I Hate Flying

I know. Hate is such a strong word. And I really don’t like to use it in an undeserving context, but right now I can’t help but feel that it’s totally appropriate. I hate flying. Just the mere thought of boarding a plane gives me a headache. Which is probably why I’m sitting here right now with a pounding one. (Either that, or the fact that I’ve only had one cup of coffee). Tonight I get back on a plane to travel during the night all the way to Guadaloupe. I can’t even tell you exactly where that’s at, except that I know it takes a little over four hours from Miami to get there.

Originally I was supposed to leave last night so I could arrive a little earlier and get settled. But once I returned from Africa, I just knew I had to buy myself another day in my own bed. That last trip I did was monstrous and it definitely did a number on me. I am a frequent flyer for sure, but that round trip in a blink of an eye with multiple days of sleep lost had its way with me. And you want to know what made it 10 times worse? The sweet gentleman I had the pleasure of sitting next to.

The flight I boarded in Senegal was in transit from South Africa and pretty full already. But when I began my walk towards the back, I heard the coughing before I even saw the source. And when I got closer and realized it was coming from my row, I shuddered. He was coughing up substance, I’m sure. He was nice enough to use a handkerchief but what good does that do, really? This man was at least 90 years old so I tried my best to be kind and smile, but the smile was not returned. Nor was there a respect for personal space. He continued to lift the armrest so he could stretch out his bad hip and give himself some more room. Sure, I feel sorry that he had a bad hip and the fact that he was probably extremely uncomfortable being 90 years old and stuck on a plane for 20 hours, but that’s not my problem. He also completely invaded my nostrils. It was a constant flow of unpleasant and downright putrid smells coming from his direction the entire time. So much so that at one point I used my eye mask to cover my nose instead.

So right now I’m not a fan of planes or their passengers. I am dreading tonight’s trip but staying home doesn’t get the bills paid. Please pray that the seat next to me is either empty or occupied by Channing Tatum’s long lost twin.

The Season has Begun

This post comes to you a little late, but as they say... better late than latER. I wanted to continue the trend I started during the indoor season, with a recap of my competitions and video to let all the armchair coaches of the world do their thing. Last weekend was my opening outdoor competition and so I began my season at Mt. Sac, a meet I have been competing at since I was 14 years old. Look at the previous post...then do the math!

If you had bothered to look up results online, you would have noticed no mark next to my name, and just a few X's. Well, that's never good news for a field event person. The truth of the matter is, I felt like I was jumping really well. The other truth of the matter is that my last jump wasn't a foul. It just wasn't. Plenty of eyes and video proof told me that. But sometimes things like this happen at meets such as this, when your fate lies in the hands of 70 year old volunteers and the meet doesn't have the proper equipment. Track and Field is not supposed to be subjective in any way so it's disappointing when at times it is and it doesn't work out in your favor.

All in all though, I still feel it was a positive day. It was my last day of my 20's, I had my family there to support me, and I felt like I'm in a good position to do big things this year.

Here is a video of my last jump. It's the fair one that wasn't called as such. In my camera there is a man standing in front of the board, but from another camera the board is clearly visible with my foot in fair territory. Oh well... such is life.

My 30th Birthday

There was no celebration of the decade. But there was love. And smiles. And good food. By the end of the weekend, I was one happy old woman. Thank you to everyone who did their best to make me feel special and help me celebrate life. I now have three decades of life behind me, and I look forward to the next three.

Here are a couple pictures from this weekend. Everybody likes pictures, right? Well I do.


I'm the happiest Birthday girl ever.



I'm pretty sure they were laughing at me. Because I'm funny. And I'm always the life of the party.


My sister is hoping she can be as cool and fabulous as the Bomb Squad one day. Just look at her face...it's screaming "THESE GIRLS ARE AWESOME!"


These girls have promised to celebrate every birthday together as long as we both shall live. Love you.


Congrats to the winning Taboo team. That's right...we killed y'all!!


Jasmine and JD put together the world's best tapas menu. You would've swore they were from Spain.


My sis made sure Dad was there for my big day as well. xo


I went out to brunch with the whole fam.


Yep. This is EXACTLY what I wanted. Good job. ;)

Around the Corner

T minus 5 days.

In case you are unaware, that’s the countdown until I turn 30. And while I know it’s just a number, it’s really starting to hit me that I will actually be hitting this huge milestone in my life. It’s the age where there is no wiggle room in fully claiming adulthood. And I don’t know how it seems to y’all, but I really still feel like there are tons more adultish adults out there than me. But alas, I must claim to be part of their ranks regardless.

Many people have been asking what I will be doing to celebrate the BIG 3-0. I admit, for years now I just knew that this year would be the celebration of all celebrations. Let’s be honest…from here on out all you really are doing is getting old, right? Who wants to celebrate that?! I don’t know about you, but I am not itching to celebrate wrinkles and grey hairs. I’d be content celebrating “Happy 30th Birthday” again for the next 30 years. But the initial celebration should be somewhat of a huge deal and a big shebang. But the closer I got to my birthday, the less I felt like setting off fireworks in my honor.

