Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

A very long week now comes to a close. I'm a few hours away from boarding my vehicle with Ms. Rebecca to make my way south for the St. George Half Ironman. I can't believe the race is already here.

Why do I choose hobbies that require me to exercise this much? In my next life I'm going to get heavily involved in eating competitions. DON'T TRY AND STOP ME. There's a table full of apple pies with my name all over it already.

Feel free to track the progress of the race if you feel so inclined on Saturday morning. I believe this can be done on the Ironman St. George website through what the kids are calling "the Internets." There are also what the kids are call "the apps" for this, too.

And now, your Pictures and Distractions:

This is not from The Onion. I wonder if the same tactic would help in assessing my dating life.

Office Tamivilles

After yesterday's post regarding the happenings inside Tamiville, one Stranger, Suzanne, sent in the above photo. She posted signs on the doors of the Tamivilles in her office because she "likes to make her coworkers wonder."

Kisses

Today I walked into the bathroom at the office. Bathroom? Restroom? I never know what you're supposed to call it when it's not in your home. I know there isn't a bath in there. Unless I just haven't been very observant. But I don't like it when people call it "restroom." It sounds gross.

Who goes into the bathroom to rest? Maybe if they put a couch in there or some beds or that massage therapy music with dim lighting I could get behind "restroom." But they don't even have carpet. It's gross and somehow-always-a-little-damp tile. And florescent lighting. Nothing says "this place is not for resting. Move along." like florescent lighting.

And I refuse to call it "the toilet." First of all, a toilet is a single object and the whole room is not a toilet. Unless you are using any bathroom at any gas station in America in which case calling the whole room "the toilet" is probably appropriate. Or at least accurately descriptive. But in my office, "the toilet" should only refer to the porcelain bowls and the floor right below the urinals.

Flossing

I don't usually think time is generally accelerating until I get a notification that my dentist appointment is approaching. For many years I was terrified of the dentist because I always felt like dentist offices were kind of judgy. And not the good kind of judgy. The "your mouth is disgusting and you have bad oral hygiene" kind of judgy.

Because I was so terrified of the dentist for so long, I just didn't go. Like, never. I never went to the dentist for the majority of my 20s. This caused me a considerable amount of anxiety as I then felt like I probably had a number of ticking time bombs in my mouth that were not being addressed although they desperately needed to be addressed.

A couple of years ago I finally took the plunge and got a regular dentist and started doing bi-yearly check-ups. But I swear to you they must happen every other week. Because I feel like I return to the dentist WAY more than twice a year. I think someone is playing a joke on me. Or time is going faster these days.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

Today I went to a meeting where they planned to show 150 or so attorneys how to download their business cards onto their smart phones so we can all go "paperless" and share our contact information through texts. Whoever came up with this idea sorely overestimated the enthusiasm and ability of this group to embrace and understand this new fandangled technology. They had everyone pull out their phones so they could walk the group through the setup process.

You guys. You would have thought they asked us to build the phones from scratch using only objects found in the room. Within 10 minutes, people, mostly with their glasses pulled down to edge of their noses, were tapping their screens with excessive force, turning their phones around to examine the backs of them like they weren't quite sure which way to hold the device, and saying things like "how do you know when it's on?" Finally the woman started promising everyone one by one that she would come around to each office later and help folks individually. And THAT right there is how I know I chose the correct profession for myself.

And now, your Pictures and Distractions.

My friend, Olena, gave me this magnet several years ago when I was visiting Ukraine. She was so excited to find one in English. I didn't have the heart to tell her it was spelled incorrectly.

I Took the Road Less Traveled By

It was the same course I usually ride. A canyon opens near my house. It's a quick access way to get my bike out of the city and into nature. It's a beautiful place with a challenging climb.

I rushed home from the office, hoping I had just enough time before sunset to go for a half-decent ride. My legs were sore from Saturday's race, and I awkwardly climbed aboard Paul Cyclemon and slowly began pedaling, hoping to work the kinks out and ride more smoothly after a quick warm up.

Things started feeling a little better a mile or two in. But I felt a general fatigue. I wondered if I should have taken the day off to rest a little more. But I was already out on the road and so I rode on.

I made it to my turn-around point and stopped to drink some water. The road goes on and on for many more miles. Many more steep miles. But those miles would have to wait for another day. This was enough for me for that one ride.

The Proverbial Sandra

I knew Wade had signed up for the Salt Lake City half marathon several months ago and I don't like to be left out of anything so when I realized the Saturday race was approaching, I signed up on a whim last Tuesday.

It was actually pretty good timing. The half marathon would be exactly two weeks before the half Ironman and I had planned to run that distance on Saturday anyway so I thought I might as well do it in front of thousands of spectators so everyone could enjoy my hair.

