Celebrating Victories

......yes.  I am still training for these here races.  Why?

I'm a ridiculously hard on myself overachiever who always just has to do the most.  In my little pea brain, I know it won't stop with a sprint.  I'll need to do an Olympic.  And then a 70.3.  And then a 140.6.  Like, I will have to have the terminal degree of triathloning before I can be happy with myself.  It's just who I am.  I recognize this.  I don't have to WIN these races, but I will need to finish.  Maybe just the 70.3, though.  Running a marathon after all that other bullshit just seems like a terrible thing to do.

I digress.

So.  I think I have mentioned before that one of the reasons I signed up for this crazy sport is because I have fears.  I am afraid of a lot of things.  Here is a list that is not comprehensive.

Non furry animals with more than 4 legs

Amoeba

Ebola

E Coli

Ring avulsion

Necrotizing fasciitis

Spiders

Gum stuck under a table

Flava Flav

Falling in front of people

Drowning

Sepsis

Tooth decay

Triathlons force me to confront a few of these fears at the same time.  Learning how to ride a bike, as an adult, was a very scary endeavor because, well, you know all the things that can happen if you were to fall.  As a youth, I had expensive orthodontia and as an adult, I have had a good amount of dental work done to make these pearly whites the best they can be.  The possibility of falling and ruining what amounts to 10s of thousands of dollars and years of painful rubber bands and bracket work is daunting.  But I did it.  And after getting my gears fixed (from all the crashes you've read about), I consider myself a pretty solid, awesome beginning rider.

Learning how to swim had me looking completely like this.

But after tons of time in the pool, a shitload of YouTube videos, and several burning gulps of chlorine later, I managed to remove the fear of drowning from that list.  So, if we're keeping count.  I've already fallen in front of people and have conquered my fear of drowning.

What I had NOT yet mastered was the open water swim (OWS).  You see, it is very easy to get used to the calm and serenity of a gym pool where people have etiquette, lanes are clearly marked, and you can see the bottom of this gathering of water.  It's a very safe atmosphere to master the basics and then seek to improve things like your stroke speed, turnover, and basic awesomeness.  What the pool does NOT do, though, is get you prepared for the OWS.

I am a selective germaphobe.  Anyone who has been to my house knows that I'm not OCD about cleanliness and can tolerate a moderate to high level of disarray.  I have a dog.  He always smells like dog.  I don't mind the grimy feeling of dried sweat that has crusted on your forehead after a brick.  I don't give much thought to the microscopic mites that crawl on you in your sleep or that live in your pillow.  Shit, I mean, what are you going to do?  Live in a bubble?  These things are part of life for me and I can wash them off with ease whenever I feel.  OWS sitchies are different.

Living things - like bacteria and amoebae and viruses - can camp out in open water, though.  Like lakes and streams and rivers.  These beautiful, serene natural occurrences can harbor deadly organisms whose sole purpose is to make your eye puss and implode.  And make you skin die on itself and fall off.  They scare the shit out of me and, until today, I had not done a single OWS.

Welp.  That had to change.  With an OWS looming on race day, I needed to conquer ALL my fears - the legit ones AND the ones I made up in my head - in order to make sure I didn't DNF on the dang swim.  So, while on vacation, I set up some time to hang out with the AWESOME Kris who I met through an Athena tri club on Facebook.  Kris is, like, a tri goddess as far as I am concerned.  She has a husband, 3 precious babies, a job, and still finds time to train.  Like legit train.  She is strong and fabulous and she is not afraid of the open water.  When she extended the invitation, I jumped at the chance because I knew 1) I had to get it done and 2) conquering this fear with someone I trusted made me feel way safer.

So we went to the lake by her house.  Immediately my heart rate shot up.  There were geese.  Geese go poo even in the water.  The poo is then in the water.  Like all the water molecules.  I would be putting my face in goose poop.  Immediately I wanted to vomit.  Then I had to take my flip flops off and walk to the lake.  Again, heart rate sky high.  I had to dodge the goose poop I COULD see to get to the goose poop I wouldn't be able to see. 

I wanted to cry.  This was, for real, me on the inside.

I hide my fears pretty well.  I mean, when you've lived the life I have, where it is important to hide what you're thinking and feeling lest you incur wrath, you get good at hiding ALL THE THINGS including your scaredy cat tears because you don't want anyone to know you are collapsing on the inside and waiting for your body to fall apart.  But it won't because it doesn't love you.  And you don't even love you because you made you walk on goose poop and now you have E Coli on your feet.

And you haven't even stepped foot in the water.

Now.  As I mentioned, the super awesome Kris was my OWS sherpa and this is where we were able to swim.

