Little pitchers have big ears…
New flea-market treasures find a home.
YOU GUYS. I’m a Guppy.
Just in time, too. My regular pool is on hiatus coming up — SO. I DID IT. I emailed and applied my best Google Translation to a “Hi. Do you take beginners?” message and I WENT. TO SWIM. WITH OTHERS.
And nobody cried.
That detail will mostly only be impressive to those who shepherded me to swimming lessons every summer of the 80s and all they got for their effort was a handful of snapshots of me crying in various parking lots. I’m the worst.
But this week, I went to work out with the Kaiserslautern Triathlon Club and they were the nicest and have wonderful coaches who, when I said I was taking in a lot of water trying the new [proper] way of turning my head, looked at the rest of the pool and said “No, not too much. There’s still some left.”
I love it. And I’m seriously excited about training with them, and yes, they didn’t say as much, but I’m totally a Guppy. But you’ll see. Maybe Advanced Rainbow Trout by next month.
As for the rest, 3 runs (15k), 3 weights, 2 bikes (46k), and 2 swims (1150m).
And most importantly, shorts. I cannot stand one more second of being encased in spandex.
So that better be a promise, spring.
We went flea marketing/treasure hunting at the German-American and International Women’s Club Pfenning Bazaar. The actual treasures we came home with included two tiny, mod, German pottery creamer pitchers and a lacquer-look Florida souvenir tray and coaster set — neither of which are pictured because there was too much other awesome to behold in the wild.
Will I regret not getting the San Francisco beer stein 5,000 miles away from San Francisco? Only that kid on the game knows for sure…
I’m afraid that I abhor grime too much to have ever had a life of artistic adventure; there is no bohemian sensibility in these veins.
That’s what struck me the most about this collection of essays — the omnipresent squalor. It was like a character, the on-going descriptions of sublet claptrap filth.
Which is not to say that I didn’t like it. I devoured it in two days, reminded that I’d wanted to by this Medium post on the cost of writing. Creating.
Emily Gould is a fascinating character to a slice of demographic, a totemic voice pioneering the onset of Generation Share. And since no one in said demographic doesn’t know the story of the epic book deal and supposed fall of Rome that happened afterward, curiosity is understandable.
It’s definitely worth a read. There’s a Pulp Fiction aspect to the chronology, dipping in and out of her 20s, jobs, beds, and affairs. I can’t say that I understand the selection of the last essay for an ending, but I probably didn’t spend enough time considering it off the grid, in a cabin upstate.
I dug the careful word choice, the rawness that wasn’t dully focused navelward, and as Book #2 in the 25 Book Challenge of Women Authors, it makes a strong argument for the value of memoirs considered from every stage of life.
Symmetry in the everyday.
Those are not my fish.
To close some tabs and keep the metaphorical on this spring’s race schedule…
I tried to make it to this one last year — and think I’ll be more successful this go ‘round. Plus, my MVP section just got a very jaunty green outfit. (Which makes me wonder if she should race it WITH me?)
I’m not usually a trail runner, but this was the closest one in April, and the right training distance. Ohne asphalt, indeed.
This is my big tune up tri — half way, half distance. Eek. This is it, and all that.
And hopefully I’m going to get to do the run leg as part of a team for this — I’m curious to see how a race like this works!
As for Try Club news, I might have a big update this week — provided I don’t pull a big “Swim Lessons of ‘83” dumper…
I suspect this restaurant might be “Disney Engineered to Look Perfect” and not quite authentic, but it’s pleasing to see, down to the wavy roof and suspiciously perfect oldey-time glass, even so.
And now I kind of want to try it.
I have begun to judge books on how well I can do the character voices required for performance.
I do a VERY good King Bidgood.
King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub, by Audrey Wood.