For starters, my job gets in the way. I have my first competition this weekend and then a few days later I jet off to Africa to do a meet there. Trying to squeeze in the party of a lifetime in between all that seemed a little difficult not to mention not super smart if I’m actually trying to compete well. Then, there is the issue of friends. I know a lot of people but the older I get, the smaller my circle of buddies becomes. I’m totally fine with this, but the idea of rallying up a bunch of people and sending out facebook blasts to all the folks that might care to celebrate with me, seemed like too much effort on my part and theirs. So I’m only asking the handful of people who are closest to me to give a darn about my birthday. There will be no party of the century that has people talking for years to come, but there will be good memories nonetheless and a much more rested body. And let’s face it…I need the rest because this body ain’t no spring chicken anymore.

So no, your invitation didn’t get lost in the mail. I’m just going to live my normal, 29 year old life, and then wake up Sunday morning with another year under my belt, and start checking for grey hairs.

I'm Not So Lucky

I usually get a deep tissue massage once or twice a week. It’s part of my regimen just like lifting weights is. What it is not is a relaxing luxury, complete with soft waterfalls and soothing aromatherapy oils. Yet, any time a gen pop (remember that term?!) hears of these weekly appointments, there response is always the same. “Oh, you’re so lucky.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a very blessed individual. I spent a good four hours outside today soaking up the California sunshine and playing in a little dirt, and there wasn’t a single soul in the world that wanted me to be doing anything different. But once 4:30 rolled around and I hopped up on that table, “lucky” was the last thing I felt. I felt pain. Lots of it actually. I felt like muscles were being asked to be split in two perhaps or leave their preferred resting place and dwell somewhere else. And they fought it the whole way. They begged to be able to stay in their nice little knots but the masseuse was having none of it. Not on his table.

I usually clench my teeth the entire time and sometimes I even forget to breathe. How is it possible for something to be relaxing when you aren’t breathing?!! So the next time you visit a fancy little day spa, try asking them to dig into your psoas muscle for a little relaxation. A tight IT band is a lovely form of leisure as well. If at all possible, ask for the elbow there. These days, when I go to a day spa I just want to be tickled. Bonus points if I fall asleep and begin to drool. To me, drool = lucky.

Because Two is Better Than One

If there is one thing I thank God for daily, it is friendships. And because of that, today is a very special day. Two of my most favorite people on the planet were born today and so I want to celebrate and be thankful because it is evident I do a pretty great job at picking friends. I believe that friendships shape you. They mold you into who you are and they direct you towards who you want to become. I continue to grow into me because of them. It is something I am so aware of, but especially today, as two of the most awesome people I know celebrate 30 years of life.

Jaz and Bi, I love you. I can’t believe I lucked out and got the both of you as my BFF’s. It’s like I hit the jackpot twice! I believe that there are friendships that last a lifetime but I also know that there are lifetimes defined by friendships. The two of you mean the world to me and my life would be nowhere near complete without you in it. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being in my life. And as we celebrate today…thank you for being born! :)

Gyms and Gen Pops

About one day a week I head to my local 24-hour fitness and work out with the Gen Pops. (short for general population—stole that one because I think it’s great!) Now normally, I can’t stand working out in these types of gyms. To me, it seems like happy hour in spandex. People love to interrupt and make small talk. I’m not a small talk type of girl and I’m also not paid to be a personal trainer. Why would I want to spend my workout time teaching you how to get a six pack?!

But one day a week I actually do brave the elements and trek on over to take class every Wednesday. I’ve never been a fan of fitness classes—especially those that take place at the Wal-Mart of exercise havens—but I stumbled across this one and I’ve been a fan ever since. It’s a great workout while also giving me an opportunity to work on certain elements of my training in a completely different environment. I love it.

I’ve learned however, that it’s best to try and blend in as much as possible in a class such as this. This is the one time I fully cover up to work out. I always wear pants and I always wear a shirt. Sure, I might look in shape but nothing that should bring attention. Not just because I think I have an amazing body, but because when people think you are extra athletic, it’s not acceptable for you to take a little break in the middle of the sets. You’re held to a hire standard. Well—this past week that all changed. I stupidly wore a long sleeve shirt and by the middle of the class I was miserable. If there is one thing I can’t stand it’s being unnecessarily hot during workouts. So…I took my shirt off. And, well, my cover was blown.

All of the sudden the instructor is standing behind me and points out my physique to the class. He then says he wishes he could have my body because it’s almost bathing suit season. Oh joy. A boy. Wants. My. Body. If I wasn’t a tad self-conscious about my lack of curvaceous-ness, I am now!

So I guess I’m out of the closet now. He knows what I do and wants to know all about it. Pretty soon I’ll be giving core strengthening classes on the side.