Could you ask for anything more scenic?  Unfortunately it was grey and cloudy when we got there, but this picture is awesome so just keep thinking it looked like this today LOL.  So we waded in and Kris kept talking the whole time, wisely keeping me distracted from the fact that every step I took felt like I was sinking into slimy animal doodoo and onto turtle shells.  And snakes.  She advised that I breathe slowly and deeply and take my time and let the anxiety pass.  Wiser words were never spoken.  I was in complete panic mode and all I could think about was how close the shower was and whether or not anyone would notice that I scrubbed off the visible layer of skin to make sure I didn't have necrotizing fasciitis laying eggs in my pores.

But I didn't have a choice.  The race is in 2 weeks and all I had was pool swim exposure so I had to stop acting like a baby (babies are probably more gangsta than I was at this point) and keep it moving.  Once I got over the chill of the water (I do not own an expensive ass wetsuit LOL) and once Kris had talked me off the "My foot is sinking into quicksand and I will die" ledge, I was ready to try some swimming.  Finally.  And then this happened.

It was seaweed or a snake or Voldemort.  Or E Coli.  Kris laughed and I laughed as well because, seriously, I'm 37 and having these issues!!!!  So I took some more deep breaths and went for broke.  I had told myself I would keep my eyes closed underwater and open them to breathe and sight.  I lied to myself.  After maybe my second stroke, I opened my eyes and this is what I saw.

Not a damn thing!  Just looked like green diarrhea and farts under there.  I had no concept of depth, distance, nothing!  Revert back to panic mode to try and immediately see sky and sun and find Kris, who basically served as the beacon of reason in this endeavor. Once I regained my footing (I kept saying "Whoops, no sediment here!") I turned to Kris and began to apologize for being slow...for being new...for being afraid...for holding up her workout.  She said to me, almost word for damn word, what I said to another friend of mine who recently began her fitness journey.  "I didn't come out here for a workout.  I came out here so you could conquer your fear and be super badass! Do not apologize for that!"

Yes ma'am!!!

At that point, it was ON AND DAMN POPPING!  Yes, I still had moments when I was certain a sea urchin would stingraykill me.  I still had moments when I foolishly opened my eyes and saw the blur of green nothingness that scared me.  I still had moments when I, in my haste to breathe, inhaled some water and knew, for CERTAIN, the Ebola would kill me in 3 hours.  But I also knew I had a friend there with me who, at the end of the day, wouldn't let anything happen to me.

You see, as much as training for this race has made me a stronger person, physically, it has made me far more open to meeting and talking to other people going through similar journeys.  It has made me recognize that leaning on the wisdom of others is as much a strength as gaining wisdom on your own.  And it has made me realize that conquering fears makes you A MUTHA FUCKIN ROCK STAR, GAWTDAMMIT!

The victory I celebrate today is not my taming of the OWS.  It's the victory won by being vulnerable enough to express your fears and open enough to let someone help you through them.  

For my trophy?  Maggiano's Butter Cake.  Yup.  I sure did. :)

Still Training........

So.  Here we are again.  Still training, still moving.  August - in my mind - seems super far away but when I break that down into actual training days, and considering I am STILL crashing into things on this here bike, August is not nearly far enough away.

My most recent crash (I mean, crashes and falls can happen to anyone so I don't feel ALL the way terrible) involved a chicane.  I ride a relatively flat trail in CT that stretches from New Haven all the way up into, and past I would argue, Southwick, MA.  At the edge of Simsbury, about half a mile in, there's a cast iron gate chicane before you cross a road.  

In previous rides, I'd handled it slowly but effectively.  My bike was on a super high gear, I braked excessively, and I skirted around with little problem.  However, once I situated my gears differently (i.e. put myself in a lower gear), I was coasting along much faster.  So, in my mind I knew I had to brake, but it didn't click so much how much MORE I needed to slow down considering the lower gear and flat ground.  This is what ended up happening and I rode back to my car with a busted, bleeding lip.  But, as always, the thing wounded the most was my ever sensitive pride.

Obviously, the sign SHOULD have said:

LOL

Anyway,  So to solve this problem of navigating crazy gates and what not, I decided to start my rides at a decent point PAST these crazy obstacles.  It meant removing some smaller hills - which to a beginner are like multiple Mt. Everests - but it also meant not being as prone to accidents.  I mean, so far I've fallen twice (once INTO an ice and snow patch and once after riding precariously over an ice patch on a trail) and crashed into a chicane.  I really don't need anymore injuries LOL.

Once I made the shift in my starting point on trail, I was able to focus on getting some miles in and going longer distances.  With that being said, my first ride from the new start point was 24 miles.

Let me repeat.  After multiple falls and a crash, I rode 24 miles.

And here are some photos from that momentous day.

I would like to call your attention to these here split times.  They vary pretty significantly, but I was all the way into that 15.8 because that's almost 16mph!!!!!!!!!!!!  YAASSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

So now I'm feeling absolutely amazing because I'm like "Woo hoo!!!  I'm official!!!" and clearly I can now ride any distance at any speed on any day.  Except, the reality is that reality is an awful, cruel mistress and she lets you know, in no uncertain terms, that you need to slow all of your rolls (even the ones around your midsection) and calm down and take everything one day at a time.

