He should've known better

To warm up before our kickball game last night, we were practicing catching pop flies. K and a couple of our other stronger kickers took turns firing balls toward us in the outfield.

I felt like we were in The Replacements or something. Most of us were dropping them and just generally seeming pretty "off."

That is, except for our newlywed teammates who just got back from their honeymoon on Sunday. When they both managed to make pretty good catches right in a row, K called out to our team, "THAT's how it's done! That's it, everyone go on a honeymoon now."

I screamed out from center field -- with perhaps a bit too much fire -- "I'D LOVE TO!"

Thank God for kickball

I really, really, really hate my job. I've been compiling a pro & con list about it in my head lately. Unfortunately, I'm probably going to just keep toughing it out because I like using my degree (it means those student loans and college education weren't a waste), I like having a paycheck, and I like feeling like I'm contributing to society (not that not working means you're not contributing).

But today is Wednesday. That means my night has in store for me a fun time with 20 great friends. And on this special kickball night, we have a later game, which means we're all gathering to eat pizza & have a beer before playing one of our favorite teams on the field later tonight.

I need this.

I may not be awesome, but I'm not un-awesome!

I am not that awesome at kickball. I kick inconsistently, I can't throw as hard as I want, and sometimes I just feel like a total girl (in a bad way) when I'm playing.

What I can do is catch. I like combatting my girlyness (-iness?) by jumping right in front of a ball that's screaming right at me. If I have to let it bounce off my face to get it, I'm going to stop that ball, dammit. That mindset has worked well for me, and it's gotten me a fantastic spot as our third baselady.

It's an important base, and I don't like seeing people reach it.

I told you I don't like seeing people there.

I tell the people in my running group that the biggest challenge in running and cycling (in a lot of things, actually) is the mental part. I've seen people cry because the remaining distance of a race is more than they think they can handle ... and I've seen them so proud of themselves when they hit the point they know the actually can finish. It's awesome.

Last night, I realized I might have the same problem with kickball. When I go up to kick (my big weakness), I am thinking negatively: Great, I'm going to kick it up, and it's gonna get caught. Or if I somehow manage to get a good bunt, I'm not gonna get to first in time. A guaranteed out. 

Even if I do kick well, I manage to find some fault in it -- either I didn't get to score, or someone else got out (If I kicked it better, they defense wouldn't have gotten to the ball). This is just how I play.

So imagine my surprise when I saw our post-game write-up last night. My kick actually brought in my team's final point in the game. Somehow, I hadn't realized that.

I guess I need to take my own advice to my running group.

And even if I'm not awesome in every aspect of kickball, evidently if I stop looking for my errors, I'm making some pretty dang good contributions!

I get busy ... You get 6 posts in 1!

Time Flies. That's It

How the hell does my life go by so quickly? The last time I posted, I had just gotten home from Orlando. I spent two nights in my own bed before heading north for a conference for work. Got back on Thursday, just in time to get ready for a massive party at our house on Saturday night, which brings me to ...

Mardi Gras -- Let's Not Do That Again

We had our kickball team over to the house on Saturday to celebrate Mardi Gras. We've hosted lots of parties at our place, since we're the only ones who live in a house (everyone else is single & in an apartment), and I worried that this one might blend in with all the others. Considering K spent 5 years in Louisiana and I felt like a semi-resident for about 4 years, we wanted to show everyone what Bourbon Street is all about.

So we found a recipe for hurricanes as close to the authentic Pat O'Brien's flavor as possible (we didn't think ahead enough to just order the mix. Four liters of liquor, and some grenadine, pineapple juice, and OJ later, we had our lethal potion. It was delicious, but it was destructive. As were the Jello shots made with 100-proof vodka.

Two beers, two hurricanes, and two Jello shots later, I woke up on the bathroom floor at 6 a.m. Not pretty. The last thing I remember is stepping into the garage (evidently somewhere around midnight) to watch people playing beer pong. I did make it upstairs to the comfort of my bathroom before getting sick, and K checked on me in between enjoying the rest of the party.

I kid you not, I did not feel right again until Tuesday. I have never been like that, EVER, and I've only even gotten sick from drinking a couple of times (OK, 3).

I never want another hurricane or (100-proof) Jello shot again.

