Treadmills and Hamster Wheels

My Wednesday brick was cancelled today due to rain.  Fortunately, I work for a great company on a fantastic office complex featuring a state-of-the-art gym that now includes spin bikes. Shannon, half of my vaunted Shan Clan training team, led the workout.  One hour and 600 hundred calories later, I was drenched in sweat, so much so that Shannon joked she could see my nipples poking through my mesh tank.  Hey, it was hot in there, OK?  My bike workout called for 1:15 so I spent the next 25 minutes on a recumbent stationary bike.  This was only made worse by dwelling on how much better it is to be outside riding with my friends and teammates.

But that's not all!  Since it was a brick, I needed to run for one hour.  Complicating matters was me leaving my running shoes in the car and being too lazy to schlep to the parking lot to retrieve them.  So I chose instead to use the elliptical machine because I was rockin' my low-top Chuck Taylor's, which offer absolutely no support for my flat and sensitive feet.

Let me assure you, two-plus hours indoors on spin bikes and treadmills feels like an eternity.  Might as well have been a four-hour workout. It's almost like the duration of indoor workouts feel the way dogs age -- in this instance on the opposite end of that exponential scale.

By the time my interminable workout ended, after stretching, showering, driving from Burbank for food and finishing it at home, it was 9:30 p.m.  My workout started at 5.

Some days, the world of training for an Ironman makes total sense.  The journey is pure, the cause is just, the scenery is beautiful and the company is even better.

Other days, I sit on my couch while blogging before bedtime wondering what the hell I'm doing.  It's 10 p.m. and I have to be up at 5:40 to be in the pool at 6 so I can run at 7.  All because I have a flight for a business trip at 11 a.m. -- one that I'll be home from by 8 p.m.

I suppose the irony of all this is that sometimes my life feels like it's on its own treadmill...with the speed ever-increasing while the resistance continues to elevate.  Along with my heart-rate.

Maybe it's more of a hamster wheel?

217 days and counting.

All That Jazz

Uuh.Uuuuuuuhhhhh.

That's what I sounded like this morning when trying to wake up early after a late evening out.  Seven hours earlier, I had consumed a half-glass of wine, most of a Belgian beer and part of another, yet my hangover indicated I might as well have downed a bottle of Prohibition era hooch.  Or the Ropa Vieja from Cha Cha Chicken might have done me in. Far spicier than I was used to, especially for a late dinner.  It all added up to vaporize my ambitious plans for a 7:30 a.m. trail run followed by a 9 a.m. swim.

This put me in a foul state.

I nixed the swim and decided to move it until tomorrow since I "only" have a 45-minute core workout.  That still left a 1.5 hour trail run with a headache and a chip on my shoulder.

Fortunately, an unintentional music experiment saved the workout, and my entire day.

I put my iPod on Shuffle mode as I started up the Nike trail atop Hayvenhurst Street.  A Coltrane tune was among the first to pop up.  I was about to change it when the riff caught hold of me.  Or maybe it was the cadence matching my strides.  Slow.  Pained.  Purposeful.  Like my mood.  I was hooked.

I selected all my Coltrane songs and played the entire Ken Burns Jazz documentary album.  The music channeled my feelings into notes.  As if Coltrane himself was writing just for me in that moment, like some street-corner musician that read into my mood just by taking one look at my body language.  Some songs were leisurely and languid, like my zone 1 and 2 warm-up strides, or the rolling green hills leading towards the Pacific Ocean.  Other tunes were fast-paced, almost frantic, like my my hummingbird heart-rate climbing the hills back from Westridge at the mouth of Mandeville Canyon.  Some songs stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, just like those steep grades I was determined to scale.

Listening to jazz on a sunny Sunday morning also reminded me of sitting in the back of my grandfather's Cadlillac El Dorado enjoying the golden oldies tunes on Sunday drives with him as a child.  These images, and Coltrane's musical journey turned another otherwise drab solo run into something quite memorable.  It reminded me of the pure joy of exercise on a Sunday morning.  When I could be at home doing any number of things -- including sleeping -- but was making a choice to better myself.  To take care of myself.  To simply do something for myself.

Training doesn't always have to feel that way.  If you're lucky, it can become transcendent.

