Nothing I Can Do About it Now

July 25, 2007

Aaaand, I’m back!

Filed under: Uncategorized — dregina @ 12:00 pm

Sorry for the long silence. New York was too much fun to waste time online, and then yesterday was Cristian’s birthday so I couldn’t really shuff him off the way I wanted to, so as to return to you, my reader, and let you know that the triathlon was fun, and hard, and that I finished with a very slow, but respectable, time.

Sooo much to report. My flight out was a nightmare, anytime you end up landing at a different airport than the one you planned on is a bad time, the stewardess was such a bitch that the kid in the seat behind me recorded one of her bitchy rants on her cellphone and then played it back over and over – everyone sitting within earshot was giggling hysterically by the third playback. It went like this:

“It seems that some of you may be trying to call the Delta reservations line right now to try to rebook your connecting flight. While that might seem to be a good thing to do, it’s actually completely pointless. Cincinnati airport is closed. Let me repeat. Cincinnati airport is closed. No flights are going in, no flights are coming out.  The airport is closed. This means no one knows what is going to happen. No one knows if you’re going to make your connecting flight.  You very well might. Or you might miss it.  Your connecting flight could be anywhere right now. It could be stuck on the ground in Cincinnati. It could be circling the airport above the storm. It could have been diverted to another airport, like this aircraft. No one knows. No one. If you try to call Delta right now to reschedule, it will cause mass confusion. All we can do is wait. There is nothing you can do. The weather is completely beyond our control, and there is nothing you can do except wait to get to Cincinnati, and see what is happening once we’re there on the ground. You may end up spending the night in Cincinnati, we’ll try to prevent that, but we can’t make any promises, and there’s really nothing to be done except wait.”

My God, woman, I’m not asking you to be a motivational speaker but CHRIST ALMIGHTY you just traumatized the entire fucking plane.

Also, thank you little recorder girl. Your act of resistance bouyed the spirits of those of us in rows 11 – 14.

Flying with a bicycle is just as horrible and pointless as it sounds.

I was one huge bundle of nerves the entire time before the race. I think I slept a total of maybe 20 hours over the 4 nights I was in the city.

More to come.


July 18, 2007

Abuzz with dread, I mean anticipation.

Filed under: Uncategorized — dregina @ 1:42 pm
  • During the race, I could get running-shorts-related cameltoe.
  • By the time I come home, the dog might like Cristian more than me.
  • The airline might lose my bike.
  • I might not be hydrated enough.
  • There might not be enough room in my room at the Y to assemble my bike.
  • I might finish after transition closes, and lose my bike.
  • I might get kicked in the head by another swimmer and drown a horrible, filthy, river death.
  • The airline might try to charge me like, a billion million dollars to check my bike through, even though their website says they won’t.
  • My teeth could be whiter.
  • My flight to NYC will release a ton of carbon into the atmosphere, which might be is……….just bad.
  • My neck might look really thick in all the racing pictures, because that happened last time.
  • I could accidentally rip my transition area wristband off and thereby NEVER BE ALLOWED into the transition area again and how will I ever get my bike back if that happens?
  • I might not make it up all the hills on the bike course.
  • I could be passed by one of those dudes on the run course who think they’re my coach or some shit and he might take it upon himself to say something like, “Just a little bit faster now!”*, and I might be so full of adrenaline when it happens that I jump on him and deliver a killing bite to the back of his neck, and then I’d have to run the rest of the race with the taste of blood in my mouth, blech.

*Actually happened, but without the killing bite part.

July 16, 2007


Filed under: Uncategorized — dregina @ 4:07 pm

So I tempt fate and fate smacks me across the face, just like she always does, the bitch*.

This is my third bout of the 24 hour puke flu this year. And those who are so inclined may go to certain places on the internet and read certain articles that may lead them to the conclusion that someone needs to work on her handwashing skills. GROSS, DANA. WASH YOUR FREAKING HANDS.

Yes, yes, yes. I know all about gross. Puking, for example, is gross. So is waiting for the purportedly sweet release of death while pressing one’s face against the cold tile of a bathroom floor. Knowing that soon, very soon,  one will have nothing to puke but bile, and then nothing, just heaving, and MY GOD I know I don’t need to say another word beyond that, do I? Dry heaves, dear reader, dry heaves, oh, and also, there is no God.

The good news is I got to watch Capturing the Friedmans and Day of the Jackal and Downfall over and over and over again, falling asleep and then waking up during the horrible screaming parts. Because all of  those movies have lots of horrible screaming parts.

*Confidential to Fate: j/k!  I left my work laptop in my car ALL WEEKEND because I was too sick to go downstairs and get it, and I really appreciate how you didn’t arrange to have it stolen, because that was seriously careless of me. But still, it helps for you and me to be enemies, because it creates plot tension.  You understand, right?

July 15, 2007

Life smacks me with her big cat paw

Filed under: Uncategorized — dregina @ 5:38 pm

Saturday Plan: Run 7 miles, swim 20 laps.

Sunday Plan: 30 mile bike ride

Saturday and Sunday Actuality: Crawl to toilet. Puke. Crawl to bed. Fester. Repeat.

July 12, 2007

I want you to know that I have an EXTREME natural talent for paddleball.

Filed under: Uncategorized — dregina @ 4:59 pm

At age 7, my parents began, in earnest, to teach me how to tie a shoe. I had coasted along on velcro longer than the average kid. It was time for me to become, in a small way, self-sufficient, and so, despite my lack of interest, the lessons began. 