Runnin', runnin' and runnin', runnin'

My little running group is going so well! We're in week 6 of the Couch-to-5k program, and these people who weren't comfortable jogging at all can now jog for 8 straight minutes! This program is great because it goes in intervals, which is a lot easier for someone just getting started. This week, we ran for 18 minutes total, but it was broken up with 3-minute walks (jog 5, walk 3, jog 8, walk 3, jog 5). Much easier mentally.

They're just 3 weeks out from running a full 5k, which is awesome. The group is loving it and is really please with themselves (as am I!) for their progress. One of the girls said on Monday, "These intervals are so much easier! Why didn't my gym teacher have us doing this? I could've been running this way instead of huffing and puffing and having to stop all those years."

I can't take credit for the training program, but I'm glad they've got the motivation to get moving. Amazing!

Staying in VA

We're officially staying in VA another year. We announced the exciting news to our kickball team at the Mardi Gras party on Saturday (just after the first Jello shot). I'm hoping the people we're renting our house from let us stay in it another year. Fingers crossed!

Job Prospect

Last week, kickball friend sent me a link to a job opening at her place of work. I think I'm about half-qualified, but she assures me I'll be just fine and an amazing applicant. I wasn't sure about applying, since making a move toward getting out of a job (no matter how frustrating the job is) is really scary. But the friend met my coworker/friend at our Mardi Gras party. Coworker knows how frustrated I am, and I guess that came up. Kickballer told her about this opportunity after I'd exited the party. Coworker brought it up with me this week and said she thinks I should apply.

That same night, I talked to Heather, who told me the same thing. "What's the harm in applying?" she asked. Touche.

So apply I did. Last night. Half-heartedly. Very scaredly.

I have no clue what I want.

That Last Sentence Isn't Entirely True

What I want is to stay at home. Sleep in my own bed. My soft, fluffy, cozy, super comfortable bed. Wash my face at my own sink. Dry off with my own towels. Lounge on my own couch, watching my own TV. Gaze out at my own back yard (which has daffodils and hyacinth in full bloom in the flowerbeds!).

But not tonight. Or tomorrow night.

We're headed to PA this afternoon to party with K's friends for St. Patty's Day.

Turns out my shiny newly aversion to Jello shots and hurricanes applies also to large quantities of beer, which are what is in the cards for this weekend.

Especially when we're driving 6+ hours to consume such large quantities of beer.

When gas is $3.45 a gallon.

When, because of conditions in PA, we'll be traveling in K's gas-guzzling SUV instead of my little coupe.

When daylight savings time is really going to make Sunday that much more brutal.

My head hurts already.

One lucky girl

Today is K's and my three-year wedding anniversary (from the Florida wedding, the one where we were actually legally married). Three years and a second wedding later, we still haven't had a honeymoon. We swore to ourselves that we'd finally get around to that this year, but between all the traveling for weddings, wedding showers, a baby shower, and we-haven't-seen-you-in-a-while visits, we just don't want to have to take off work again for something else. That, and sometimes it's just nice to be home for once!

We're very fortunate to feel like we have everything we want or need, so we didn't plan on even buying gifts.

So imagine my surprise today when I see an enormous bouquet of flowers coming up the stairs today. And when the bouquet was moved aside, I could see that the delivery person was K!

Of course he planned his arrival just in time for lunch. That alone was a nice treat, since we work in completely opposite directions from one another, so it's a good 40 minutes or so between my workplace and his.

Tonight is our weekly kickball game (by the way, I had an amazing catch at last week's game, AND I'm somehow the 3rd kicker in our new lineup!), which we always look forward to.

We're still going to fit in some of the sweet, romantic stuff -- we've got brunch and a couple's massage at a spa schedule for Sunday. Considering the jam-packed day we have on Saturday, which includes a 16-mile training run, Sunday's relaxation will be pure perfection.

But for tonight, we'll celebrate with a little kickball, lots of friends, and a couple beers.

That's more our style anyway.

Maybe we'll sleep at 28 and 33

Have I told you guys how tired I am? Seriously, ridiculously tired. I wondered a time or two if I should go to the doctor about it, but I did research, and I guess this just happens. I'm 27 now (FYI, I'm not one of those people who intends to ever whine about my age. 27 is young. 37 is young. It's just not the same level of young as 17, even if my schedule seems to show that I think it is.). I guess I can't just run around like crazy and not pay for it all day every day.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that we had our kickball game last night. We went to the bar after, and we left close to 11 p.m. I went to sleep at 12:15, and my alarm started going off at 5:30 because K and I were supposed to run 6 miles for our training. (That totally didn't happen.) I hit the snooze for a good 30 minutes, until I shut off the alarm and let myself go back to sleep. It was heaven.