Today, I had just that sort of experience, when I was least expecting it, from the unlikeliest of sources.

220 days and counting.

I Heard

Tonight, I heard a rumor from more than one source that Cal-Tech employees were sent home to prepare for a massive earthquake in Southern California.  The proverbial Big One. If you want to get anyone's attention who has ever spent a reasonable amount of time in the greater Los Angeles area, tell them you know something about The Big One and where and when it might occur.  If LA were a person, the Big One is our Achilles heel.  We are brought to our collective knees worrying about it and obsessing over it.

Of course, being the gullible person that I am, I tended to believe said rumor. Partially because two of the most credible people I know -- my father and my buddy John -- had been told the same thing by people they trusted.

Hours later, the Los Angeles Times and rumor debunking website Snopes.com rebuffed the rampant rumor, which spread on Twitter faster than a brush fire ignites on a windy, hot LA day.

As I sit down on my couch before bedtime to type, I realized this earthquake rumor and my Ironman training -- my other Big One -- are similar in one regard.  During the past several months, I've heard all sorts of stories about people bonking at Ironman, crashing days before the big event, or experiencing some grave misfortune after nearly a year of hard work and sacrifice.  Like an earthquake, these episodes are unpredictable, happen quickly, and the results can be shockingly painful. Numbing.

And like rumors, I've yet to meet someone who experienced an Ironman "Big One" on race day.  While the going certainly gets tough, the folks I've spoken with all finished.  Some have finished multiple Ironman events without experiencing a personal tremor.

I hope I can be so lucky.  Then again, maybe it's not luck at all, but preparation.  Like what I did this evening before learning that this rumor was a false one.  I used my triathlon transition bag to pack extra water, Clif Bars and Hammer gels.  Not to mention clothes, because navigating the streets of a chaotic and disoriented Los Angeles naked would really be a bad call.  I also checked over my emergency prep kit to actually see what's inside.

If I continue to prepare for Ironman in the same manner I prepared tonight for a massive earthquake that may never come, then hopefully the only Big One I experience will be the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment and pride when I achieve my goal time in Arizona of between 11:30 and 13 hours.

Then, the only quake you'd see is the "Ryan Shake."  And for the few people who actually get that inside joke, you know exactly what I'm talkin' 'bout.

Now, I'm going to get some rest.  Hopefully without any interruption.

226 days and counting.

Is it Worth it?

My day started just outside Oakland (running hill intervals on a treadmill), wound through Simi Valley for lunch with my parents along with an afternoon swim, swung briefly through Sherman Oaks and concluded in Palos Verdes, for a wedding.

Yeah, I'm a little tired.

Fitting in training on days like today is a real pain in the ass.  I enjoy the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction that comes with forcefully finding time to do something for myself.  However, it can come at a cost, mainly fatigue that reveals itself at inopportune moments at the end of the day. Such as at a wedding with all your friends.  While they're ramping up, I'm winding down -- like a toy solider running out of momentum.

It's moments like that where I admire professional athletes even more.  How do they find the balance to enjoy their lives while also putting in the necessary time and expending the energy EVERY DAY to be the very best at what they do? I "only" worked out 1.5 hours today, yet it was a significant feat to do so.  And it affected the flow of my entire day.

How do those of you who read this blog do it?  How do you feel when you do it?  After you do it?  Or if you aren't able to do it?

There are moments like right now, around 11 p.m. on a Friday night after an evening out with my lady, where I wonder if this whole Ironman journey is entirely healthy.  It forces me to compromise my social life, occasionally my work schedule and it can drastically affect my wallet.

What's the ROI here?

I know I'll be 100% fired up to train tomorrow.  But right now, at the end of a long day of planes, cabs, cars and toasts, I'm just a pile of exhaustion and confusion.

Why do I do this to myself?

229 days and counting.

A Surprise Training Partner

Talk about a role reversal. Usually I'm the one who jumps out of bed in the morning ready to train.  This morning, like the past few days, I just couldn't find the energy to rally.

Along comes Stephanie, who decided to join me for an easy run in my neighborhood.  She was chipper and bounded out of bed.

"Good morning! Good morning!" she exclaimed, dancing around the house.  (Of course, her photo doesn't back that claim up, but that had more to do with surprising her with the camera at 6:30 a.m.)

