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Me! Racing! Goldsprints! Sports Basement! Tonight! 
I'm told I might hurl. Beer chugging is involved, but I'm a bit fuzzy on where/how that fits in with the sprinting. I think the chugging immediately precedes the sprinting.
***Post-race update***
Guess who totally sucks at goldsprints and probably got the slowest time in the history of the event, without ever having chugged any beer?! Me! But my teammates Lauren and Carol were awesome (Carol almost came from behind for a win).
And Beth won the whole thing!!! In a Team Oakland kit! Time to join TO, Beth!
I was going to go as an alternate/cheerleader for Team Oakland, but ended up riding for Mel, who'd come down with the flu. So the masses don't know my real name, which is cool considering my performance. But poor Mel! Anyway, as I was tightening the toe cages as much as possible and raising, lowering, raising, lowering, raising, lowering the seat (I was a little nervous), the head guy was all, "You're not Mel!" And I'm all, "I know!" And he's all, "Where's MEL?!" and I'm all, "She's SICK!" And he's all, "BULLSHIT!" like I was some sort of ringer, which was hilarious, because Mel could sprint circles around me, but I was briefly flattered. He was just pretending to be mean, anyway. Earlier he'd seen me stuffing toilet paper in my ears and covering them with my fingers because the music was so loud, so he came up to me and said, "Would you like some earplugs? I know we have some around here somewhere, I'll go find you some." And sure enough, he did, even though he was quite busy with his event and whatnot.
This week, for the first time in Tax Return Filing Me history, I filed my returns without:
a. calling my dad several times, often at odd east coast hours, in a complete panic about some random Turbo Tax question I can't answer;
b. yelling at him for not being able to answer the question to my satisfaction either;
c. yelling at him some more for being so blase ("it doesn't matter Laura, you can't be taxed on IRA contributions, so it really shouldn't be asking you that") when his only daughter is surely going to be hauled away for tax evasion ("well it is asking me that, so it must have a reason");
d. yelling at him some more for making no attempt to quell my rising panic by at least feigning some sort of tax intelligence ("well, I don't know what that reason could be...."); and finally,
e. yelling at him some more ("I'm not doing my taxes at the LAST MINUTE!!!") just because he happens to be on the phone while I hear mom yelling in the background to everyone but no one in particular, "why does she always wait until the LAST MINUTE?!"
I even held it together when my e-filing was rejected by the IRS, despite the fact that my mom did use the rejection (when I oh so calmly called for advice) as a last-ditch opportunity:
"Oh. You're going on a ride? I'll have dad call you back later. But what I want to know is: Why do you always wait until the last minute?"
Dammit. So close.
So...after everything was all filed and accepted (the Turbo Tax Customer Servicette helped me figure out that I'd put my name in wrong, with my last name in the "first name" field, and vice versa -- I didn't yell at her either), I called my dad:
"Hal, I just want to bring it to your attention that for the first year since you stopped doing my taxes for me, I filed them without yelling at you a single time."
"Oh. Well I don't mind if you yell at me, if that means you'll call me more often. I like talking to you."
Mel and I did the zoo loop today. Short (~35 miles) so we picked up the pace. It was really pretty out -- everything is still green. Then we went to Dolores Park for a BBQ with some San Franciscans, and it was beautiful there too. Tomorrow I'm going to try some painful hill repeats with Beth, who embarks on such sufferfests regularly, so as to increase the girth of her "quaddies." Oh dear.
"<3" is a sideways heart. Tilt your head to the right. See?
Apparently, all the kids today use it. In fact, sometimes they say "I 'less than three' you" as a long-hand version of "I 'heart' you" which is now a totally passe way of saying "I love you" in shorthand.
E.g.: I "less than three" tonight's yoga instructor. I hadn't been to a yoga class in months, but was recently re-inspired to do what I can to stop feeling like I've been run over by a truck. Twice. At the beginning of class, the yogini asked how everyone was doing, and everyone was silent (Hullo! She's asking what everyone wants to work on! Am I the only one with Truck Syndrome? Do you people do anything besides yoga?). I took the opportunity to let her know that I was quite sore and tight from cycling, and she proceeded to focus quite a bit on hip flexors, just for moi.
I start an 8-day cycling tour in New Zealand 2 weeks from today. I'm going to see how many yoga classes I can take between now and then. Weeee...
Soooo...my last post prompted a call from mom.
"You're not drinking too much, are you?"
"No mom. I average maybe one a week."
"Really?!"
"Yes."
But I did the math, and from last Wednesday to today, it was 4 drinks. Sorry mom. I think all those lines of coke are clouding my short-term memory. I had a mimosa at brunch on Sunday, a plum wine at dinner on Monday, and two somethingorothers at the tiki bar in Alameda this evening. None of those was even a beer! But all were delicious.
So, Larry (my BFF) is now an official Oaktowner. And where's a consumer to go immediately after a move but Ikea?! After parking in the 5-minute loading zone by the exit, we went in the out door and shopped backwards for at least an hour, probably more, traveling deeper and deeper into Ikea's innards, as I wondered if we'd ever make it out alive. Ikea's a scary place. Larry bought a lamp (I think the model was called "Dim" or something) and a furniture dealio for his kitchen, and a giant shoe horn. I picked things up here and there and stuck them in the cart (e.g. a mesh frying pan cover thingy to prevent oil splatter, a chair cushion, and almost a scale), but eventually put them back because I didn't need them (or because Larry said the scale didn't look very accurate). And I contemplated the shoe horn: If you really need a shoe horn, aren't your shoes just too damned small?! And I admired all the men with crew cuts. And Larry decided that East Bay women are hotter than South Bay women. And I was all, "duh." And while Larry perused the catalog at the catalog station (complete with pencils and disposable measuring tapes), a kid walked up to the measuring tapes and took one. And I said, "That will be one dollar." And the kid didn't even give me a dollar, the little brat!