And it was probably better that way. Today is K's birthday, and we're driving up to PA tonight for the weekend. We've got a couple fun plans in store that I'm excited about.

But first, back to that kickball game. I actually got on base both times I kicked. And -- AND!!! -- I caught someone's kick for the final out of the game. I told K that I'm feeling better about my Kickball Skillz this season. Instead of Sucking, I'm totally Mediocre now, and I plan on continuing to improve throughout the season. Maybe by early November, I'll actually be Not Bad!

K and I can't quit gushing about how grateful we are for having found kickball. When I met the girl from Meetup.com, who introduced K and I to a couple of her friends who were on this kickball team, they told us about it several times, trying to get us to join. I can only imagine the looks K and I gave them: "Kickball? Seriously? Riiiight."

But joining that team was the best thing we've done here! That one move has brought us 20 close friends and fellow teammates, and we've made friends on other teams as well. Everyone on our team is so nice, and we've marveled several times how little we actually know about mundane topics like what we do for a living. It's crazy when someone brings up a funny work story, and you find yourself saying, "I didn't know that's what you do!" when you've spent countless hours hanging out with the person at bars, the swimming pool, the movies, and sometimes even each other's houses. It's pretty awesome.

In other news, I've taken a ridiculous amount of pictures lately. Pictures from Rachel's wedding (that was two weekends ago), from when I met ER's baby (!!!), from various concerts, and from our kickball party last weekend. I haven't even uploaded most of them to my computer yet because -- you guessed it -- I'm so dang tired. And busy.

I keep thinking that K and I need to slow down or something, but this is pretty much what this time in our lives is for, right?

What kickball SHOULD be

Written 6/17. Posted 7/01. Because I took forever to edit (read: majorly trim down) what I originally wrote. Sorry! 

K and I had a kickball game last night (two, actually, but more on that later). One of the guys on the opposing team is quite a character.

Abs spends a lot of time working out. The reason I know this is because he takes off his shirt so many times in the course of a game that it's become a league joke to keep a tally of how many times it happens. As if that's not enough, he also enjoys busting out with random pushups, pullups (on nearby soccer goals), handstands, etc. It's bizarre. It's cocky.

When we played Abs's team, we were both tied for first in our league. Talk about a big game.

We made some mistakes in the first inning. We were a little nervous, and it was obvious. Abs's team capitalized on that, and they were able to score 4 runs. There were 3 questionable calls (2 of which involved refs' conflicting opinions), and all went to Abs's team, since my team takes the classy route and doesn't argue with refs.

Our nerves settled down after that inning. It became very clear that Abs's team was just as nervous about playing us as we were. Possibly even worse. Where missed catches, wild throws or bobbles on my team are met with, "That's OK! Shake it off!", Abs's teammates were more of the "C'mon! You gotta GET THAT!" It was tense. It was intense. It was not fun.

It became clear that Abs's team had actually scouted and studied our lineup. The coach would shout to the entire team, "Justin's kicking! Then Mike! Then Liz!"

They were playing only their 12 best players; the rest of the team sat in plain clothes on the sidelines. We had our entire team of 20 suited up and playing. And every one of us got field time.

Somewhere in the 3rd inning, we realized we weren't going to win this game. When Abs removed his shirt again, one of our girls started yelling and joking about nipples. Our pitcher, who loves kickball and gets pretty nervous about games like this one, was laughing so hard that he actually had to pause for a minute to gather himself before throwing the ball.

It was all downhill from there. We decided all the guys should take their shirts off at the start of the 5th inning. K liked the idea so much that he ripped his shirt off as soon as we told him. Another guy followed.

It was our turn to kick. One of our teammates had a blast with his at-bat. It was clear he was going to get tagged out on first, but for the fun of it, he dove for it. I swear, he flew 3 ft. We were cracking up on the sidelines! To add to the fun, as soon as he jumped up, he ripped his shirt off as he ran back over to us.

It was then that the team decided if we made it to first base, we would take off our shirt.

Fast-forward an inning, and it was my turn to kick. Abs had just dropped into a random set of pushups. My teammates joked that we should each do pushups before we kicked. Sounded like a good idea to me.

I stepped up to home plate. The pitcher and infield players were just settling in to their places again.

I marched right up to the plate. Dropped down to the ground. I set myself into pushup position. 