Ugh.

Fortunately, her energy charged me up.  This was the first time in several months that Steph decided to come running with me, mostly because my Fortius training schedule called for an "easy" run.  I convinced her last night that easy meant running at any pace I wanted to and that she wouldn't be holding me back.

Getting Steph to hold herself back though, that's another story. She has always liked sprinting as hard as possible for as long as possible, until she just couldn't exercise any more.  I used to tell her that her exercise style was somewhat of a metaphor for how she lived life -- never slowing down, rushing from one thing to the next, go-go-go-go!

This morning was different though.  I was able to show Steph the value of pacing.  We started off with a walk for five minutes before transitioning into something loosely resembling a jog.  We gradually increased our speed but never accelerated beyond a capacity to hold a conversation.  While it was hard for Steph at first -- not going at full throttle meant to her that she wasn't burning calories -- she stayed with the plan. Easy does it.

We maintained our casual pace for about 20 minutes before Steph had to get back to the condo and prepare for work.  I told her from the beginning the goal of the workout was for her to feel like she had more left in her fuel tank when she returned home.  She should feel refreshed and energized, not winded and spent.

That went out the window at the last street corner.  Steph ratcheted up the speed to about my 10k pace for the last 200 yards of our run...and gasped for air once we reached the front steps of the condo.

Old habits die hard!  I didn't discourage her either, running side-by-side and letting her dictate the pace.

We walked another few hundred yards to restore her heart rate.  After bidding my new training partner adieu, I continued my jog for another 40 minutes.  I wonder if my watch was broken because it certainly felt like I was running faster than 11-minute miles.  But, that's what the Garmin indicated.  I suppose it had something to do with last night's brick but I felt better than my speed indicated. Strange.

Now, I'm signing off to pack for this weekend's training activity:  Fortius Racing Goes Camping.  That's right, my Ironman training team is heading up to the site of the Wildflower Triathlon on May 1-2 for a weekend of training and instruction.  It's a four-hour drive from Sherman Oaks, so I'm taking the rest of the week off from work.  How many people take a vacation to work out?

Only us crazy Iron Madmen!

I likely won't have internet or cell phone access starting this afternoon, so there won't be a blog entry for Friday and probably Saturday.  Considering that my new spam filter indicates only a couple people are clicking on the blog links via Twitter, I know you're probably not that broken up about the break.

I will take plenty of photos for those friends who are competing at Wildflower and write a full report on what to expect.  Until then, get out there and train!

237 days and counting.

An Exclusive Fraternity

I had an interesting conversation with my buddy John this morning. We were talking about industry-related happenings when he asked me how I was doing post-engagement.  I told him that I actually felt different. Like I actually had changed inside just a little.  I had always heard about this mental shift, that "something just clicks" in your brain when you enter into the world of engagement and marriage.

It's true!

No longer is it just about me. While that was really fun for 35 years, I know that I have a far greater responsibility now.  To be a true partner in all aspects of life, putting Stephanie  and her needs at the top of the list with my own.  It means when friends want to visit from out of town, discussing first with Steph before blindly saying "Sure!  Come on over and crash on the couch."  I never used to think in those terms -- didn't have to.  But now, it's instinctive.  We...not me.

John chuckled when I shared this revelation.  "Welcome to the fraternity," he said, adding that there's a tighter bond among married guys than single guys because of thoughts just like this.

Huh.  The strange part is that I thought I was done with fraternities in college.  But I can say I'm as excited to enter this exclusive club as I was my freshman year at the University of Arizona.  The same sense of wonder is there.  Maybe a little anxiety too, of the unknown.  The motivations are different, but just as powerful.

I suppose you could say I'm now a pledge in Mu Delta: Married Dudes.  I'll become an active sometime between next February and July.

***

On the Ironman training front, I had my first brick workout in weeks. Instead of training in the morning though, I waited until the late afternoon, when I joined LA Tri Club and Fortius Coaching members on a 90-minute bike ride up and around Griffith Park followed by a 30-minute trail run.  I held my own but think my heart-rate was a little higher than I'd like, mostly zone 4 for the long hill bike climb that takes you to the Griffith Park Observatory.