A few days after my momentous and cause for celebration ride, I decided to do an easy 14 miles.  Thinking it would be a breeze, since it was a shorter ride, I was pedaling like I was in the damn Tour de Friggin France.  I was like LOOK AT ME GO!!!  But then as I listened to the mile markers from MapMyFitness, I became concerned.

Current pace: 9.3 miles per hour

Split pace: 10.2 miles per hour

Wha??????????  My ride ended up looking like this.

I went from feeling like Livestrong bracelet Lance Armstrong to post-admission-of-doping Lance Armstrong

And so I drove home feeling like.....

But I posted my times and splits and distance in some of the super supportive groups I'm part of on FB and received a huge amount of support and encouragement.  My Athena Triathlete ladies, Black Cyclist supporters, and of course the fierce warriors of Black Girls Do Bike reminded me that every ride is a good ride.  I need to stop being so hard on myself, especially as a beginner, and focus on the fact that I'm putting the miles in and getting better every time.

One split at a time, yo :)

Triathlon Training

It had been a very long while since I've updated this blog and figured, as I'm on this momentous journey to do three sporting events, back to back, in a competitive atmosphere (you know, like, a race), it made sense to chronicle some of the ups and downs I encounter along the way.  This isn't my first foray into non-traditional physical activity.  I became obsessed with Bikram a few years ago.  Then stopped.  A few years ago I was in the gym and on the squash court about 5-6 times every week.  Then I stopped.  Then last year I decided to try this triathlon thing because my activity ADHD told me I couldn't just do one thing forever and be content.  I have to do a bunch of things in order to remain interested.

So, yeah, 3 sports?  Why the hell not.  And, I mean, when those sports are all heavily cardio based, it's not so bad when this is your mindset every now and again.

Not to say I advocate binging on junk food, but shit.  I seriously get in this type of way fairly frequently.  I'm working on it, though.  God is not through with me yet, despite trying to be many times.  I won't let Him quit me LOL.

So.  To provide some background, let us remember that triathlons involve three sports: swimming, biking, and running.

I totally had the running down.  Mostly.  In my mind, I was all like.....

But on the trails, I was all like......

I did some obstacle races......lemme stop lying.  I did A SINGLE obstacle race and love-hated it.  But mostly I did regular, straight runs like the Manchester Road Race on Turkey Day, and various jogs around my neighborhood and on trails close by.  I was super slow and didn't care.  I was getting my cardio in and at least, in good weather, I wasn't stuck on the damn treadmill of boredom death.

So running was fine.  I had that under control.

But there were two other events.

Swimming.  I didn't know how to swim.  At all.  So, in August 2014 when I registered for the Tri to Help "try a tri" (as my friend Amy calls it), I knew I had an uphill battle.  Thankfully my gym had a pool, so at least I could learn or practice or do something.  I only had a beach lounging bathing suit, no goggles, no heart rate monitor, no swim cap.  Nothing.

Just sad and pathetic.

But before I went all out, I told myself I MUST learn the basics.  I had to learn how to swim freestyle the PROPER way.  Up to that point, my version of swimming was to pretend I was doing the most in my stroke while keeping my head out of the water and thrashing my head from side to side in a dramatic attempt to look like I knew what I was doing.  Think this.....

At the most, I could get halfway down a 25 meter pool before I had to stop, take several breaths to get my heart rate out of the Heavens, and then start again for the actual other end.  Can you imagine the embarrassment?  I can't.  I don't embarrass easily.

So I started from scratch.  I scoured YouTube for videos because I couldn't afford a swim coach, and certainly not for an indoor, timed, try a tri.  I needed to save that for the big time.  With every video I found with some clear instructions, I found myself getting better and better, but slowly.  I was spending about 3 times a week in the pool, around 45 minutes to an hour each time.  It wasn't enough because I wasn't improving at the speed I wanted.

So I started swimming everyday, for at least an hour, for three weeks.  Then!  Then I started seeing results.  Now I was all like....

Just all kinds of bilateral breathing, stroke was smooth like butter, and I went from only being able to swim 50 meters (after getting through that dreaded half a lap bullshit) to 1700.  In three weeks.  I learned how to breathe underwater, turn my head and not inhale (i.e. snarf) all the chlorine in the vicinity, and settle into a decent race rhythm that, while slow, got me where I needed to go.  #rockstarstatus.

So I did the "try a tri" and placed ok.  It was 10 minutes in the pool, 30 minutes on the stationary bike (a spin bike), and 20 minutes on the treadmill.  I did some time trials early on in my training, but got lazy once I realized I could swim LOL.  Because why not?  But I was glad that I was able to finish the event and not be completely dead on the inside and outside at the conclusion of things.  I had accomplished a major goal and I was proud.

