won the Series in 2004. Its hard to see, but there's a couple of guys hanging a broom out the window of their apartment.