I've never ridden up the long hill that passes the Hollywood sign.  The road is in poor shape but the climb is a very good workout.  And the reward -- a postcard view of the Los Angeles basin -- makes it all worth it.

Clearly though, the best part of the workout was having training partners to enjoy it with.  I'm going to shuffle my schedule around in the future to do the Wednesday bricks -- working early in the morning and leaving earlier in the evening.  It makes such a difference not to have to wake yourself up at the crack of dawn to train alone.  Plus, it keeps Steph happy since she knows I'm likely to be safer in a group setting.

And these are the things I want to consider now -- especially since it's likely in the Mu Delta pledge manual.

237 days and counting.

The Luckiest

Yesterday, I mentioned that one of my favorite Ryan/Stephanie songs is "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds.  It's a song that only begins to describe how I feel about my journey with Stephanie.  There's so much emotion in the singer's voice and I really tap into that feeling. Tonight though, I have to say it means something a little different.

The 21st Century dictates that nothing is considered "official" if it isn't posted on Facebook, Twitter or even Foursquare these days.  So when Steph and I posted our engagement news on Facebook, I knew we'd both receive some congratulatory comments.

What I didn't expect was the near 100 comments and wishes from friends and family.  Many of whom I haven't spoken directly with in years.

I truly feel among the luckiest people to have such a loving and supportive group surrounding me in my life.  While it only takes literally 10 seconds or less to post a "Mazel Tov!" or "Congrats!" on someone's wall, it really makes a difference.  I felt truly flattered and humbled by all the sincere gestures.  I would say it even added some extra time on the after-glow of the celebration of our announcement.

So, thank you, everyone.  Thank you.

On to the rest of my day.  Besides starting my first day as Steph's fiance, I returned to the world of Ironman training. The workout was simple: 40 minutes of easy spinning and 40 minutes of easy running.  Emphasis on "easy."  However, I felt really good this morning!  It's amazing what a week of rest can do for your body.  I did my best to hold back on the bike, but it was hard not to crank up the gears on the trainer.  I remember just a couple weeks ago how hard it was to get out of just the first gear.  Today, I wanted to pedal in the big chain immediately. I hope I can maintain that energy level for longer moving forward.

I enjoyed the run even more. Not for the physical activity itself.  But rather the feeling of running again.  The way my warm sweat cooled instantly in the balmy morning air.  The gentleness of the very slight breeze glancing off my visor and glistening forehead.  The long-lost bounce in my steps.  My pace was less than stellar, roughly 9:45-10:00, but the gentle zone 2 heart-rate assured me I had a lot more fuel in the energy tank than just a few weeks ago.  It makes me wonder whether my new Garmin would have helped me run a smarter LA Marathon had I better understood my pacing levels by using it sooner.  But then again, I know the kind of half-marathon pace I ran, and today I was intentionally holding myself back.  I'll keep an eye on this budding hypothesis.

The evening concluded with a Passover Seder at my parents' house in Simi Valley. Long-standing family friends joined us, along with my sister and her boyfriend, and Stephanie, of course.  In the past, I used to be so stressed out about whether my family would accept Steph, what Steph was thinking and feeling, and what I could do to make the situation better.  I cannot express how grateful I am that I don't have to think like that anymore. We all felt like a true family tonight.  A different kind of family, since my grandparents are no longer an active part of our lives.  But I know they would have been so happy at the sight of seeing a new generation of soon-to-be Schneiders experience a traditional family Seder.  It may be a little frenetic, a little crazy and a little off-the-wall.  But our Seder is our Seder, and it's truly one-of-a-kind.

I can honestly say I look forward to family events so much more than I have in the past.  It's nice to share them with the person I had always wanted to.

I am indeed the luckiest.

239 days and counting.

How I Met Your Mother Part 3: She Said YES!

I capped my week off from Ironman training the best way I knew how: I proposed to Stephanie.

Fortunately, she said YES.

We're engaged!  After five years and our share of ups and downs, we are finally going to get married!

(Yes, I know the first question you probably have now is, "When!?"  The answer is we're looking at February or July 2011.  Possibly May, but not likely.  We'll keep you posted, trust me.)

I'm guessing the second question is, "How did you propose???"