And then I stopped doing everything movement oriented and began eating everything in sight.  Between my house and my job, I pass these things on a regular basis...

And at any of the multiple CVSs and gas stations, I will stab you and your best friend for this...

So.  Every bit of progress I made, from a weight loss perspective and an overall fitness perspective spiraled uncontrollably down the toilet during the worst part of this God awful New England/CT cold ass winter where every other day there were, like, 8 inches of snow on the ground.  The only time there wasn't 8 inches on the ground was when there was, you know, like 14 inches on the ground.  Because, again, why not?

So, in January I did one smart thing.  Knowing the winter was going to steal all of my joy and motivation and zeal for life, I did the only thing that made sense.  I registered for not one - but TWO actual triathlons.  Like the ones that take place out of doors during warm times of the year.  I figured that the registrations would force me out of the house and into the gym.

I figured wrong.  I was like whatevs.

But then March rolled around, and I was rolling around in March-literally, and I realized I needed to either get all of my shit together or have a whole stadium full of seats.

.....or look like a TOTAL ass during the races.  And that was not an option.  Anyone who knows me know that at the VERY least I'm gonna give this 100% so I don't, you know, look like a total reject who didn't train and miraculously thought she could swim a mile, bike for 24, and then run 6 miles after a night of drunken shenanigans.  Who do I look like?  An Olympic athlete?

So.  Toward the middle of March I needed to tackle the third part of the triathlon and the part that caused me THE greatest angst imaginable.  The bike.

You see, normal people learned how to ride a bike when they were children and they rode their bikes all over the earth and developed a simple ease with this two wheeled contraption of death.  I, however, did not have so fortunate a childhood and did not learn how to ride a bike until a friend of mine, my senior year in high school, took pity on me and insisted that she teach me.  So I learned how to ride a bike at the age of 17.  Do you have any idea what it's like to learn how to ride a death trap when you are KEENLY aware of all the things that can go wrong?  Do you?  Prolly not.  But I learned.

And then after I graduated from high school, I bought a bike with money from a graduation present.  Too bad when I went off to college, I left my bike in my mother's basement and it is still there to this day.  I didn't get on another bike until I was in my mid twenties.  I was on vacation in the Dominican Republic with my brother/bestie and we decided to do a bike tour of the (safe part for tourists) island.  Everyone was rolling along merrily with their bikes.  I got on mine, and proceeded to immediately pedal into a rose bush.

Ever fall into an entire rose bush?

I did not get on a bike ever again after that tour and I had a knot on my left knee the size of 5 golfballs and hobbled around the resort for the rest of our vacation.

So, you can imagine my tremendous apprehension when I realized I could not get out of the bike portion of this three sport event, so I had to bite the bullet and buy a bike and then, like with swimming, teach myself how to ride.  I did a bunch of research about bikes, good bikes, best bikes for triathlons, and realized I was way overwhelmed.  I found some groups on Facebook and also found a bunch of actually helpful articles online.  I visited a bunch of bike shops but never did a test ride because THERE WAS NO WAY I WANTED ANYONE KNOWING I COULDN'T RIDE A BIKE AT THE AGE OF 37!!!

I ultimately settled on this bad boy right here.  I named him Omar because, obvi, he is sleek and black and you should fear his awesomeness when you see him coming over a hill or down a straightaway or something bike related that happens.

So.  I finally OWNED my own bike as a grown up person.  Now I had to teach myself how to ride it.  Thankfully, I live across the street from a middle school.  This school has a HUGE parking lot, built for all kinda cars and buses and vans and what not.  Perfect place to teach yourself how to ride a bike.  So one morning I put on all my gear (helmet, gloves, etc.) and set out across the street.  I gingerly walked Omar to where we needed to be and that was safely BEHIND the school building, out of any car's line of sight.  In the .15 miles behind the building, I spent 45 minutes teaching myself how to ride a bike.  I wobbled.  I swerved.  I stopped and started a million times.  I got frustrated.  I hated the toe clips.  I would get the hang of it and then get scared and stop.  But once I was finally comfortable back on this death trap, I ventured around the building.  That day I ended up riding pi miles - all in circles around that parking lot.

#fresh

The next time I got on my bike, and rode around the parking lot, I fell.  Like WTF?!  I fell into a dirty patch of snow/ice because WINTER IS A ROTTEN HEFFA and also because toe clips, in my opinion, are bigger death traps than the bike itself.  It's difficult, as a beginner, to snatch your foot off a pedal to steady yourself on the ground when you're caged in and panicking and can't get out.  And then you fall.

And then the bruises.

I walked my bike back across the street, mad because I fell.  But I also knew that, like swimming, the absolutely only way I would learn how to ride this damn bike without falling was to keep doing it until it was second nature.  But these bruises, though.  They were very serious.