Sometimes I feel selfish when I don't go out in public. I mean, did Michelangelo keep the Sistine Chapel in his basement? Not that the Sistine Chapel and my hair are a fair comparison. But all of that painting is still pretty impressive.

The race was phenomenal. Several Strangers cheered for me by name as I ran by, which was beyond exciting for me. Unless they weren't Strangers and they were actually just saying words that sounded like my name and I assumed they were cheering for me. Or maybe they weren't even cheering for me. Maybe they were mad at me and trying to tell me off and I just ran on by and didn't even stop to listen. This is actually very possible. They were yelling, after all.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

Wade and I are running a half marathon in Salt Lake on Saturday morning so to prepare we are eating a very large bag of Swedish Fish with Rebecca tonight (Thursday). Good friends sign up for endurance events with you. Best friends over-feed you candy right before those events happen.

And now, your Pictures & Distractions:

I've been sending threatening pictures from Annie's office, demanding that she return from maternity leave because it has been going on for an eternity or I'll destroy all of her things. Also I got new glasses. Hashtag selfie.

Texting Etiquette

Rebecca does this thing that drives me insane and I can't get her to stop doing it because I think she mostly does it just to drive me insane.

To explain what this thing is, I'll just give you an example. Let's say that Rebecca wants to send me the following text message (which text message she has sent before):

1. Eli, I need help right away. There is a dog in my yard. I can't go outside. Also I think I accidentally invited a homeless man to live with me. He took my car to run some errands. That was on Tuesday.

As you can see, the above blathering can very simply be sent in one text message. But Rebecca seems to think that texts have a very strict character limit. Because the above message will be sent like this:

Something Felt Strange

I rushed home on Friday evening to try to take advantage of the last couple of hours of daylight. The half Ironman is now less than three weeks away and training has been particularly difficult to squeeze in in recent months because job and responsibility. And lazy. And tv.

My job has turned into a jealous mistress and every second I'm not in the office tending to its needs is a second I'll have to pay for dearly at a later time.

NOT THAT WE KNOW WHAT JEALOUS OR MISTRESS ARE, CATHIE.

But on Friday, I was determined to make it out the door in time to get a bike ride in while it was still light enough outside to be able to do so.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. The mailman had stuffed my mailbox with the entire neighborhood's worth of junk mail because of his very confusing vendetta against me.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

You guys. I'm sitting in my office and for the last several hours I've been able to smell onions and it has been driving me crazy because I couldn't tell where the smell was coming from. I poked around a bit and I just discovered that it's coming from me. I smell like onions. The smell is coming from my body.

The really sad thing is that I haven't eaten or touched an onion in many days.

And now, your Pictures and Distractions:

Wade and I pruned some of Rebecca's trees while she was out of town last week. Before and after shot of one of them. 

Generation Gap

Recently my good friend Wade came to live with me. I hadn't planned on having any roommates, mostly because I'm still in Rebecca-recovery, WHICH DOES NOT NECESSARILY CARRY NEGATIVE IMPLICATIONS ABOUT REBECCA. But Wade is in transition and trying to find a place to live closer to work and school so he doesn't have to commute from the south end of the valley anymore.

I, temporarily, offered him the bedroom in my basement. Ten seconds later he was marking his height on a wall in the kitchen and writing "Wade, 2015" next to it.

I have to say that so far he is proving to rival the greatest roommates of all time. It's like having Rebecca live with me again but without wondering every day if I'm going to come home to find a giraffe taking a nap in the kitchen or rice pouring all over the floor or an explosion of bread because someone got confused and thought the recipe called for one cup of yeast.

Oh my gosh. You guys. I think I Love Lucy might have been based on Rebecca's life.

Class Election

Last week I shared with you my political desires to run for class election of the early risers of Salt Lake City. I told you that I had my campaign slogan already picked out. "McCann Can Do It!" And the words would be written under a picture of me riding a flying liger.

Well. One Stranger, who apparently has an inordinate amount of time on his hands, sent in the below image:

From Mike B.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

I got an email this morning threatening informing me that the half Ironman is exactly one month away now. I immediately went and got into the pool and flopped around for a while, hoping that this might make me feel better about my life choices. Spoiler alert: it didn't.

It defies all of the laws of the universe that these events creep up so fast. Remember when you guys promised you would never let me get involved in these messes again? Remember when you pinky swore? And then you admired my hair and rock solid abs and I was like, "how dare you! Did you even look at my chest?!" And then I texted you 200 selfies of me making a duck face and squeezing my cleavage together? DON'T YOU REMEMBER?!

And now, your Pictures & Distractions:

A new lawn ornament from Cathie to help me to remember to bike because OHMYGOSH IRONMAN.