Well, here's the story.  For your reading pleasure, and our future kiddos, I give you: The Great Engagement Caper

Stephanie thought I couldn't surprise her.  She knows I'm a terrible liar and believed as a result that I was incapable of keeping a secret from her.

I took that as a personal challenge to prove her wrong.  And with help from her best friend, Annie, along with Steph's parents and a few other close friends, we conducted the ultimate shock and awe campaign.

First, the set-up.  Our first date was near Laguna Beach, at a restaurant called The Beach House.  Our first kiss was on Forest Street, just a couple blocks away.  As a result, I wanted to propose where it all started.  To do that though, I needed an excuse to get Stephanie down to Orange County without her suspecting anything.  Fortunately, she had family in town from Fresno and Hawaii, so that made yesterday an ideal opportunity.

Since Steph had a feeling I'd pick Orange County as the proposal site, I needed a secondary story to keep her guessing.  That's where Annie came in.  She and her husband of five months, David, married at the St. Regis Hotel in Lagnua Niguel.  So Annie and I made up a story that she and David were commemorating their marriage vows a little early at the hotel, and since we were down in the OC that she'd love to meet us for a celebratory drink.

Steph bought it without any hesitation.

The trap had been sprung.

The Ritz-Carlton in Laguna Niguel is across the street from the St. Regis on Pacific Coast Highway.  The St. Regis is on the left side of the road, and Ritz is on the right.  Instead of turning left into the St. Regis to meet Annie and David, we'd veer right, check in, and arrive to an ocean-view room decorated with rose petals, chilled champagne (thanks TJ!), and chocolate-covered strawberries.  Then, I'd pull the pouch out of my pocket with the ring, and propose.

The tertiary story was the ring itself.  I bought it on March 14, and the jeweler told Steph and I it would be ready in a few weeks. I tried to confuse Steph about the exact pick-up date so she wouldn't be expecting a proposal within a certain timeframe.  She didn't really accept that premise but it clouded the situation enough to help me distract her a bit.  All that mattered was that Steph wasn't expecting a proposal last night.

The truth is that I've had the ring since this past Monday, but it was ready three days after I bought it (thank you, Mr. Gabay!).  This is notable since Steph kept warning me not to keep the ring anywhere near my home since she would sniff it out.  Of course, I knew she wouldn't sniff in my gym bag at the foot of my bed, which is exactly where the ring and the wedding band hid for an entire week, including days where Steph stayed home from work since she got sick.

Guess her nose was clogged.

Anyways, back to the Great Engagement Caper story.  Yesterday's events started perfectly.  Annie, with the help of Steph's roommate Lucy, packed an overnight bag for Steph and gave it to me at 11:30 a.m., on my way to a conveniently scheduled haircut.  After a few hours apart to run errands, I picked Steph up at 4 p.m. from her apartment, complete with my overnight bag to stay at Steph's in Los Angeles.  See, she thought we were coming back to LA after the family outing, her friend Lauren's housewarming party and we were supposed to have drinks at a new rum bar in downtown LA after that.  Annie threw her the St. Regis curveball though.  Still, to keep the ruse in place, I had to bring a dinner jacket for the rum bar we weren't going to check out and hiking clothes for the Sunday hike we weren't going to embark upon.

Lots of bases to cover!

We made it to Steph's grandmother's home ("Oma" in Dutch, which along with Indonesian is Steph's family background) on time for a fantastic afternoon barbecue.  There were several members of Steph's family present, including Emily, perhaps the most adorable little 4 3/4-year-old girl I've ever met.  And she plays one mean game of Rock Band on her own iPod Touch, no less.  Emily shredded on a 42-note streak to a Foo Fighters song.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the future of gaming.

The hours quickly melted away at Oma's and I realized there was no way we were going to leave by 7:45 to make Lauren's housewarming party.  I whispered in Steph's ear that she should tell Lauren she can't make it and to reschedule her visit if we wanted to meet up with Annie and David still.  Reluctantly, Steph agreed.

Phew!

Eventually, we left Oma's around 9:10 p.m. after another 30-minute extension.  Considering I had the hotel booked five hours prior and the ice and chocolate were being set-up  in the room at 9, I was getting antsy. As we sped towards Laguna, Steph still had no idea what was about to transpire.  This was confirmed by her attitude when I exited the 73 Toll Road at El Toro Road instead of taking the tollway longer to make up time.