My coworker said "I thought your bruises were trying spell 'Google'" LOL!  That evil child.  Omar looked even worse, almost.

At least now he also had the Omar Little scar by which he would forever be remembered.  Also, my bike is a damn GANGSTA.

But even with my leg in danger of falling off, apparently, I didn't have the luxury of time to stop and heal and relax and regroup.  April was around the corner and both races (a Sprint and an Olympic distance - BECAUSE WHY NOT?!?!?!?) are in August.  So I took Omar in for repair, got him back, and got back out there.  This time I wanted to try an actual trail that was off road and allowed me to practice socializing with runners, walkers, other bikers, etc. but did not force me to navigate traffic too much.

I ended up on the Farmington Canal Heritage Trail and wanted to get 12 miles in.  Remember.  The most I had ever ridden, since crushing that rose bush in the DR, was pi miles in a school parking lot.  I was going to try 12 and see what happened.  Welp.  5.5 miles in I fell.  And my chain broke.  And my gears decided not to work - because, you know, I had fallen and likely dislodged them somehow.

WHAT IN ALL HOLY HELL?!?!?  I was so discouraged but 1) I had spent WAY too much money on Omar and 2) I had spent WAY too much money registering for these races and 3) the evil child coworker was doing the Sprint with me and 4) I mean I don't give up so it wasn't even really an option I seriously considered.  I was just really mad and really frustrated that things weren't going as smoothly as they had in the pool, mostly because I'm not, in the pool, balancing on two skinny behind wheels, trying to navigate turns and ice patches on cold roads because CT won't quit winter.

But today.  Today I said "Winter, I quit you."  I said I would ride 12 miles.  I did.  And I didn't fall.  I froze, because it was like mid thirties degrees.  I got wet, because it was kind of trying to rain.  I got dirty because I don't have fenders and there were puddles I couldn't avoid and gravel somehow ended up on my seat (how???????????).  But I rode those 12 gawtdamn miles.

Why?  Because I rock.

So I type this, now, sitting on my couch trying to warm up, looking at my dog, Caeser, telling him in my mind "Please, shut up.  Mommy is trying to blog," as he whines for both treats and my attention.

I will do my best to be better about keeping this current, with various accomplishments and progress, but I can't make promises.  What I CAN say, though, is GET ALL THE WAY INTO THESE DAMN SNEAKERS!!!!

 - E

Why Lie? We Don't Go Together!

As usual, I have to begin every entry on life, love, and dating with the way I have made ginormous mistakes and, eventually, learned from them.  In that spirit, I need to begin this particular topic with a guy we'll call Adonis (names have been changed to prevent legitimate legal action LOL).  I met Adonis online a few years ago and we met at a diner in Brooklyn.  He's really kind of attractive and, when I was younger and fully and ridiculously stupid, those sorts of things clouded my judgment.....but not my ability to sniff out bullshit.  That skill will remain sharpened at all times no matter how fine a guy is LOL!

But I digress.  Adonis was hot and he seemed normal as we ate some breakfast at The Arch.  But then my (thank you Katt Williams for this term) N**** Spidey Sense started to go off as he spoke.  As a general note, guys (and gals, for that matter) will likely tell you EVERYthing you need to know within the first 14 days of meeting and talking to them.  It's a fact.  My friends and I have proven this time and time again.  Adonis was no different except it didn't take 14 days.

It took 35 minutes and employed the tried and true intentional, vague misdirection.

Adonis referred to his "ex" a few times and mentioned, sort of casually, that he and his ex still lived together.  He said that he was trying to be the nice guy since she didn't have a job, her family lived in Jersey, and she had nowhere to go.  Some women, younger and dumber than I was at the time, might think "Oh, he's so sweet to not put her out on the street."  The rest of us, however, immediately have the following thoughts.  He is either:

1) Living in a situation where she is actually NOT the ex and they are still together.
2) Living with his ex and still boinking.
3) An artful combination of both 1 and 2.

I chose to go with Option 2 because it relieved me of the moral quagmire of dealing with a technically involved man.  I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, and believe he was just being a nice guy, but my brain wouldn't let me.  It just wouldn't let me do it.  So I rationalized myself into the lesser of two evils and kept it moving.  I also noticed he did not clarify the category of ex.  Ex-girlfriend or ex-wife?  Eh well.  He was hot.  Whatever.

This all happened in the span of about 25 seconds.  We women make these decisions pretty quickly.

Anyway, Adonis, during dinner/breakfast, also gave me one of those, like, homemade, ratchet business cards saying he was trying to start a business.  If I remember correctly, he was working on a line of sneakers or lingerie for plus sized women.  Maybe sports gear for plus sized women?  I'm a little bit hazy on the details of the charade he had created, but the important thing to remember is that he gave me a card.  With this full name on it.  And phone number.  And email address.  Ladies, you know exactly where I'm going with this.

