My Name Is Rose and I Am Now 30.

Today is my birthday. I am now 30.

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Last night I had my first training session with my trainer in over a week. And I could tell.

We caught up on our respective Thanksgivings. He claimed his was just "okay," which I blamed on his lack on cranberry sauce. He ran a Thursday morning boot camp. At first he told me two people puked, and I was majorly envious, but then he said he was kidding.

I'm not going to lie, I spent a huge chunk of the session whining. Everything was so HARD (except the deadlifts. I loved those.). The turkish get ups. Oh man. My arms were shaking. I was sure I was going to drop the weight. SO HARD.

But, as always, hurts so good.



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The Workout

Foam rolled IT bands and calves

Swing stretch with my toes on bells
squat stretch with my toes on bells
toe touch with my toes on bells

x3
10 push ups with opposite arm/leg lift at the top
10 push ups with opposite knees in at the top
10 deadlifts (75lbs, 95lbs, 95lbs)

3x
10 db clean and presses (two hands)
10 roll outs (imagine the ab roller infomercial. Only I used a giant dumbbell)

3x
2 turkish get ups per side



The only reason boys read my blog:



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I have dinner plans tonight with my husband, my brother, and two of my best friends.

Friday night I'll be celebrating with my EMTs.

Saturday I'm having a mini slumber party with most of my favorite people.

Good times.

Solo Bike Tour Of Napa

Napa Valley is beautiful. Even with beauty being subjective, that's practically a fact. Any drive through the valley will show off the rolling green hills and grape vines as far as the eye can see, surrounded but mountains. It's a good place to be, and an even better place to bike.

I mapped out a pretty easy 18 mile out and back. But, things don't always go according to plan.

As I was kissing my husband goodbye, he asked if I wanted a picture. Duh.



"Now turn around for a butt picture for your blog fans."

I layered bike shorts under my pants, and you can see the padding, and where the shorts end on my legs. I was terrified of being cold, and this was my solution.



My butt never looks as good in bike shorts. Oh well.

And then, I was off. I tried not to stare at my bike computer too much, but during a few flat parts I danced between 18 and 19mph, which pleased me.

My trip was supposed to take me to Yountville and back. Easy. So, I hit Yountville, around 8.5 miles in. And I thought "I should just go for 10 miles, then turn around. Then I'll have to do 20 miles."

So I kept going. The trail cut East, and I started seeing signs for the Silverado Trail. It sounded familiar, and I knew I could bike on it, so I thought "I'll just make a loop."

The Silverado Trail is a two lane road, with ample curb space for bikes on either side. It's flanked with vineyards and has enough rolling hills to slay me, then elate me. Going up hills is so hard I am so bad at it. Going down hills is SO MUCH FUN. And terrifying. And awesome.

And then I was back in town, cutting through Napa, joining back up with my original course, and heading home.

25 miles.



Things that hurt: All of them. Butt, crotch, back, knees, quads. My legs were wobbly, I was starving, and I really wanted a shower. And yet, every single part of the ride was amazing.



You may notice a distinct lack of scenic picture in this post. I brought my camera with me. I always do. But, I didn't trust myself to ride and take pictures, because I'm still not that good on the bike. And, while I could have stopped, I didn't want to. I just wanted to keep going and going and going. It was so pretty, and the air was the perfect temperature, and everything felt *right*.

I wish I lived closer to beautiful bike paths.

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After a shower I satiated my hunger with pie. Filling.



I don't like pie crust. My mom makes amazing pie crust, according to other people. I just don't like pie crust. I like pie filling.

Thankfully, Sky is a gluttonous porky mcpig who doesn't like things going to waste.



And then my mom made my favorite meal ever, the meal I crave when weather gets cold, the meal I have tried and failed to replicate.



Turkey soup with dumplings.

Those dumplings. I would eat them all if I hated my family. But, I had to share.



So I only had two bowls.

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Today we're driving home to LA. Yay for heading home, but BOO for such a long, boring drive.

Wine Train and Whine Train

Friday was Wine Train day. Nine of us piled on a train from 1915 and took a 50 mile round trip ride through Napa Valley while munching on five gourmet courses, all of which I took pictures of, none of which are worth showing, because it's just food. Delicious food, but yeah. I am not a food photography, and you are not here to see poorly lit pictures of something someone else ate. If you want beautiful pictures of food, go to Tastespotting and spend the next hour licking your monitor.