"You're going the wrong way! We're going to be another 25 minutes late now. I can't believe you're going this way.  This is so far out of the way"

Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy!

Of course, there was a method to my madness.  I wanted to take the long way so we could drive by The Beach House, drive by the site of our first kiss and generally stroll down memory lane.

Steph texted Annie that we were going to be late and huffed.  Of course, Annie immediately texted back telling Steph not to worry, that David and her were having a fabulous time and not to rush.  What a surprise.

Then, momentum turned in my favor.  We drove by our special sites, Steph relaxed and we cruised towards two separate destinations: The one in Steph's head and the actual goal.  As we approached both hotels, I switched my iPod from shuffle mode to a special mix of our favorite songs (see, '80s style tape mixes aren't dead after all!).  I knew I had two songs before she'd catch on that it was a music mix and not just a coincidental quirk.  The first song was "Married Life", the signature song from Pixar's UP, and the second was "The Luckiest," by Ben Folds.  Steph lightly protested when the second song came on, calling b.s. that the iPod could possibly match both songs back-to-back.  I kept my cool though, promising I had nothing to do with the anomoly and to just enjoy it.  She relented.

Phew!

Before the song even ended though, we had arrived at our destination(s).  As we approached, I slowly veered right.

Steph: "Honey, the St. Regis is to the left."  "Babe, you're going the wrong way."  "Babe!  The left!"

I turned gently on to Ritz Carlton Drive.

Ryan: "Change of plans, babe."

What ensued for the next 10-15 minutes was a jubilee of shock, denial, joy and shouting.

We glided in to the Ritz valet and Steph simply couldn't believe we were checking in. "I don't even have an overnight bag!" she exclaimed.

My favorite line of the night, what I had been waiting to utter more than any other besides, "Marry me":

"Gotcha covered.  And you thought I couldn't surprise you, eh?"

Steph staggered behind me  as she followed to our room, Number 4514.  I think she was murmuring something about not believing I could pull off such an act for so long, but it was jumbled by her own shrieks of joy and excitement.  We opened the door to the room.  She saw the elaborate set-up.

I pulled the pouch from my pants pocket, no longer having to feel like Frodo.

Hands shaking, I produced the ring, reminded myself to get on one knee and said:

"I love you.  Be my wife.  Marry me."

I always figured Steph would cry and not even be able to get a "Yes" out of her mouth.  That was kind of true, but it was because of shock, not just the emotion of the situation.

Of course, Steph managed to find a way to say yes.  We spent an hour talking about all the details of the Great Engagement Caper, including how I raced down to Irvine this past Tuesday evening to meet with her parents to formally ask their permission.  I had told her that I was attending a Fortius team yoga session and belated birthday dinner for Coach Gerardo.  She bought that too, though Steph today admitted she had a fleeting feeling on Thursday that I was indeed with her family.  She quickly put it out of her head though after remembering that I brought my yoga mat and clothes into the house.

Gotcha again!

We've been celebrating ever since.  Twenty-four hours of celebrating, literally.  Breakfast in the hotel room on the balcony overlooking the Pacific.  Enjoying the hotel pool.  Brunch at The Beach House.  Hunting for the exact spot of our first kiss (and debating about it).  Dining with Steph's parents at their favorite family restaurant.

And now, 24 hours later, home.

As an engaged couple.  The first day of a new life together.  With all new adventures to come.

I can't wait.

And tomorrow begins my re-emergence into Ironman training. I can't wait for that either.

In some ways all this feels like a triathlon on its own. I'm transitioning from one big phase of my life to another.  It's exciting, a little hectic and really just a big blur.  You can plan all you want, but come race day, you just have to go with the flow a little and hope for the best.  And, if you're lucky, everything works out perfectly, like it did last night.

I completed a massive sprint after a long marathon, and am now looking ahead to the next big event.

Marriage.  The ultimate Ironman.

240 days and counting.

