It has become the thing to do for women of my generation: head to Nordstrom's and be fitted for a bra. A girl's first bra fitting (or however she got her first bra... I think my mom just brought some home) is a legendary event, I don't think any of us ever envisioned there'd be this second pilgrimage. Yet cautioned by Oprah and Glamour about how many women wear the wrong size, and uncomfortable/unflattering that can be, I finally joined my sisters and invited a woman about my age to come into my dressing room and check out my rack.
While I did not find out (shock!) that I was in the wrong size, I was thrilled to have some service in finding bras. My normal shopping experience goes like this: find cute bras, check for my size (which they make) but is not there, find bras in my size but they are padded which I do not like, find racks and racks of bras that do not come in my size, start to feel very unloved and woe-is-me and I-do-not-belong-here, and ultimately buy a new version of the exact same bra I have because it's all I can find. In fact, I'd had the same experience wandering around Nordstrom that day before I got the courage to ask someone to check me out.
But hark! The efficient saleswoman came back with an armload of bras in my size that I do not already own and that are not padded! Hurrah! Never again will I wander around woebegone. Now I'll always avail myself of expert service, reigning like a queen from my dressing room as they deftly select from the collection they know so well.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Trip planning
The art of trip planning is one that is intensely personal. Do you like to have your restaurant reservations booked in advance? Do you feel burdened by plans and expectations? Husband and I try to strike a balance, researching enough to know that we're not missing out on something amazing but arriving with some ideas of things we'd like to do. We've also learned a few things about ourselves, namely, that we do not like uncertainty--we'll gladly pay the campground reservation fee, even if it doesn't seem likely to fill up, and we like to be early for things like planes and ferries and the like.
Here's a short list of resources we usually consult:
Frommers.com is a great place to start, because it's free and gives a good overview. It's good for making the big decisions, like "Do I want to stay on this island or that one?"
From there, guidebooks always provide a good overview, although I approach them with a bit of skepticism. Rough Guides tend to be my favorite, followed by the Hidden series and Lonely Planet.
My favorite source is the New York Times, which archives an extensive library of travel articles. Their "36 hours in ____" is always a good feature, although I certainly never aspire to abide by their ambitious itineraries.
Lastly, my most invaluable source is blogs. I read a lot of bloggers from the Pacific Northwest, so for our latest trip I was inspired by the advice of Orangette, Not Martha, Tea and Cookies, and ShelTerrific. Don't read any local blogs? Search on blog search engines to stumble upon some unwitting reviews.
Here's a short list of resources we usually consult:
Frommers.com is a great place to start, because it's free and gives a good overview. It's good for making the big decisions, like "Do I want to stay on this island or that one?"
From there, guidebooks always provide a good overview, although I approach them with a bit of skepticism. Rough Guides tend to be my favorite, followed by the Hidden series and Lonely Planet.
My favorite source is the New York Times, which archives an extensive library of travel articles. Their "36 hours in ____" is always a good feature, although I certainly never aspire to abide by their ambitious itineraries.
Lastly, my most invaluable source is blogs. I read a lot of bloggers from the Pacific Northwest, so for our latest trip I was inspired by the advice of Orangette, Not Martha, Tea and Cookies, and ShelTerrific. Don't read any local blogs? Search on blog search engines to stumble upon some unwitting reviews.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Marathon #7 - Paavo
Since Husband can't do the Twin Cities Marathon this fall, we looked for another option to keep him in training. We settled on the Paavo Nurmi Marathon in Hurley, Wisconsin. After reading its rousing history, how could we not?
"The cream of the Midwest distance runners traditionally join forces with hundreds of novice and veteran marathoners for the running of 'The Paavo,'" claims the website. "The marathon enjoyed its zenith in the mid-1970's, when over 1,100 runners would take to the course. As the national craze in distance running faded by the 1980s, so did the interest in the Paavo as marathon. But the machine that drives the Paavo kept going, and while marathons around the nation ceased to run, the Paavo kept churning away, mile after mile, year after year.
I hadn't prepared for the race, training up to only 16 miles with my Twin Cities marathon group. I was wavering between the dream of going for the PR in anonymity (there's something about running a race without having people know about it or watch me that I like sometimes) or having a good ol' fun run. Running buddy AP had been talking about "soul running" lately... running how you feel and not looking at your watch... so I decided to take her advice and commit to good spirits.