Investigation.  Straight #sherlockholmes status.

So after our rendezvous that night, I went home and did some research.  And I found the following item:

Yes, and there it is.  He was actually still married; there was no ex.  It was just his wife.  I then did some extra searching, found his address, when he bought and how much he paid for his house, and some other nifty details (he's a "devout" Mason).  I relished the moment when I casually dropped this bomb mentioned this information to him.  It was over sushi at my former favorite Japanese place and he'd had some sake.  I was waiting for just the right moment, because I wanted it to be perfect and I wanted to capture his reaction forever in my mind.  Everything went perfectly and he knew, or at least should have known, that the game had surely changed.  I no longer believed anything he said, even though he continued trying to lie.  Poor thing.

As a random follow up, I noticed (because he and I had become Facebook friends) that a picture with a familiar background popped up in my newsfeed one day.

Most of you may not know me or the places I've lived but that's my former bathroom LOL!  This dude took this selfie in my bathroom, with my bright yellow sink and facial cleansers on the counter LOL!  I found it quite hilarious and promptly posted it on my page for the ridicule it deserved.

Anyway, moving right along.


My reveling in his discomfort probably says more about me than him but so be it.  I enjoy catching people in their lies especially when they make it so very easy.  More importantly, though, I have to wonder why some guys will go out of their way to tell such horrific and easily traceable lies.  I mean, fundamentally, WE DON'T GO TOGETHER.  I have not asked you the questions that would even require such a lie which means you're lying just to be lying.  Just because it sounds good coming out of your mouth and, likely, because you think it's true I want to hear this nonsense.  Like, you think I will like you more if you tell me these stories despite the fact that your behavior and shadiness doesn't give you away.

Sir, you're not as smart as you are good looking you think.

I have a friend who has a friend who was so stealth about her lie tracking abilities that she went to the odometer on her man.  You know how the mafia goes to the proverbial mattresses when things get sticky?  Yeah, she went to the odometer like that.  Apparently it is 20 miles between the home and work, where her man dropped her off.  Somehow, however, when he arrived to pick her up, there were only 18 miles recorded.  So, to recap....

Not only did he recognize that whatever he was doing was wrong, but he knew that he should at least try to rewind the odometer to cover his tracks.

Except his math wasn't that good....so close, yet so far....

Another friend was dealing with this guy we'll call Fuqua.  Fuqua was CONSTANTLY trying to insinuate himself into her social circle, catching an attitude if he wasn't invited to the latest cookout or party, and assuming that every stop in New York meant he would use her place as a hotel visit for the overnight.  Fuqua was friendly enough and made kind of the perfect "+1" if you needed a cool person to laugh at things with.  He certainly wasn't "man" material and there was never any expectation that things would progress beyond where they were.  Except, Fuqua kept behaving in ways that appeared to be contradictory to that entire agreement.

You see, Fuqua had children and one of the cardinal rules, that is clearly and explicitly understood among my group of friends, is that you don't meet kids and/or other family members unless things are really serious.  People obviously need to be vetted by friends, but family is a whole other issue.  So, for all these years, my friend never met dude's family or his kids.  He, however, kept talking like he wanted more but couldn't seem to make his behavior match up.  He would tell her he was into and interested in her and then disappear for months....until he needed a hotel to visit New York.







 But then when my friend would say, clearly you need some time and space to yourself - the time and space he would provide for himself by these self-imposed hiatuses - he would try to swing back into the picture, reinvent the "I'm feeling you and want to spend time together" speech, and the cycle would begin again.  We would all roll our eyes but Fuqua had a lot of jokes.  He was kind of like Kevin Hart if he had all the funny sucked out of him just, umm, maybe not that a little less funny.

Recently, he reached out to do the "Maintenance Hello".  You guys know that contact; where you touch base just in case, later, you want to ignite an old, extinguished flame that should have been thoroughly doused that may still have an ember or two still hot because you're kind of bored the regular contact keeps it smoldering.  Anyway, he reached out a couple of months ago.  My friend responded, and he never responded back. Typical.  But then a picture surfaced on his Facebook page.  This picture was with a woman - a woman who was not, surprise surprise, my homegirl.  The comments on the photo alluded to the fact that he had been in a relationship with this woman for a year; they were celebrating their anniversary.

Oh?






So, you can do this Ember Maintenance with someone you claim you're into all the while you're ACTUALLY in a relationship with someone else?  You'll introduce, apparently, a myriad of women to your children so that assures they'll have a really good understanding of how relationships between men and women work.  Good job, sir.  GTFOHWTBS This, right here, is the level of your fail as a father.



WHYYYY go through the drama?  Guys, at times, will say they don't want drama except for the fact that their lies create the very drama they claim they want to avoid.  We're in the 21st century so women are not always trying to tie somebody down, marry them, and populate the earth with tons of kids.  We're all just trying to find people and/or situations that make us happy and keep our lives in balance.  Lying just really messes all of that up.

