At It Again

It was still dark when the alarm went off this morning; my face still puffy from sleep. Why was I getting up so early again? I buried my face deep into my pillow, trying to recall how I had gotten myself into this. Oh yeah - marathon training. I was back in Vegas, partly to see Mouse, but also to tackle the Red Rocks Canyon loop. No matter how diligently I've been training back in SoCal, none of the routes can hold a candle to Red Rocks. So I had crashed at my LV training buddy's pad, and we were rousting ourselves at this ungodly hour to run the loop.

As expected, the route was brutal. Thank heavens it was equally breathtakingly beautiful, as Red Rocks always is, which helped to numb the pain brought on by the incredible hills. At times, it seemed like the climbs would never end. It hurt, but that's exactly what I was looking for. (Not exactly the pain, but the amped-up training, for sure.) So, even though my legs are now thoroughly shredded, I'm happy with our effort. It was another solid day of preparation for the marathon. Big Sur, here I come...

Deja Vu

Well, it looks like we're at it again. Doing the long distance thing, that is. How do we always seem to end up in this place? How does life always find a way to wedge itself between us, and push us miles apart? This certainly wasn't in the plan when we moved here. We didn't see it coming. But our jobs can be unpredictable and opportunities appear out of the blue, so we do our best to roll with the punches. This latest version of punch-rolling means he's back in Las Vegas, while I continue working out here. No more afternoon beach bocce. No snuggling on the couch. Our daily interaction is now limited to a couple of phone calls and the occasional text. It's not the ideal way to spend the final months of our newlywed year, but it will have to do for now.

I wish I could say I was taking advantage of his absence and living it up with my girlfriends. But, lately, I've been doing nothing but work, work, and more work. Our days apart are no more than a blur of various hospitals and patients, with a little bit of sleep thrown in for sanity. Life has definitely become less fun and more functional.

It won't be like this forever. This situation is most certainly temporary, and is only a means to our end. I think i might even be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Summer is approaching, and is bringing with it travel and changes. I only have to hold out a little while longer...

Cupcake Monday - Key Lime Cupcakes with Coconut Buttercream

Happy Monday! In order to start off the week on a good note, I decided to hold off on posting Friday's baking project until today. After all, what better way to start the week than by writing about sweets?

I haven't been baking all that much lately, not because I haven't wanted to, but because I haven't had a good excuse to. (I know, I know. Who really needs an excuse to bake, right? Well, I do. Go figure.) Anyway, seeing as how it was my Newport Bestie's birthday this past week and I had a big race on Saturday, I couldn't think of a reason not to bake.

Since my friend love, love, loves coconut frosting, I decided to go with a Key Lime Cupcake. I figured the tartness of the cupcake would compliment the sweet richness of the frosting. And guess what? It totally worked! I based my recipe off of one on found on What About Second Breakfast?, a great foodie blog. For the frosting, I used my tried and true adaptation of CakeLove's Coconut Buttercream, which derives it's richness from using a coconut pastry cream as the base. If you haven't tried this unorthodox frosting before, I highly recommend you get to it. It's addictive!

See below for the full recipe. Happy Monday!

No One to Blame But Myself

My lungs were burning.  My stomach was churning.  My quads screamed for mercy.  Let's face it, I was miserable, which was not exactly how I had planned on spending my Saturday morning.  OK - I admit that's not entirely true.  I brought this pain on myself.  I had planned on running this blasted race.  I just had no clue what I had gotten myself into.  I signed up for the Chesebro Half Marathon in Agoura Hills months ago, thinking it would be good training for Big Sur.  I reasoned a trail race would be the ideal training tool for the grueling hills that will dominate my upcoming marathon.  And, admittedly, it probably was.  (A good training tool, that is.)  It forced me to work on my speed, while negotiating steep terrain.  But, what I didn't count on was how incredibly difficult the course was actually going to be.  Some of the climbs were so unforgivingly steep that I had no choice but to walk for a moment or two.  (And, to be honest, my "running" pace probably wasn't much faster than a fast walk by that point, anyhow.)  Other times, even on seemingly flat terrain, I felt like I was barely crawling along.  It was frustrating, demoralizing, and maddening.  I've never felt more chewed up and spit out by any other course. And  I've certainly never been so happy to see the finish line materialize before me.  It definitely wasn't a PR kind of day, but I still finished with a respectable time of 1:48, which placed me 4th out of the 72 females in the 30-34 division, and 29th out 519 overall females.  I guess that will have to do.