The food was good, but the experience was was made the evening, from my husband playing "king of the world" on the back of the train to the waitress not believing my brother and his wife were celebrating their 20 year anniversary. And while Lurane looks like that would make her 10 when they started dating, she was actually 16. They mark their anniversary from the night they were riding back from a football game, Harv in his football gear, Lurane in her cheerleader outfit. She'd been wearing his letter jacket for a week, but November 23rd, 1991 was the night they finally kissed. And they've been together ever since. But the beard is only 8 months old.







Saturday we piled everyone together for a family picture. We were missing one chunk of the family (Forest, his wife, and the nieces stayed in LA for the holiday), but we did our best. And devoted a fair amount of time to trying to guilt Harv and Lurane into flying down for a few days over Christmas. It gets harder and harder to get the whole family together for holidays, now that people have their own families. This is why it's important to marry a foreigner or an orphan. I prefer foreigner because it means you have free vacation lodging somewhere in the world. Score!







I spent the rest of Saturday in various lounging positions around the house, catching up on the internet, playing card games, watching the History Channel (you guys, the world is ending next year, holy SHIT! Also, why do all Nostradamus scholars looks like Nostradamus? It's creepy.), and imagining the variety of ways my stomach is eventually going to kill me. Then I puked up stomach bile and slept for 11 hours.

So, I was a philosophy major in college, which, let me tell you, is hugely useful and I'm stoked to have a job as a philosopher. Oh wait. I did love my major, though, and would do it all over again. Occasionally philosophy does spill over into my day to day life. Bits and pieces have stuck with me over the last 9 years of non-collegiate life.

For instances, Bertrand Russell was dear friends with my favorite philosopher ever, Ludwig Wittgenstein. Russell wrote once, of Wittgenstein, "[h]e says every morning he begins his work with hope, and every evening he ends in despair." That struck me in college. It prompted a fair amount of discussion with my philosophy peers. Most of this discussion was while shitfaced, but that's what college was about. My best friends took almost all the same classes as I did my senior year, and we spent out free time staying up all night roaming around campus chain smoking, drinking the cheapest interesting alcohol we could find, and discussing philosophy, Eminem, and Harry Potter. Life was good.

Anyway, every morning I wake up fine. Something about the act of sleeping or fasting or who knows what reboots my whole system. Mornings, I feel normal. I'm not hungry, I'm not nauseous, I'm not anything. And it's wonderful.

But, inevitably, I have to eat. And then.

And then.

It's been worse the last two days. At least I can call the doctor tomorrow morning when the office opens up. Because I'm so tired of having to think about this and deal with it, I'm tired of talking about it with people, and hiding it from other people so I don't have to talk about it. I don't even want to write about it here, but I am, because if I can't complain to the internet, what's the point?

Anyway, I feel great right now. I was planning on a long bike ride with Sky, but he decided he wanted to watch football more. Still planning on the bike ride. Just waiting for my husband to wake up so I can grab a change of clothes and my bike. It's overcast but bright outside, and the route I have plotted out is lovely.

Tomorrow we drive back to LA. I miss the cat (Who loooooooooooves the woman we hired to feed her). Other than that, I could probably stay up here forever. It's beautiful, my mom washes all the dishes, and everything is walkable. Then again, there's no heater in the bathroom, so getting out of the shower is SO COLD. How do people in cold climates live without bathroom heaters? I live in Southern California and I can't function without one. I just really, really hate being cold.

I'm Thankful...

...I'm thankful that crazy people didn't break into my house in the middle of the night and saw off my legs. I'm thankful I didn't mimic the Oregon Trail and die of dysentery. I'm thankful I wasn't whisked off to an alternate universe where there is so much gravity that everyone moves around like inch worms. If that happened, I wouldn't have gone for a run yesterday morning.



I actually had zero plans for running. It was fucking Thanksgiving. I needed to eat, not run. But, the dog needed a walk and my legs were tight from the previous day's track sprints. I wanted to run.



It was foggy and rainy. And the crotch on my pants were weird. They're always weird. The pants in general are weird. The front is some rain proof fabric, and the back is fleece. They work very well, keeping my legs dry and my butt warm. But, the crotch looks funny. I don't like the way it looks. It's a good thing it doesn't rain often in L.A.



Yes, I'm wearing the exact same workout outfit as the day before. So? I tried to pack light. And no one wanted to run with me, so I'm the only one who had to smell myself.



I have no idea.



Still no idea.



I still have nothing. I may have a problem taking pictures of myself, but you folks are the ones who keep coming here to look at them. So, yeah. Enjoy my stupid face.



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This was my Thanksgiving dinner, aka the food that sat in my stomach causing me pain and making me want to throw up. The upside was, people across the country unknowingly felt what I feel after every meal.



At least I enjoyed eating. I love turkey.

Imagine buffalo wings made from turkey instead of chicken. Hot damn.