Recently, a guy on POF reached out to re-establish contact after inboxing me about a year ago, expressing interest, and then disappearing.  We spoke Friday and were supposed to have brunch today, except - true to form and as predicted - there was no outreach and no brunch.  See, I've gotten to the point where I decide, pretty quickly, if you're full of BS and this dude was SURELY full of it.  The sad, sad part (as I slept through most of the morning until the early afternoon because I had a WICKED game of squash after a killer workout yesterday) is that he really, really thought I believed we were going out.  He got upset when I had that tone of incredulity in our communication around the brunch and he went to great lengths to assure me this time was different.


OF COURSE this time was not different and it only affirmed my notion that dudes lie just to be lying.  And that's a huge problem.  I mean, we've all told a lie before - we've all sinned and fallen short of the glory.  But dang, dudes, ya'll take it to a WHOLE new level.  Like, you are really doing the most.  Not only is it important to you to tell the lie and try to make it convincing, but you insist upon telling the lie until you feel we actually believe you.


The truth is we never believe you.  We always know the truth and we will Sherlock Holmes you, when appropriate, to get to the bottom of things when they sound ridiculous and fishy.  Chances are it is in your ENTIRELY AND WHOLLY best interest to be honest from the door.  It saves everybody a lot of eye rolling and side eye in the future LOL!  Because, at this rate, I don't know how much side eye I have left in me.  My eyes might get stuck like that.

I'd Like My Eggs Over Medium, Please.....

One of my closest friends is odd.  Well, most of my friends are odd because I'm odd.  So let me begin again.

I have a really good friend I've known since I was a freshman in college.  Since I'm 36, as of the writing of this particular post, I have known her half of my life.  She knows a lot about me and my habits, of course, and I'm pretty confident I know a lot about her and her habits.  One of our mutual habits is the need for food at particular times of the day.  Breakfast, as it turns out, is one of the meals we like to have often.  I prefer mine daily.  Her?  Maybe less so!  When we're able to grab breakfast together, she knows what I'll be ordering and I know what she'll be ordering.  My order is boring.  There is a lot of swine.  My homegirl?

"I'd like two eggs, over medium."

OK.  I don't know how many of you enjoy this particular style of egg but, from what I can tell, it's hard to get right.  An egg cooked not long enough is over easy - no bueno.  An egg cooked too long is over hard - no bueno.  The over medium egg is more art than science, I've come to find out, and many chefs we've experienced are not artists.  The eggs rarely come out the way she wants them and I ask, "Yo, WHY do you keep ordering eggs over medium?  You know they never get it right!" and I have this, like, annoyed, exasperated, but still sort of amused chuckle that accompanies the question I've been asking her for almost twenty years.  And her response has been the same...

"Because one day, they'll get it right."

And such is the crux of the breakfast quagmire.  Do you order what you know is easy for people to make?  Or do you keep trying to get the thing you want because you know, when you get it, it'll be divine?

These are the same questions I find myself asking as I try to navigate this mystical world of dating in the 21st century.  I bet you didn't think I could make eggs and dating go together.  You were wrong.

It's ok.

So, yeah, that response, or rather the spirit behind it, is the crux of both the breakfast quagmire as well as the dating quagmire.  As I mentioned earlier, I'm 36.  When you round up, my age becomes 40.  So I'm almost 40, I'm (deliberately) single, I have a dog and a cat (because having more than 1 cat automatically equals Cat Lady status), own my own home, and drive a car that's leased under my name.  I work, I go to the gym, and I spend more time with spreadsheets that I ever thought was humanly possible.

I enjoy my single life to the extent that I am extraordinarily appreciative of the freedom I have.  I've been in relationships where I just wished I was out of them on any given day.  I also know people who stay in relationships simply because they are afraid to be alone.  I am thankful to every possible deity that this is not my reality.  Instead, I'm kind of just a serial dater but, even more than that and perhaps more accurately, I just have an active online dating presence.  I have profiles on POF and OK Cupid, and just wrapped up a profoundly disappointing year with eHarmony and Match.com.

What I have come to realize, while keeping these profiles on the free sites (mind you, paying for a site doesn't make the crop any more wonderful), is that I am likely going to remain single forever.  While I had some wild days in my 20s, those times are long past and I'm a bit older and more mature in my outlook on life.  I expect men to take the lead, particularly if they subscribe to the notion that the man is the "head of the household" and all that such suchery.  Yes, I do prefer expressions of traditional gender roles and I do so unapologetically.

However, having these expectations, and even being pretty clear about them in conversations, doesn't seem to mean much of anything.

"....one day, they'll get it right."