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Five pushups. Real pushups -- not chick ones. Just the right amount to get my point across. Just the right amount to deliver confidently, correctly, and without expending any energy I'd need for my next task. 

Far in the background, I heard my teammates screaming. Cheering. Clapping. People were going crazy. 

From the infield, I heard Abs say he could admit when he'd been stood up by a girl--just before I saw him bust out a handstand from the corner of my eye. (Seriously, what is UP with that guy?!)

I vaguely heard and saw all of these things. But I was already focused on my next task at hand: kicking the ball. A task I'd managed to suck at quite a bit this season. I hoped my initial "in your face" display wouldn't be met with a sheepish strikeout. 

The pitcher chunked the first ball at me. It was far left of the plate. 

Ball!

Then another. 

Ball!

"Yes!" I thought. "Maybe he'll walk me." 

But the next pitch went screaming right over homeplate. "Here goes nothing."

I raised my right knee, and the ball connected with the inside of my right foot and headed toward third base. It looked fair, so I took off. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abs go running for it. 

"Shit! He's going to beat me!" 

He was headed toward first, ready to throw the ball at the baseman. I was determined to beat him. 

I ran as fast as I could. Just before I reached the base, I saw Abs's wild throw get away from the first baseman. I was safe. By a longshot. 

I slammed my foot into first base, and I immediately began celebrating. 

I might have remembered the deal myself, or I might have heard one of my teammates screaming about it from the sidelines. But somehow, as soon as the "reach the base, take off your shirt" rule clicked in my mind, I ripped my shirt over my head as quickly as I could. 

I was screaming and jumping up and down. 

Of all the times to get on base--and of all the ways to do it--this was the best. 

I ignored the wayward ball. 

Like hell was I about to risk getting out by getting cocky with base running. Like hell did I think twice about taking off my shirt. Like hell were we going to get upset about losing a kickball game.

Seriously, my favorite moment of the entire kickball season.

When the game was all said & done, we lost 6-0. But anyone watching us leave the field would never have known. Our team was laughing, smiling, and carrying on. Abs's team walked off little by little, looking more like they'd lost, and asking the coach why they couldn't have more fun like us.

Man, I love kickball

These pictures perfectly capture the mood of the game for both our team and theirs (Note: Our team is in the grayish jerseys [both girls here]; their team is in white [both guys here]).

Wanna know why my shirt is off -- and why I'm so damn excited about it?

Don't worry. I won't leave you hangin' too long.

Before you worry that we were rubbing a big lead in their faces, they were the ones winning. (Doesn't it look opposite?)

Blurbs. Because I haven't forgotten this thing exists ...

... And because I'm sure you're tired of my random posts complaining about my job.In case you haven't figured it out, I probably won't quit because I like having a paycheck and because I think I have to prove something by toughing it out. And yes, I know that's stupid.

Carrying on now:

I got stung by a bee yesterday on the fleshy part of my big toe. It stung. Whoever came up with that term to describe it chose wisely.

This job is still annoying the holy hell out of me. We had a longtime employee just quit -- effective immediately -- on Monday. She beat me to it. She started in this department two weeks before me (she worked in another area here for like 20 years before that).

K and I planted lilies in our back yard last year. They started blooming a couple weeks ago, and they were beautiful. I'd love to be able to show you a picture of them, but stupid rabbits have eaten all of them.

In other news, the rabbits that run all over our neighborhood are no longer cute to me.

I freaking. love. my kettlebell class. If it weren't for that, I'd probably be in a pretty pissy mood today. This job tends to do that to me.

My kickball team is undefeated. We've tied twice, but we've never lost.

Remember that game when I was named co-MVP? That's the last time I had a good game. I'm buying a kickball to work on my catching and kicking skills. I'm going to beat this thing.

I'm not OK with sucking at things. I think that's part of the reason I don't like this job. Do I beat the sucking, or do I ditch because it makes me cranky for pretty much 50 hours a week? (Note: We only work 37.5.)

K is out of town this weekend. I've made a huge to-do list for myself. It includes an ab class tomorrow morning, going for a run (I haven't run by myself in FOREVER!), getting a manicure, and watching at least one girlie movie. There are some chores on the list too, but I'm more excited about these parts for obvious reasons.

I'm also excited about the rabbit repellent I'll be buying and immediately spraying on my lilies.

Man I love Fridays.

Pardon my French; this was a big day for me!

Our big run was on Saturday, and I'm happy to report my knees held up just fine! My shiny new knee brace was amazing, and I'm going to try to get one for my right knee too.