Husband and I kept together for the requisite 13 miles, enjoying the scenery as we ran through a series of cute town and gorgeous range country wilderness, enjoying the company of other runners, and me calling out "Too fast!" when Husband unknowingly sped up to 8:20s. We separated to within eyesight after that, trudging through some of the hardest miles psychologically, 18-22.
We met up again at 23, and boy was I glad to finally catch up with him. "We'll take it in easy, run it in together," I thought. "How fitting for our 6th anniversary." As it happens at this point of the race, our paces weren't quite the same, and it becomes crucial to run and walk according to your own schedule. So we separated again without explanation
Mile 24.5-25.5 were uphill, the "Cemetery Hill" the veterans had talked about with understated Midwestern stoicism on the bus ride to the start. I decided that running the hills was at odds with my commitment to have fun, so I walked up them smiling at the cars driving by and imaging an invisible sign on myself, "Saving myself for Twin Cities!"
As lighthearted as I make these recaps, I should admit that I also have a deep fear of descending into ambulance-land again. At this point in the race it becomes really important for me to feel that I don't have to push it, that I should tail but not pass the person in front of me, that I shouldn't hurt.
I picked it up again as the hill leveled off, and soon saw a sign for mile 26. I knew I could certainly run it in from here, so I kicked it in and turned onto the main street. And this is why you do small marathons: It was just me, and a few blocks lined with spectators until the finish line. I busted it out in a big ol' sprint with people cheering just for me and the announcer calling my name and time--the greatest feeling in the world. Especially when I saw the clock, which to my surprise, told me I'd taken yet another few minutes off my PR time -- 4:12 and change.
Husband sprinted it in a few minutes later and we celebrated, picking up our bright orange shirts and medals ("I finished the Paavo" boasts the sparkley orange ribbon, perhaps the best medal ever). It was a great end to a great vacation, and a wonderful way to celebrate our 6th anniversary.
"The cream of the Midwest distance runners traditionally join forces with hundreds of novice and veteran marathoners for the running of 'The Paavo,'" claims the website. "The marathon enjoyed its zenith in the mid-1970's, when over 1,100 runners would take to the course. As the national craze in distance running faded by the 1980s, so did the interest in the Paavo as marathon. But the machine that drives the Paavo kept going, and while marathons around the nation ceased to run, the Paavo kept churning away, mile after mile, year after year.
The marathon's namesake was the winner of nine Olympic gold medals, the greatest Finnish runner in that nation's history. The name reflects the Finnish nature of the Hurley area.
I hadn't prepared for the race, training up to only 16 miles with my Twin Cities marathon group. I was wavering between the dream of going for the PR in anonymity (there's something about running a race without having people know about it or watch me that I like sometimes) or having a good ol' fun run. Running buddy AP had been talking about "soul running" lately... running how you feel and not looking at your watch... so I decided to take her advice and commit to good spirits.
Husband and I kept together for the requisite 13 miles, enjoying the scenery as we ran through a series of cute town and gorgeous range country wilderness, enjoying the company of other runners, and me calling out "Too fast!" when Husband unknowingly sped up to 8:20s. We separated to within eyesight after that, trudging through some of the hardest miles psychologically, 18-22.
We met up again at 23, and boy was I glad to finally catch up with him. "We'll take it in easy, run it in together," I thought. "How fitting for our 6th anniversary." As it happens at this point of the race, our paces weren't quite the same, and it becomes crucial to run and walk according to your own schedule. So we separated again without explanation
Mile 24.5-25.5 were uphill, the "Cemetery Hill" the veterans had talked about with understated Midwestern stoicism on the bus ride to the start. I decided that running the hills was at odds with my commitment to have fun, so I walked up them smiling at the cars driving by and imaging an invisible sign on myself, "Saving myself for Twin Cities!"
As lighthearted as I make these recaps, I should admit that I also have a deep fear of descending into ambulance-land again. At this point in the race it becomes really important for me to feel that I don't have to push it, that I should tail but not pass the person in front of me, that I shouldn't hurt.
I picked it up again as the hill leveled off, and soon saw a sign for mile 26. I knew I could certainly run it in from here, so I kicked it in and turned onto the main street. And this is why you do small marathons: It was just me, and a few blocks lined with spectators until the finish line. I busted it out in a big ol' sprint with people cheering just for me and the announcer calling my name and time--the greatest feeling in the world. Especially when I saw the clock, which to my surprise, told me I'd taken yet another few minutes off my PR time -- 4:12 and change.