I like to think that my profiles are sufficiently informative.  My POF profile is pretty brief and concise, while my OK Cupid profile is a bit longer and has more information in it.  However, both profiles definitely paint the picture of someone who knows what she wants and who expects a certain level of respect when being approached.  So either the guys who respond to the profile don't read (which is highly likely) or they DO read and believe that I'm actually just kidding (equally as likely).  You wouldn't believe the kinds of notes I get.  Seriously.  You wouldn't.  So, in order for you to understand the depths of my struggle, here are some screenshots.  Think, like, Buzzfeed meets, ummm, meets......Just kind of maybe think of this as a sort of Buzzfeed situation.  To my Facebook friend, you can stop reading now because you've already seen these photos on my page LOL but feel free to direct your friends here so they
, too, can revel in the tomfoolery herein.

For the purposes of continuity, I will rate these fools like my homegirl rates her eggs: over easy, over medium, and over hard.  An over easy man is somebody so sloppy and lazy that they either think you're easy or they actually ARE easy.  Over hard men are those extra freaky, nasty message sending guys with names like freaknasty69 (an ode to a friend of mine who always seems to get notes from guys with some variation of 69 in their usernames).  Over easy and over hard can be difficult to distinguish, even for someone who has made the term up, so I'm open to disagreements about who is what.  BUT over medium is that perfect guy; the one with everything you need.  He won't be on this post because I can't laugh at him because there's nothing funny or inappropriate about who he is or what he has said or done.

I will ALSO use, perhaps all the time, my new obsession with Tinder lingo.  For those of you that don't know, Tinder is an app that allows you to anonymously judge someone, and whether you want to meet or get to know them, solely by their looks.  It links to Facebook so you can choose the photos you want to post (as you usually can with these sorts of things).  If you do NOT want to meet someone, you swipe the photo to the left and it's all "Nope" for them!  If you DO want to meet someone, you swipe their photo to the right and it's all "Liked" for them!  So, I may say, for some, #leftswipe or #rightswipe and, now, you'll know what I mean.

So, let us begin!

OVER EASY, for sure.  First of all, why are you taking a picture from underneath all of your chins?  I'm not a skinny woman, by any stretch of the imagination.  I workout, but my results ain't hardly what I want them to be just yet so I cannot say I'm only looking for Shaun T looking dudes.  But MY GOD TODAY, sir, please learn about how to showcase your best assets and they are not currently on display herein.

#LEFTSWIPEALLDAMNDAY

Number 2.

Over easy AND I'm not sure he's really looking for the things that I, as a woman with lady parts, really have to offer.  I understand that it's important to demonstrate that you workout in your home (or your grandmother's home), but the longing eyes and the "Leroy from Fame" braids WITH the accessories on the ends, say to me that maybe I should introduce you to some other friends of mine..........

#LEFTSWIPE

Number 3.

OK, so here we have a fairly attractive dude who sent the first note over on the left.  We had never spoken and I had no idea who he was when I got his note.  I checked his profile, mainly out of curiosity, and then replied, as you can see on the left.  I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to say?  So, apparently, he was shocked by the ambivalence of my reply, as you can see on the right.  And, I guess everybody thinks every city/town in CT is near every other city/town in CT.  I'm here to tell you, it ain't.  And even if it ain't, sir, I could not care less where you were going to be on the weekend in question.   Over hard and a QUICK #leftswipe for you.

Number 4.

Over.  Damn.  Easy.  and LEFT THE HELL SWIPE!!!!!!!  How......why......so.....what??????  OK, so this dude, according to his profile, is a truck driver and his initial note to me mentioned he was going to be in New Hampshire.  So now, in this correspondence, he is thinking I would have wanted an invitation to "ride" in his truck and that I would actually jump in the truck and be like let's go!  NO SIR!!!

But the other piece of this that is disturbing is that guys tend to always want to offer their number before they even know my name.  I hate that and find it presumptuous and obnoxious.  What has this world come to where men, who will often say they want to be the head of the household and run things, always want women to call or pursue them?  I am not about that life at all, in any way.  In fact, I wrote another blog entry about this phenomenon and how destructive it is.  Just sad.  SAD!

I mean, basically, dating in the 21st century is already a really tricky situation.  Online dating sites and dynamic shifts in gender roles and relationships expectations have created atmospheres wherein finding the right person is damn near impossible.  It's like finding a needle in a haystack or, in the words of my friend, trying to chase that ever evasive over medium egg.

#exhale #lesigh #mylifeat36

Sometimes it's really tempting to just kind of go with what's easiest; date the person who just appears and demonstrates a base level of interest and doesn't cause problems.  But that's a lot like just grabbing the low hanging fruit - that which is most convenient, not that which is the juiciest and most wonderful.  While it is sometimes painful, we need to make sure that loneliness does not drive us into the arms or lives of the wrong person, a #leftswipe.

It's a challenge and an annoyance to keep trying different things before the over medium eggs finally appear on your plate.  But, hell.  I'll wait.

Because one day, it'll be right.  He'll be right.  The situation will be right.