Basking In Others' Achievements

It was so strange to sleep in this morning and to not be on the road, in the pool or on a trail. Most of my friends were, in fact. At big races, no less.  Richard did the Oceanside 70.3 Half-Ironman.  Anat, Ray and Gerardo ran the Cheseboro Half-Marathon.

Me?  I'm relishing the final moments of luxurious weekend free-time before jumping head-first into a hard-core training regimen.  The next big goal?  Vineman Half-Ironman.  July 18 is the target.

I'm currently on the wait list though, which adds a little bit of drama.  I should be able to get in though.  At least I'm planning for that.  The one big change I'll make for Vineman that I learned from my LA Marathon experience is to focus more about the event in front of me and less on the ultimate goal, Ironman Arizona. I need to respect each race on the calendar and not take anything for granted, the way perhaps I did with the marathon.  I assumed I'd be in great health and I'd hit my goals.  The actual race kind of snuck up on me since I was so focused on November 21 and not March 21.  You simply can't look ahead of any race, since the message I hear over and over from my training friends is that nothing matters except how you feel the morning of the race.  That's it.

Lesson learned.

One thing that I've also noticed throughout my weekend day of relaxation has been the joy I'm getting in hearing how my friends did at their races.  It's nice to sit back, not compare times, or be busy at the race myself.  I get to relax and celebrate others' accomplishments with them without a hint of competition or distraction.  I really like it!  I'm very happy for both Anat and Richard, who absolutely slayed their respective races.  It fuels my motivation to get back out there.  I needed that!

The rest of the day is going to be busy, which is why I'm writing now.  Steph and I have a family barbecue in Orange County, followed by a housewarming party for one of her closest friends, Lauren.  I'm excited to see everyone, and get my grub on!  Indonesian barbecue can't be beat!

One more day of non-training.  I'm right where I want to be: Eager. Energetic.  Excited.  MOTIVATED.

Ready.

241 days and counting.

Part 2: How I Met Your Mother

Here's the summary from today, so we can get on to the good stuff:

-- I slept in until 8:30 a.m.

-- I had four pieces of pizza for lunch.  Yes, I had salad too.

-- I enjoyed white rice with my chicken bowl for dinner -- bad carbs... scandalous!

-- And Carvel ice cream for dessert!

Yep, my down-time is going great.

But that's not what I'm going to blog about.

Instead, I'm going to write about the first time Stephanie and I met.  Why?  Because today we took the second-biggest step any modern couple takes when signifying a committed, long-term, stable relationship.

We changed our relationship status on Facebook.

Yep, I know.  Huge.

So how did this five-year odyssey begin?  Some of you know the story, many do not.  My future children certainly don't!

Kids, this is how I met your mother.

Friday, January 20, 2005 started off like any normal day for me.  I worked for a few hours and was preparing to enjoy our company's free catered Friday lunch when I realized we were having sub sandwiches.  Yuck!  I can't stand sub sandwiches, especially the kind that are catered to events because everything is soggy and you can't get rid of the smell in the kitchen for hours.  I left the office immediately, which worked out conveniently enough since the Beastie Boys' new album, To the 5 Boroughs, was hitting stores that day.

I used to think I was the forgotten fourth member of the Beasties.  I suppose every Jewish kid does at some point!

BTW, future children: An album, in this case something called a "compact disc" or CD, is what old people used to listen to their music in the late 20th Century and early 21st Century.

Fortunately, there's a Best Buy and food court a few blocks from where I work.   (Kids, places like Best Buy were referred to as a "retail stores", where people used to go IN-PERSON to buy their goods. Crazy, I know!)  It would be the perfect spot to grab a bite and the new CD before heading back to work.  I ended up going to Sbarro for a slice of pizza.  Funny thing is that I NEVER go to Sbarro for a slice of pizza.  In fact, I hadn't been to that Sbarro in the entire year of working at my company prior to that moment.  I have no idea what motivated me to do so.  This is important because I had gone to my usual spots in the food court (e.g., Sharkey's, California Sushi Roll) I would likely have been eating indoors.  Instead, I chose to enjoy the warm weather and slight breeze outside at a table by myself.

I had been minding my own business at the table or a few minutes when out of the corner of my eye I saw three people walking towards me.  No, wait... they're girls!  No, wait... they're three GOOD-LOOKING girls... and they're still walking towards me!

