This past weekend was a busy one for me. We virtually never have plans, but this weekend was perfect storm of activities for us. It was my husband's birthday on Friday. We went out to dinner. A place named Texas de Brazil. We had heard nothing but stellar things about this restaurant, a sort of steak house with this gourmet 21 item salad bar with everything from seared tuna, to Italian cold cuts. Then there are these guys dressed as Gauchos carrying spits of chicken, ribs, sausage, filet Mignon, Parmesan encrusted pork, a veritable meat lovers paradise and PETA nightmare for sure, to your table, slicing the meats fresh from the fire onto your plate. Anyway, it is supposed to be so fabulous, that we decided to go. I guess with such high expectations being let down shouldn't have been a surprise. They didn't have the tuna I had heard only amazing things about on the salad bar, the sushi was terrible, the rice was crunchy and undercooked, the fish in it flavorless. The Lobster bisque was really good though, I will give that props, and the prosciutto which was sliced whisper thing, just perfect! Our waitress was the absolute pits. I cannot tell you how poor our service was. I heard the wait staff at tables around us and was disappointed we got such a dud. She made no offer of sauces for our meats, like the other staff members did for our neighboring tables, it was difficult to get her attention or to have her come back in a timely manner.
The gauchos were fantastic, very attentive. My husband tried the sausage, lamb chop, which he said tasted blech, a chunk of flank steak, a piece of chicken breast wrapped in bacon, ribs and his favorite the Parmesan encrusted pork. I had ribs, which usually I love, but liked so little here I barely ate one of them, a piece of the Parmesan encrusted pork, which was good, a bit of steak, literally they shaved a small slice off and gave my husband a six ounce serving at least, that was too heavily seasoned with salt for me, a bit of the chicken with bacon which I cut in half and gave the other half to my husband, and I decided I was done. To my disappointment the filet mignon, which I was really looking forward to, never made it around to me, then after my plate was taken away, out comes a gaucho with, what else, the filet mignon. I liked the salads I had made, I had two servings of them and my half bowl of the lobster bisque that I was filled up on that.
At the beginning of our meal our disappointment of a server asked whose birthday it was because she was supposed to bring a slice of cake with a candle in it, which never happened. But I did order the creme brulee, which was another disappointment. I am a creme brulee fanatic, the dense creaminess, the crunch and bite of the burnt sugar carmelization. There was barely a sugar crust and the custard was almost whipped in texture. No denseness, no creaminess, just fluffiness that was oddly out of place in a creme brulee. I will have to mention that the company was to die for though. Definitely the high point of my evening.
On to Saturday. My husband signed us up for The Great Big Swim Clinic. It was three hours of learning what a horrible swimmer you were. I liked the underwater swim analysis, I learned that essentially, I suck as a swimmer and am incredibly inefficient! And let me tell you the guy who critiqued us, whose credentials are without a doubt most impressive, was brutal! I did get him to laugh though before he was done critiquing me, or letting me critique myself. His catch phrase after all was said and done was "At least my stomach looks flat" because after I was done beating my swimming to death on the video of me, I had to finish with something nice or I would have been crying. So I piped up with "but my stomach looks flat, so there's something good right?" At first, the swim instructor, I mean this guy has a swimming pedigree like a Grand Champion in the Westminster Dog Show, looked at me like I was a dope, but then his dour and business like face cracked into this grin and he had to chuckle. I kept checking in as we rotated through stations to see how we were all doing and if anyone had good form in his eyes. He said No, but some of us did have flat stomachs and that's all that mattered. Then I had to laugh, because I was taking a beating ego wise as I kept hearing all the things I needed to change, his little bit of humor got me smiling and ready to go get beat up some more. All of the instructors were truly amazing, but there was so much to remember! And trying to put it all together is going to be nothing short of a miracle for me. I keep trying to pick one of the many things I am doing wrong to concentrate on, but like I said, there are just so many things that I am not doing right, I don't even know where to start!! Then trying to do it all together, ugh, I am totally overwhelmed by it all. Here I thought I actually was at least a mediocre swimmer. I am a legend in my own eyes!
Okay done in the pool, time to shower, dress and get over to the dance studio where we were invited to a salsa/swing dance party for two hours followed by dinner with our friends. I have to say, salsa dancing is tough. To see all of our triathlete friends trying to salsa dance, when a majority of them had done Ironman Triathlons, and the pained expression on their faces. Surely this wasn't as tough as an Ironman was it?? But we managed, after some beer, Patron Gold and munchies to muddle our way through, all the while laughing at ourselves and teasing each other, and having a really good time. The two hours flew by, it went way faster to me then the three hour swim clinic we were just at and off to a Vietnamese restaurant with the 9 other couples we had just danced with.