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Today I'm visiting my dad at a spa, then taking a wine train dinner tour thing? I don't drink wine, so I'll be playing sober driver, and passing my wine off to my husband, so I can get him drunk and make fun of him.

Keeping on Track

The title is a pun.

4 lap warm up
4 laps of sprinting both straight aways, walking both curves
cooldown walk home.



My lungs were burning. I assume that means I did a good job.

Assk and you shall receive.



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For lunch we went to this place:



It's a bunch of stalls of really cool shops.



We had oysters.



Almond ice cream.



Fancy spice shop. We bought fancy salts, hickory smoke powder, and some random seasonings.



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For dinner we went to a brewery. In Napa you don't have to enter the liquor license lottery if you brew your own beer.



My husband is also a monster.



I take my food seriously.







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My oldest brother, Harvest, is a lumberjack.



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Yay family.



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Enjoy your Thanksgiving!

I'm Still In Napa. Yup.

Listen. Napa is fucking LOVELY. It's beautiful here. The weather is stunning. There are beautiful places to jog, and lovely bike paths everywhere you look. And I hauled my bike and my helmet and my tire pump and biking shorts and running gear up here. With big lofty plans.

And yesterday I felt...something similar to guilt for not running.

Fuck that.

Things I did yesterday instead of exercising:

1. Hung out with my mom, who is so awesome it would blow your mind.
2. Ate apples off a tree. And stole more apples.
3. Wandered around an abandoned house on an abandoned acre, trying to break in.
4. Bought heirloom beans. You heard me. HEIRLOOM BEANS. Represent.
5. Ate pizza with anchovies, arugula, egg, capers, and kalamata olives on it.
6. Looked at dozens of beautiful, old, huge houses.
7. Other shit.

And it was awesome. And I don't need to calculate how far I walked to "justify" taking time to do these things. I don't need to feel guilty for living my life. So much of everything revolves around exercise. I'm not training for anything right now. Shit, you guys, my fancy ass Target jeggings are too loose. And I hate spending money on things (plus, we're poor now). So I need to take time to pack on the pounds so my pants fit again.

I do plan on hoping on my bike at some point, because if I hauled it all the way up here without using it, my husband would never let me hear the end of it.

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Here are a bunch of pictures.



Holy shit a picture of a sign you guys!



Napa. French for wine. Look it up. True facts.



We ate here.



Future Poop #1:



Future Poop #2. Also, open mouth photos where food is nearby are forgivable.



Fat Ranch. This place has been mentioned by fancy pants kitchen websites on the internet. That's how you know it's legit.



Expensive heirloom beans. I know. I know. But you guys, they're delicious. For beans I mean.



My mom and I both have ridiculous faux fur coats. About five years ago I told her that her coat made her look like a hooker. She shelved it for years, and I developed a dairy allergy (I know the exact time frame because we were in Minneapolis burying my grandma). Good times.



Any place with my name in it is guaranteed to....nothing. I don't know. I like hearing my name.



Buffalo wings to satisfy my inner frat boy, and brussel sprout, sweet potato, pork belly hash, because I recently discovered pork belly, and damn that shit is good. If I were rich, man. If I were rich.



And then we tried dry ice popcorn.



It turned my husband into a dragon.



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When I'm out and about sometimes I'll take pictures with blog intentions. But, by the time I'm back in front of a computer, I look at the picture and think "I don't even care about this. Why would the internet care?" And then I have this stockpile of stupid useless pictures on my flickr account.

Also, unflattering pictures of me. Well, I post some of those here, but some get culled. I appear a lot cuter on the blog than I do on my flickr stream.

Again, no butt pictures. There's a drought, you guys. For one, my mom doesn't read my blog, so she doesn't really know I post a picture of my butt on the internet almost every day. And while she'd probably be okay with it, she'd also think it was really weird.

That, and I'm not exercising. Because whatever. Pajama time and tea time and tresspassing time are for more important.

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I don't usually wear hats because sometimes I can look homeless. I was actually mistaken for "the local homeless girl" by a friend's parents in college. Mind you, at the time I had a weird black eye, and was holding two cigarettes. My friend was horrified because he was going to try to pawn me off as his girlfriend to his parents. Joke's on him.



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I'm trying out this new thing where I don't carry my phone with me everywhere I go, obsessively checking my email. Thus far it's worked pretty well. I don't get a lot of emails every day anyway, so I'm not missing much. I did miss a work call yesterday, but they figured things out on their own.

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I have spent the last three days talking about how I'm going to pretty much eat nothing but turkey and walnut pie on Thanksgiving-proper. The other stuff? Meh. Turkey. Walnut pie. Nothing else matters.