Husband sprinted it in a few minutes later and we celebrated, picking up our bright orange shirts and medals ("I finished the Paavo" boasts the sparkley orange ribbon, perhaps the best medal ever). It was a great end to a great vacation, and a wonderful way to celebrate our 6th anniversary.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Seattle/Victoria
There was only one thing keeping me from visiting the Pacific Northwest: the conviction that if I saw the glory firsthand I'd have to move there. Between the mountains and the climate and the coffee we were pretty much hooked... I think the only thing that saved us is that we didn't go to Oregon.
Planning our trip was difficult because we could have spent a week in each place. Instead, we afforded Seattle only a day and a half. Luckily, we had a good tour guide--our college friend E.
He took us to some of his favorite neighborhoods and haunts (who knew salmon could climb stairs?), ate nostalgic Canadian food with us at Pike's Place Market (the Steelhead Diner's poutine; they also make a mean martini), nearly threw up from the dizzying views with us at the Seattle Public Library, finally, crashed sleepily with us at Gas Works Park.
We allotted the amazing Olympic National Park just a day and a half as well... enough time to hike to Sol Duc Falls, soak for hours in the hot springs, and drink local beer on the porch of our cabin and stare in awe at the mountains.
Canadophiles that we are, we gave Vancouver Island and the city of Victoria two days.
Highlights included a visit to the cute waterfront town of Cowichan Bay, our fabulous campsite at Goldstream Provincial Park, and touring Victoria, including the Royal British Columbia Museum, smoothies at Rebar, Munro's Books, and having cocktails and yes, more poutine, at Canoe Brewpub.
But alas, it was in Victoria that disaster struck. When we arrived midday on the ferry, there were huge crowds and detours in the city proper. A quick peek at our guides confirmed it was the 150th anniversary of the founding of British Columbia. Instead of coming back into town after setting up camp, we headed north. The next morning we learned from a chatty young storeclerk that the BC150 event culminated in free concert by Feist! Oh, the pain! Husband and I stood struck dumb. It was minutes before we could utter cries of anguish.
We spent out last night on Whidbey Island... and man, I could have spent a week at the gorgeous, historic Captain Whidbey Inn, going on runs around the coast, sipping local wine on the patio at dusk, reading on the dock, and sleeping in the softest, most perfect bed ever.
It was a fabulous trip!
Next time in the Pacific Northwest:
1. More camping and hiking at Olympic
2. Vancouver
3. Oregon
Planning our trip was difficult because we could have spent a week in each place. Instead, we afforded Seattle only a day and a half. Luckily, we had a good tour guide--our college friend E.
He took us to some of his favorite neighborhoods and haunts (who knew salmon could climb stairs?), ate nostalgic Canadian food with us at Pike's Place Market (the Steelhead Diner's poutine; they also make a mean martini), nearly threw up from the dizzying views with us at the Seattle Public Library, finally, crashed sleepily with us at Gas Works Park.
We allotted the amazing Olympic National Park just a day and a half as well... enough time to hike to Sol Duc Falls, soak for hours in the hot springs, and drink local beer on the porch of our cabin and stare in awe at the mountains.
Canadophiles that we are, we gave Vancouver Island and the city of Victoria two days.
Highlights included a visit to the cute waterfront town of Cowichan Bay, our fabulous campsite at Goldstream Provincial Park, and touring Victoria, including the Royal British Columbia Museum, smoothies at Rebar, Munro's Books, and having cocktails and yes, more poutine, at Canoe Brewpub.
But alas, it was in Victoria that disaster struck. When we arrived midday on the ferry, there were huge crowds and detours in the city proper. A quick peek at our guides confirmed it was the 150th anniversary of the founding of British Columbia. Instead of coming back into town after setting up camp, we headed north. The next morning we learned from a chatty young storeclerk that the BC150 event culminated in free concert by Feist! Oh, the pain! Husband and I stood struck dumb. It was minutes before we could utter cries of anguish.
We spent out last night on Whidbey Island... and man, I could have spent a week at the gorgeous, historic Captain Whidbey Inn, going on runs around the coast, sipping local wine on the patio at dusk, reading on the dock, and sleeping in the softest, most perfect bed ever.
It was a fabulous trip!
Next time in the Pacific Northwest:
1. More camping and hiking at Olympic
2. Vancouver
3. Oregon
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