Who's the one in the middle, I thought.  Wow, she's gorgeous!

That would be Stephanie, wearing a pink sweater and white collared button-down shirt, hair flowing, hips swaying.

Pretty woman... she's walking back to me?  Really?

"Care for some company?" That's what Steph said to me.

I looked around.  There didn't seem to be any other tables available, so it made more sense that they would want to share a spot with a lone guy.  Still, I wasn't complaining.*

Now, my inner monologue was far different at this point than what came out of my mouth.  I realized immediately that this situation was not normal, and if I acted like my "normal" self I'd probably screw up a potentially Good Thing (TM).  So I instantly decided to be like George Costanza in Seinfeld and do everything opposite what I'd normally do in a moment such as this.

That meant playing it cool.

"Sure, go ahead," I said casually.  Meanwhile, what I was thinking was, "OH HELL YEAH!"  Followed by, "Am I being 'punk'd' by Ashton Kutcher? Game developer dude gets three pretty women surrounding him at lunch and hi-jinx ensue?"

Stephanie and her two friends started their lunch, giggling and chatting excitedly about women's shoes.

There's a lot I can take, but if you're going to crash my lunch party of one, PLEASE don't talk women's footwear.  I mean, come on.

"Ladies, I don't mind you sitting here at all, but is there anything else to talk about besides women's footwear?"

Why yes, yes there was.  Me!

Stephanie changed the subject to what my story was: What did I do for a living, where I was from, etc.  Turns out that she wanted to pursue a career in communications and marketing, which is what I was doing.  At the time Steph was an intern for The Walt Disney Company, hence her reason for eating lunch in Burbank.

It was her first time eating in that food court.

Are you sensing the "meant to be" factor yet?

Steph and I proceeded to entangle ourselves in debate about whether an MBA was necessary for marketing professionals. (Steph was pro and I was anti-MBA).  The chemistry was evident from the very start.  We spoke rapidly back and forth; it was as if Steph's other two friends weren't even at the table.  We maintained eye contact the entire time, which was easy considering I was hypnotized by her beauty and uncharacteristic poise, polish and charm.  I kept thinking to myself, "who IS this girl???" But I had to keep playing it cool.  This whole moment was just too good to be true, I thought.

So, I did what any cool, calm and collected dude would do -- I finished my slice of pizza and excused myself from the table.

"Ladies, it was truly a pleasure meeting you.  I'm going to pick up the latest Beastie Boys CD now and headed back to work.  I hope you have a great weekend."

And I started to walk away.  I was literally prepared to leave the conversation, which is mind-boggling now considering that Stephanie is going to be my partner for life.

Thankfully, Steph's friends caught on to what was happening and intervened.  One of them butted in and said, "You two have so much in common, you should exchange business cards or something."

THANK GOODNESS!  I was jumping up and down inside but had to play it cool.  So I did exactly the opposite of what I'd normally do: I reached into my wallet, pulled out a card, casually flipped it on the table and told Steph, "Sure, call or email me any time.  Happy to chat."

And that was it.

She emailed me that night.

I served as her mentor for six months.  The chemistry was explosive.  We began dating in June 2005, a story I'll save for another time.

To this day, Steph tells me how stunned she was that I didn't ask for her number.  I honestly figured that the moment was so unexpected that I shouldn't over-reach because I might spoil it.  Those gals already made that Friday special for me, so why screw it up by being like all the other guys and ask Steph out in front of her friends?

I can't be more grateful that one of Steph's friends saw the situation differently and gave me the perfect opportunity to continue the conversation.

A conversation that blossomed into a friendship, into a romance and into the greatest thing that's ever happened to me.

So, kids, that's how I met your mother.  And there's a lot more where that came from.

242 days and counting.

* = Years later, Stephanie would admit that there WERE other tables available. She spotted me and wanted to sit with me.  It's at this point that I should point out that Steph has trouble seeing clearly from far away, so her judging if I was good-looking should be balanced accordingly!  I should also point out that I was wearing beige pants with a subtle plaid pattern.  Had Steph seen those pants sooner, which I referred to as "angry grandpa pants", she is the first to admit that she probably would have sat someplace FAR away from me!  Can't say that I would have blamed her.