Lucky Me

One of the many beauties of registry nursing is the wide variety of people I get to meet.  On any given night, I have no idea who I'm going to work with, or the conversations we're going to strike up.  I'm constantly stepping out of my comfort zone and putting myself out there.  I'm always the newbie on the unit; the one who's being scrutinized and judged.  Even if I go to the same hospital two nights in a row, I might not work on the same floor, so I have to prove myself all over again.  If I let it, it could be exhausting.  Instead, I try to think of it as an adventure.  (And isn't that what my life is all about?)  Sure, there are times when I want to go about my patient care unbothered.  There are definitely nights when wish I could go unnoticed and fade away into the background.  But, more often than not, I run into the coolest people, and our chatter morphs into truly interesting conversations.  I've befriended some really stellar people out here that I would have never met, if not for my crazy job.  And, for that, I consider myself incredibly lucky.

Slept Away

By all accounts, this weekend was a bust.  Thanks to a crazy work week, I only had two days off, which were totally relinquished to sleep.  This happens from time to time, especially when I work an extra shift.  After staying up four nights in a row, despite sleeping well during the day, my body revolts and refuses to get out of bed.  It doesn't matter how many alarms I set, or great plans I've made; I'm overcome by the uncontrollable urge to slumber.  So this is exactly what I did.  All weekend.  What a waste!

What galls me most about my 48-hour sleep-fest is that the weather was absolutely gorgeous this weekend.  I meant to take advantage.  I really did.  I had plans.  I had notions of soaking up the rays on the beach, riding my cruiser on the bike path, and grabbing drinks with the girls on a sunny patio.  But, of course, none of that happened.  How could it?  I was too busy sleeping.  Ugh!

The only redeeming aspect of this entire weekend is that I woke up just long enough to squeeze in a 20-mile training run.  Even better, it felt surprisingly good.  (It better, with all of that sleep I got!)  I had spectacular ocean views and a stellar iPod playlist to keep my mind occupied.  My feet didn't hurt.  My legs were tired, but they held up nicely.  Don't get me wrong, I was exhausted by the end of the run, but I finished feeling strong and accomplished.  It's seven weeks and counting until the Big Sur International Marathon, and I'm feeling confident.  So, I guess this weekend wasn't a total bust, after all.

Crotchety Old Me

When does one transition from partying until the break of dawn to being the person who calls the cops on the people who are? I ask because I never felt my life make that transition. I have never seen myself as the latter. I don't have little ones. I'm proud of my boisterous social life. Nonetheless, I think I might be becoming THAT neighbor. You know - the party pooper of the block, who insists upon ruining everyone else's fun. Lately, I've been having visions of myself as a hunched-over grey-haired granny, shaking her wrinkled fists at all of the young whipper-snappers and their tomfoolery. No joke. This is how I've started seeing myself.

It all started with the new neighbors. We're a neighborhood of renters, so welcoming newbies is a frequent occasion, but these particular tenants appear a little younger than most on our block (21 at best), and are definitely louder. I've over-looked most of their obnoxiously loud parties because they end at a reasonable time. But when my bedroom walls started reverberating with technotronic beats at 3:30am last weekend, I was over it. I threw on some clothes, marched myself on over to their place, pounded on their door, and told them to shut the tunes down. Like I said - I was THAT neighbor.

The funny thing is, as I was standing in front of these tanned, toned, and shirtless thieves of slumber, I experienced an epiphany. In my younger days, these would have been the boys I would have swooned over. They would have instilled butterflies in my stomach, and I would have eagerly hung out with them. And I would have never dared dream of confronting them.  I wouldn't have had the cojones. But now, their boyish charm did nothing. Their impish smiles didn't stand a chance against my stone cold gaze. I stood in front of them, feeling nothing but exhaustion and annoyance. That was my "aha!" moment; the moment I knew I am getting OLD.

I guess it would be one thing if this had been a singular occasion. But, of course, it wasn't. A couple of nights ago, our neighbors on the other side of the house (who are all responsible, employed professionals) decided to throw a random, midweek, tub-thumping bash. Again, I endured the wall-reverberating, sleep-thwarting, oomcha-oomcha-oomcha-ing until 3:30am. (Apparently, that's my WITCHY hour.) I could have done the neighborly thing. I could have walked over and politely asked them to turn it down. But, after hours of tossing, turning, and mentally cursing them, I didn't have an ounce of polite left in me. So, I called the cops. (I know, I know. I really am THAT neighbor.)

It's not that I'm opposed to the occasional late-night soirée. (Heaven knows I still partake in my share.) It's just that I oppose to anyone blatantly disregarding their neighbors' right to peaceful sleep. Go ahead and have fun; just don't keep me awake by doing so.

So, while I sit around and struggle with my increasing fuddy-duddyness, I hope my neighbors aren't secretly plotting my demise behind my back. Just please, let a girl sleep!