We spent hours on it. I have memories of sitting on the couch with my Dad and a shoe, my Mom and a shoe, everyone miserable with futility.

Eventually, of course, I figured it out. But I pretended I didn’t.  For a year I lived a secret, bow-tying, double life.  In secrecy, I tied bows with flair. Under the eyes of adults I faux-struggled, tying laces into ridiculous, impossible knots. 

Eventually I was taken to a motor skills specialist who made me sit on a big tube and bat at a tennis ball hanging from the ceiling on a piece of string. I thought, “This is supposed to help me tie a shoe?”

If it wasn’t for motor skills group therapy, who knows when I would have given up the charade. I went once.  We played Monopoly that night, and each kid got to make up one new rule for the game. I don’t remember what rule I came up with. I do remember looking around the table at the other kids, many of whom were clearly developmentally disabled, and thinking, “I don’t want to be here.”

So, a few days later, I walked into the kitchen at breakfast and tied my shoes, to rather undeserved praise and appalause. I didn’t have to go to motor skills therapy anymore.  Everyone was happy. 

This was the same year I refused free tennis lessons from a family friend. Wouldn’t even try, not even once. Didn’t want to, not interested, thanks but no, no, no, no, no.

In both cases, fear was the engine of my adamance.

Over the years I’ve passed up singing lessons, tennis lessons, soccer, baseball, art classes, trigonometry, advanced biology, film-making classes – all of which I wanted to do – because, in my crazy mind, I believed my worth as a person would be lower if I struggled, never mind if I failed.  Better not to try at all.  Better to pretend that I Just Couldn’t Learn To Tie Shoes than to admit it was just kinda hard for me to figure out, harder than for the average person.

Such a smart, constructive approach to life, complete avoidance of everything one isn’t instantly good at.   

I’m writing about these memories today because the triathlon is about a week and a half away, and I’m not as fast or as strong as I’d like to be. I’m terrified I won’t be able to bike up the hills on the bike course, that it will take me more than 4 hours to finish the race, that the marathoner coming to cheer me on will secretly think, “She’s so slow.”

These thoughts are the same crazy, irrational thoughts I have had my whole life, that had me hiding in the coatroom – for a year! – whenever I needed to tie my shoe.

I am doing something I have absolutely no natural talent for because I want to do it, because I want to try, even if I don’t do particularly well, even if I fail.  

Maybe I could have pushed myself harder during this training season, but, when I set the past ten weeks into the context of my life, I have to acknowledge that all of this has been, for me, about learning how to push myself at all – push past my fear of trying, of hard work.

And I already want to sign up for another race, at least as much as I’m hoping I might maybe accidentally break my arm and not have to run this one.

July 10, 2007

Cristian wants you all to know he’s not nearly as feral as I make him sound, but all these stories are true.

Filed under: Uncategorized — dregina @ 10:50 am


This morning I carpooled to work with Cristian, and the last thing he said to me as he hopped out of the car was, “Ok, so I’ll cook tonight. Dinner at eight. See you then!”

Someone needs to do a study on sentences like that, on how they’re better than vitamins for overall health. 


I read the latest Finslippy post four times yesterday. Good night and good luck,  Minty Bear.



Cristian and I stopped for lunch at one point on our drive back from Wisconsin (which I want to write about but every time I start writing about what a great family I have my words dissolve into potentially cancer-causing saccharine mush  OH MY GOD I JUST SPELLED SACCHARINE RIGHT ON THE FIRST TRY! WAY TO GO BRAIN! KEEP IT UP AND WE JUST MIGHT FINISH THE TIMES SUNDAY CROSSWORD.)

Where was I? Oh, we stopped at this diner (called the Brass Rose, which um, sort of sounds like a name for a whorehouse, no?) in Oklahoma where we shared an order of Texas Toothpicks, because it had been 8 days since I had anything to eat that wasn’t either

A) Named after Texas


B) Shaped like Texas

and I was feeling the lack.

So. Who here thinks it’s a good idea to eat some breaded, deep-fried jalapeños right before getting into a compact car for, say eight hours? Anyone? Anyone? No one?

Well! You are all much smarter than either Cristian or myself. You can all probably already finish the Times Sunday crossword, and not only spell saccharine without help, but aspartame too.  

20 minutes after we got into the car, the farting began. People, we farted the whole way back to Austin. 8 hours of duet farting.  Never was the proverbial nowhere to run, nowhere to hide so literal. It did add some excitement to the drive, what with the shrieking and the panicked rolling down of windows every ten minutes, but really there is nothing good to say about the experience. Be Ye Not So Foolish. 

Oh, except that at hour 4, Cristian told me the funniest. story. ever. About a road trip he went on when he was 18 and even more prone to live like a hobo than he is now. You think I’m exagerating, but because he didn’t want to ask his parents for  money, ALL HE ATE FOR THREE WEEKS WERE COLD BEANS OUT OF A CAN.


I know, I know, I know. You’re feeling a little gaggy. I am too. 

Towards the end of week three, and I have no idea how he made it that long, Cristian got, as he put it, “the horrible shits,” and because he was on a road trip, the only places he could go were gas station bathrooms, where innocent strangers were forced to reap the rewards of his cold bean diet right along with him.

One man shouted, “Jesus Christ, you need a doctor!”

Another said, “OH MY GOD, that’s worse than my dog.”

A few went with the classic, “Did something die in here?”

But most just walked in, gasped, and ran back out. RAN BACK OUT. Grown men ran away. For a week of his life, from California to Nebraska, Cristian cleared bathrooms wherever he went. Few people can say that, few people would want to.

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