Conversation was lively, the food fantastic. I had never had Vietnamese cuisine before so it was a real treat. I got thinking that we had that 3 miler in the morning and decided that abstaining from the Damnation beer everyone was chatting about with it's 14% alcoholic content was in my better interest. It was supposed to be ugly in the morning and I told Brad, if it is 35 and raining, like it was forecast to be, don't wake me up. Our evening ended around 10, all of us agreeing we needed to get together again very soon, and out to our cars in the pouring down, very cold 34 degree rain we trudged. I was fairly convinced I wouldn't be getting my morning wake up call for the race.
Tap, tap, tap...Hi honey, are you going to run this morning? I crack open one eye and start to try and focus my world around me. Hmmmm, am I going to go? My stomach feels queasy, not nice. Why I wonder. I didn't drink but a beer last night, made sure it wasn't dark to avoid any headache issues, but my stomach was lurching around like a kid playing blind man's bluff who is it. I stayed in bed while my husband showered, yes he showers before and after he races, can you say Howard Hughes?? Swing my legs over the edge of the bed, put my feet on the floor and hoist myself up. There, that's a little better. I guess I feel okay. I sort of drag myself through things getting ready and I decide to go. I don't know why, I really don't feel all that great. Maybe trying a new food before a race wasn't a good idea. I do love trying new stuff though, what we ordered only one dish was semi-spicy and differently spiced then what I am used to eating. Brad finally admits on his way there that he feels not so great too. I will not go into the undignified details of what happened to me when we got to the race after packet pick up, it wasn't the worst thing, but definitely not the best way for my innards to react before a race. So I get back to the car and complain about how miserable I am. I keep lamenting the fact that I am going to get killed in this, a RRRC sponsored race where everyone there is a pure runner and that's all they do. Brad pipes up trying to make me feel better, you will beat that old lady in purple there. Then there was a man, with a really red face and a snow white beard and snow white hair sticking up everywhere, who comes walking out of packet pick up just then that I point out looks like a howler monkey or a macaque or some other simian, and Brad tells me I will definitely beat the Midlothian Monkey.
Strange, if I am remembering correctly, I told my husband to not to wake me up if it was 35 degrees and raining. There I am, standing with 150 other people waiting for them to yell start in 34 degree weather and misting. OHHHH! That's different then 35 degrees and raining. Now I know why he woke me up! Anyway, they yell go, and off we go. I am tra-la-laing along, feeling sort of miserable and at mile two of this delightful three miler, my stomach starts to do all sorts of goofy things. I sprinted ahead to a place on the trail where no one can see me and worry about what might come flying out of me. I start walk/jogging again and another wave of stomach yuck hits. It's cramping, and queasy and just plain awful. I slow down, a lot, and wait for the yuck to pass. It does and I see I am pretty close to the end. Maybe 600 meters, so I pick it up a little, then a lot when I see the finish is actually near the tennis courts as opposed to out in the parking lots where I think they are. Yay! That's wayyy closer! I hear a pack of kids, and yes they were kids from a nearby school behind me, and since it wasn't a chip start I figured it would be a cluster F**k at the finish trying to note every one's bib numbers there if I let them pass me, so I run faster, my final kick and hoof it to get to the finish like. It took me 27 minutes to run :( I think I was getting lapped by old ladies with walkers but whatever. I am done. I find my husband, get my perfunctory bottle of free water, look for a bagel but they have donuts instead, grab a plain cakey one hoping to settle my tummy, meet a very nice running friend of my husband, look at Brad and say, take me home. I came in fifth in my age group and 96th out of 150. Those weren't old ladies in walkers whizzing past me, that was the old grape lady in and the Midlothian Monkey, both of whom beat me. Oh the indignity...
Serves Brad right to wake me up and run in that weather. He was so looking forward to races in his new age group, 45 to skeleton in shoes, and even though he ran a blistering 20 minute 3 miler, he came in 6th in his new age group. He would have come in fourth if he decided to do the Peter Pan thing and never grow up. Aging up is usually a good thing, it's how I plan on getting on the podium someday :) Not so good with these mid-life men looking for their fountain of youth.
I went home, showered, put on my sweats and rested the rest of my day. They rest, as they say, is history...
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