Then, after we contributed to the jobless rate (per Larry) by checking out our own items, we went outside, and the "security truck" was there, all ablaze, and I got scared that Larry had been towed from the 5-minute zone (especially because the backwards approach had been my idea), but alas, his car was right where we left it. Phew!
Then we went to see In Bruges (the "s" is silent!), because Bruges is one of my favorite cities ever; it's very romantic, and there's lots of amazing beer. I really enjoyed the movie. I've never seen anything so un-PC.
I did a 7.5ish mile run in the Berkeley hills on Sunday, and once again, my calves were hating me. But then: mimosa and breakfast at Marc's! Yay! Then I threw a baby shower for Marla, whom I've known since I was 11, and even though babies, and hosting, and girly events aren't generally my thing, I'm ecstatic to report that it went fabulously, and Marla enjoyed herself, so I was happy.
On Monday, I spent $42 on sushi at Sushi Village after spinning for over 2 hours. Ugh! To make matters worse, they weren't very friendly to us. And to top it all off, I was unable to twist the cherry stem (from the cherry that was in my plum wine) into a pretzel with my tongue. And then I led a couple of innocent victims all over creation, on foot, to find Townhouse, which had just stopped serving by the time we found it. Oops.
On Tuesday, I span. Spinned. Spun. And then I had etouffee and steamed crawdads, New Orleans style, at Sharon's. The food was amazing (it kinda reminded me of the Maryland crab scene, and I got all nostalgic). And I met Sharon's brother (he made the amazing etouffee), and saw photos of young Sharon, which was trippy. She was so cute!
This evening, after I got spanked, I met friends for drinks as "Straight Hair Laura" at Forbidden Island, a tiki bar in Alameda, a city described to me this evening as "an Island off the coast of Oakland"! Great spin. And I met another woman with an Israeli mom, and we totally related on the whole "American Jewish" v. "secular Israeli Jewish" dichotomy. I.e. do you pronounce Hebrew words the way the should be pronounced? With an Israeli accent? Or do you pronounce it the mangled "Engbrew" way? If I do the former, people think I'm putting on airs. If I do the latter, a certain Israeli gets annoyed. And what is this whole "woo-woo" reform movement? Secular Israelis rarely go to services, but when they do, they pick the orthodox ones, if only because the pain/boredom/ridiculousness of it helps them remember why they're not into religion.
The evening was educational as well. Jessica explained the terms "dirty sanchez," "dutch oven," and "rusty trombone." You don't want to know.
Go to Cesar, on Piedmont Avenue, in Oakland.
Order either the:
a. Sangria; or
b. Hemingway in Mexico (don't worry if it's not on the drinks menu; you can get it anyway).
You will not be disappointed.
I'm no vegetarian, let alone a vegan. But some co-workers turned me onto the Breakroom, a teeny vegan spot in downtown Oakland, and I've become an addict. The hearty bagel is killer, and the potato skin sandwich really grows on you if you give it time (you must approach it with no preconceived notions). They won't take your order if you're on your cell phone. There's a sign that says so.
But what's funny is that I've been turned onto another vegan spot: the Manzanita Cafe on Adeline. So after I met up with Carol, Morgan, Beth, and Alicia for intervals and speed drills at the Port of Oakland on Thursday night,Carol, Beth and I rode to Manzanita and chowed down, vegan- style. How healthy is that?! There's basically only one meal; you can get the whole thing, or smaller versions of it. 
And you can bring your bike inside! 
Track clinic #2 for me at Hellyer Velodrome on Saturday! 
That's a grimace, not a smile. We did more races, like "Italian pursuit", where your team of 6 (?) pacelines to catch the team that starts on the opposite side of the track. Everyone does a lap at the front (you get to retire after your lap at the front). But you're sprinting the whole race, so the people in the back of the paceline are sprinting for longer. Of course, I was in back (why did the other girl get to start at the front?). I was gasping "gap!" pretty much the entire time, to get my team to slow down so I could draft behind the guy in front of me. I was dying, especially after speed drills on Thursday at the port, and speed drills in Friday's spin class. Not the best training strategy, I guess. But one more Saturday clinic, and I'm eligible to race at the track! Then again, I'd need to go buy a track bike to race, and I was thinking my next bike would be a cross bike (in cyclocross, they race for beer!). Dilemma!
Sean came down to the track with Mel and me, to cheer us on, and he was wearing a jacket with interesting random "fashion patches" of velcro on the front of it. And nothing screams "functional clothing" like velcro (or a cyclist, waking suddenly from a nightmare about some ride gone awry). Here's what happened:
After all that sprinting, I was going to take a nap to prepare for today's ride. But instead, I stayed late at Marla and Eric's, playing Settlers of Catan with them and Dan, and drinking lots of wine. My legs were totally shot this morning. We were headed to LiVermore (OK, that's not really a "V" word, but it's the best I can do) for a 60 mile ride on Mines road. It was the very same ride I did with Jen, my first ride ever (last March, in fact), the one where I got stung by a bee on the tongue because I was terrified of the descents and forgot to close my mouth. I had not been back since. But I eventually warmed up, got an 8-minute lead on Himgan (he'd waited at the top of a big hill for Andrea, Becky, and Fred), who gave chase. He was unable to catch me until we'd reached the flats at the end of the ride. Yay! I ache. I feel like I need another day to recover....
I'm told I might hurl. Beer chugging is involved, but I'm a bit fuzzy on where/how that fits in with the sprinting. I think the chugging immediately precedes the sprinting.