K and I had wanted to complete the 10K in a 10-min-mile pace. We actually managed quicker than a 9-min-mile pace! Score!

Isn't my new brace (the black one) hardcore?! 

(I'd have adjusted my running belt if I had known it would look like a fanny pack in this picture. Without that pack, this picture wouldn't have been possible.)

My MRI appointment is set for next week, so hopefully soon I'll know more about what's going on with my knees. It was a huge relief, though, to have no pain or swelling after last weekend -- especially since I was hardly following the doctor's orders of returning to running slowly and gently.

As if that's not enough, I found out in our kickball newsletter today that I was named co-MVP of last week's game.

I'm on a roll, bitches!

Holy crap, I'M playing an organized sport!

I've never been an athletic person. Sure, I run and even cycle from time to time, but I always go for distance rather than speed. I lift weights at the gym, but that's not quite the same.

When it comes to playing sports, I'm as awkward, clumsy and useless as they come. I wasn't the kid who got picked last in gym class (we had some REALLY unathletic people in my class), but I was almost always in the last few picked. My only attempt at organized sports was in the 6th grade, when I tried softball. I managed to break and jam my finger catching a grounder during a scrimmage, so my mom made me quit so I wouldn't ruin my "music career" (I took piano lessons and was in my first year of band).

I hated playing sports. It was nerve wracking, and I felt like the Spotlight of Suckage was on me the entire time. When I was at OU, the ultimate frisbee team actually tried to recruit me, but I steered clear (They only wanted me for my hair anyway. I'm pretty sure it was a prerequisite to have long, curly hair to be on the team.)

So imagine how unlikely it would be for me to try a team sport. My new friend (still need a name for her!) plays on a kickball team along with a couple of her other friends I've met. They invited K and I to join their team.

We did. Our first practice was Wednesday night.

As soon as we got to the practice field, that old gym class feeling swept over me again:
Oh God, what am I doing? Why did I sign up for this? This is a terrible idea. I'm going to suck, and everyone's going to know. I'm never going to get on base. I'm going to look like an idiot. I hope they don't put me on the field; I'll never catch that ball. And if I have to throw it? WHY AM I HERE?!!!


I tried to calm my nerves with a little self-deprecating humor as I talked to K. He kept giving me weird looks; he hadn't seen this side of me before. (The only "sports" we've attempted together are a goofy bowling game and miniature golf once with just the two of us. I'm fine making an ass of myself with him. It's the strangers I'm worried about. And yes, I know that doesn't make sense.)

Eventually, I had to take my turn to kick. We were supposed to bunt the ball. Not that I had any clue how to do that. When the pitcher released the ball in my direction, the world turned over to torturous slow-motion. I connected my toes to the ball, and it went straight into the air. The catcher ran forward and waited for it to fall straight into his arms.

Yup, sure enough, I suck. Faaaantastic. Bet the coach is happy he made room for me on the team now.


I took my place at the end of the batting line. My next kick went the same way, only this time, the shortstop caught it (yay for going farther?). K gave me a few tips. On my next bunting attempt, I actually made it to first base! After three more people kicked, I made it safely home (barely!).

When it was my turn to try a field position, the coach sent me to second base. I stayed there for a few plays -- thankfully none that involved work on my part. The coach told me to move to third base. I took my position and continued praying quietly that no plays would come my way. Of course that couldn't happen.

We had a player on first and second base when someone else went up to kick. The pitcher recovered the ball. "Throw to third!" the coach yelled.

Oh God! 

It was slow-motion again.

Please catch it, please catch it, pleasecatchit pleasecatchit pleasecatchit!!!

I took a deep breath, winced, and awkwardly stretched my arms in front of me. The ball sank right into them.

"YES!" I squealed involuntarily.

My teammates laughed. K cheered for me from the batter's box.

A few plays later, someone kicked the ball into the air right toward me. The pressure was on again, and I somehow managed to catch the ball.

Oh my gosh! Maybe I don't suck royally at this game!

Of course, I did manage after those two feats to miss a throw that would've allowed me to take a runner out. Like the song says, though, two out of three ain't bad.

The coach told K I was doing well at third, so they're going to keep me there. I'm happy with that decision! It's a nice position that sees a little action from time to time, but it's not too much pressure. (K, on the other hand, is a rockstar who will be playing catcher. He can handle the job and the pressure.)

Our first game is next week!