Back on the slopes

After tearing my ACL (and then some) skiing five years ago, I wasn't sure I'd ever ski again. I wanted to, of course, but I'd since torn it a second time and never fully recovered. When given the opportunity to try again this weekend, I just had to go. Mom reluctantly mailed my ski coat and ski pants, and I promised to wear my brace and do my physical therapy exercises all week pre-trip. I rounded up two friends from home who live close by and off we went to Whitetail, Pennsylvania.

Strapping on the knee brace felt good and secure. To make myself feel even better, I met up with a group of beginner skiers to take a lesson. Most.boring.hour.of.my.life. Before the lesson had ended, I was already on a lift and ready for my first run of the day, breathing deeply and praying the whole way.

I'd love to say that I looked like a pro and handled myself with confidence but nothing could be further from the truth. I was freaking out. I mean, I knew you used your knees to ski, but holy crap, I didn't remember how much! I'm sure that hearing me speak became a blur of:

"My knee . . . blah, blah . . . knee hurts . . . . blah, blah . . . knees . . . scared . . still weak . . blah, blah . . my knee . . . knees . . . blah, blah. . "

You get the point.

But after a short while, I loosened up and my form drastically improved. I love being on the slopes and wish it could become another hobby of mine, but when my knee is aching the entire time, I'm seeing people carried off on stretchers, and I'm having flashbacks of the Keystone Ski Clinic, it just doesn't seem like the most brilliant idea. One false move and I could, for the third time, be in need of a new ACL. And that thought really limits how much fun a person can have.

I did have a blast with my friends, and I hope to ski again sometime, but sadly I'll never make it to the moguls or even the intermediate slopes with this knee. Good thing green is my favorite color.

Week o' Fun

"I'm so excited. Omg, I'm gonna cry, I'm so excited." New Girl is passionate about her alma mater, Boston University. She's been a college grad for only 9 months, but they have been 9 months of reminiscing and desperately wishing the real world hadn't come so soon. She asked me to join in the festivities Monday night as BU faced BC in "The Beanpot" hockey tournament and all BU alumni gathered round the big screens to watch. I'm always up for something different, so I tagged along. I'd have been stupid to turn down free all-you-can-eat buffalo wings or the opportunity to be surrounded by contagious school spirit at a sporting event. It ended up being a good time, and I walked away with a full stomach, a free souvenir glass, and a new favorite sports bar in Chinatown. Check out their pizza:

Tuesday night, I watched my favorite baby in D.C. - Walker. He's starting to say more and more words - mainly "Buh-bye" and "Bawl". And he's so active, now running around the house getting into everything, that after an hour I was more ready to go to bed than he was. Click here to watch him play with the phone/fill his pants after I had just changed him.

Valentine's Day was set to be "the most romantic night of my life" or so the Evite said. After getting stuck in the snow three times in a one hour period, I finally ended up in Georgetown for a fondue party with my girlfriends. Honestly, I think fondue sounds a lot cooler than it is, but the dessert was quite tasty, and like every other V-Day I've had, I wasn't hating my life as a single. How could I be when I was dunking angel food cake and brownie bites in a pot of chocolate and peanut butter?

Last night, I laid low. I never have much energy to speak of on Friday nights. I've already put forth the effort of dressing myself and applying make-up once that day and the thought of doing it again doesn't excite me. I like starting with a fresh palette when getting ready, and I feel anything but fresh at the end of a work day. So instead of going out in public, I opted to cozy up on the couch at the Georgetown house and watch "Last of the Mohicans" and "Steel Magnolias" - two great movies that I'd never seen before. FYI: Edy's Slow Churned Yogurt is delicious, and the vanilla flavored bowl that I had was only 100 calories per half cup. Let's be real, no one is ever going to eat just a half cup, but the number sounds real nice.

Update: I did a little research on Edy's Slow Churned Vanilla Ice Cream v. Yogurt and the calories are the same, but the saturated fat, cholesterol, and sodium are slightly lower in yogurt, while the sugar and carbs are slightly higher. Interesting, no?

another fav

It should come as no surprise to anyone that I'm adding this site to my favorites.

(BTW, I've been to his #4 favorite and I wholeheartedly agree . . best steak ever!)

blessings

We gathered tonight for a cabaret-style dinner: wine and amazing food and chocolate souffle and singing waiters. Six co-workers that still like each other on the weekends. It's nice. We toasted to camaraderie . . and promotions. New Girl and I will bid farewell to the ____ floor on Monday and move our things upstairs a floor. More responsibility and more money. Two very fantastic things. And both of us in the same department. The concern (voiced by co-workers) over our ever being parted has been assuaged. And I'm glad. Because she brings laughter to my day. I roll my eyes and smile simultaneously. The girl I once wished to the other side of the office is now my best friend in the District. She's one reason in many that I love my job and I love my new home. One proof of many that God is the orchestrator of my life.

Sick-o

I can now say from experience . . food poisoning sucks. Not that it ever sounded pleasant. Rather than celebrate our promotions with a gourmet dinner as planned, New Girl and I parted ways last night - she to the restaurant, despite my absence, and I to my bathroom to rid my poor stomach of the taquito salad I had eaten for lunch. I'm still not 100% after a full day of sleeping, watching "Kindergarten Cop", sucking on ice cubes and sipping Gatorade, reading 100 pages of Emma, and finally nursing half a bowl of chicken and rice soup, but I'm clearly feeling much better. Tomorrow is Friday and New Girl and I have plans to attend my church's Newcomer Potluck. Considering my recent unluckiness when it comes to food, I'm less than excited. Like Dad always says, "It's called a potluck, because you're lucky if you find the pot that you brought". Right now, there isn't much that sounds appealing to me, including a stranger's green bean casserole, but I am looking forward to the fellowship.

at the bike racks

You call me Mom, and you don't mean it in an endearing way. You're two seconds away from hurting me and putting me in my place. If we were younger, you'd chase me through the house until I found refuge behind a locked door, breathing heavily and knowing I'd narrowly escaped your wrath. Later, I'd come out and we'd play Matchbox cars in the basement and pretend that I never upset you. We'd create a city with stores and parking lots. Or we'd use your blanket - the one with the bright colored map full of winding roads. No need to invite friends over; we had each other. We liked each other. We agreed that riding bikes was fun. Saturday morning cartoons were easy to wake up for. Whole grain cereals tasted better with sugar on top. And snow trails in the backyard were the best part about winter. We were playmates as long as you didn't misbehave or do something stupid. Then I became Big Sister. Or as you call me, Mom.

It's because I read you books when you sat in your swing. It's because I knew you when you couldn't pronounce "ketchup" and "ice cream" (which by the way are two very important words). It's because I remember when you still wet the bed every night. And, let's be honest, it's because I can't keep my comments to myself.

One day at the bike racks in elementary school, the biggest kid in my class haughtily mocked your bike riding hobby, and I can still recall the rate at which my blood pressure rose. I dug my nails deep into both of his arms breaking skin and making him bleed and put my love for you behind a powerful kick to his shin. (Which left a bruise by the way.)

And that's how I still feel about you. I hate when people hurt you. I want you to ride your bike, do what makes you happy. And if you do it with a helmet on, I won't have to be Mom. But no matter what, I'll be at the bike racks loving you.