Wingin' It!

All these months of intense training (okay, so it was more like thinking of intense training but really not doing it), I conquered the Wildflower Triathlon.  How awesome was I?  Well, you'll just have to read on to find out.  I dominated all weekend long.  Now, when most people make a claim of domination, they are usually referring to their superiority at sports or something of that sort.  I dominated at being a Poorly Prepared Princess.  Who rocks the house?  That's right...I do.

After the disastrous training weekend where I became very adept at changing bike tires (after becoming an expert in popping them), I decided that I needed to be more prepared for the camping trip.  Sure it was fun to eat only peanut butter sandwiches for two days straight, but this time I had access to an ice chest.  Who am I to turn that down?  What did I do?  I branched out and purchased other items in addition to my peanut butter (though, I still ate peanut butter at an alarming rate all weekend long).  I purchased trail mix, deli turkey, sesame sticks (which I kind of regretted after eating too many without a steady supply of water near me), those wax-covered cheeses, and I packed fixings for a salad that never managed to get made.  I was so prepared!  This time, I even packed some cups so I could make oatmeal in something other than my mouth or hand.  We're talking professional camper here, people.  I expect to get called for a nature show any day now.

With the camping supplies under control, I tackled the triathlon gear.  Running shoes? Check. Bike? Check. Goggles? Check.  Wetsuit? Maybe I should do something about that.

Now, the week prior to the trip, I was really quite busy.  I didn't have time to rent a wetsuit in advance, so I decided to just leave it up to fate.  On my way out of the city to meet my ride across the Bay Bridge, I stopped at the sporting goods store that has been alternately good and bad to me.  Surely they would have a wetsuit available for rent.  At this point, I certainly had no intention of purchasing one.

Making my way over to the wetsuit rentals, I noticed that almost all of them had hold tags on them.  Perhaps I should have seen this coming.  Seven thousand people do compete in this triathlon, and plenty of them are coming from San Francisco.  But still.

In usual fashion, no one was anywhere near the wetsuits.  I flagged down a salesperson who informed me that this was not his section.  Luckily, he was kind enough to find someone to help me.  That dude took his sweet time getting over to me, and he was a ball of sunshine. 

Me: Hi there.  Can you help me?
Ball of Sunshine: What do you need?
Me: Do you have any wetsuits available for rent?
BS: (without looking at me OR the wetsuits) No.
Me: Really, all of these are rented? (I point at the cluster of wetsuits without tags.)
BS: There aren't any.

And he walked off.

Once again, I was dazzled by excellent customer service.  Perhaps he is related to the other guy that forced me to decide to NEVER buy anything from him EVER in my entire life.  Or, maybe he was just trained by him.

Furious, I stomped out of there, purchased some extra CO2 cartridges and got in my car.  I was going to brave the cold waters of Lake San Antonio sans wetsuit.

Sure I was nervous, but what choice did I have?  I mean, seriously?  I couldn't purchase a wetsuit from that jerk?  I was far too angry, and I really didn't have that much time.  What was my only choice?  Wingin' it!

Back to the journey...

I got to my carpool buddy's house, and we loaded the car.  She was pretty amazed at how little I packed.  Little did she know that it wasn't my camping prowess that allowed me the confidence to bring so little, it was more my amateurish desire to pretend I wasn't actually camping and, therefore, didn't need anything all that fancy.

We drove and drove and finally made it to the entrance of Lake San Antonio.  Feeling confident, yet tired, we handed the cashier $40.  Then, she told us it was $120 for the weekend.  What?!  We thought she was kidding, so we made a joke of it.  Sadly for us, she was dead serious.  And we paid the money and started the search for our fellow triathletes...in the dark.  By some miracle of fate, we managed to spot our group.  We pulled up the car, pulled out the tents and started to set them up.

Now, as you may recall, it took six people to figure out how to set up my tent last time.  Since I was a confident camper this time, I knew I could do it on my own, so I set out to do just that.  Was I successful?  No.  One of the guys that helped me the first time recognized me, as well as the tent, and attempted to help.  We had to call four more people over to figure it out.  Once again, it took six people to set up my tent.  Perhaps I was a little overzealous in my camping prowess.

Once the camp was set, we sat around preparing dinner.  Quickly everyone noticed that I wasn't preparing anything, and that's when I chose to reveal all of the things I neglected to do because…I'm wingin' it!

No, I didn't bring any kind of cooking utensils, pots and pans, or otherwise.  Yes, I do have peanut butter, and I'm already tired of it.  I have no intention of staking my tent because I don't feel threatened by wind.  And of course I didn't bring anything more than my sleeping bag because I'm going to will the temperature to be just right.  A pillow, you ask? Who needs that when you can rest your head on a towel?  No, I didn't bother to get a wetsuit, so we'll just see how tough I really am.  Oh yeah, and I don't have any flip-flops, or a hat.  I did bring a flashlight, but I didn't bring anything upon which to sit.  I only have one towel (which doubles as my pillow) and exactly enough clothing to last me through the triathlon.  Oh yeah, no bug spray.  And yes, when I fix my oatmeal in the morning, I will be using a red plastic cup, and no, I'm not concerned about it melting or emitting dangerous radiation into my oatmeal (that will be prepared with the water that someone else boils).  Why?  Because I'm wingin' it.  That's just the kind of girl I am.

All I can say about the following day is, thank the good lord for a food court.  After lazily watching the professionals run by us on the long course, we sauntered over to the expo area.  While our reason for going was to pick up our registration materials, I knew I was there to eat food from a tent.  Unfortunately for me, I ran into yet another snag.  In my rush to get out of the house with as little supplies as possible, I forgot my USAT membership card.  You wouldn't think that would matter, but it did.  That little error cost me ten more dollars.  I tried to convince the woman that it wasn't necessary to make me pay an additional $10 for a membership I already have (and have paid $40 to attain), but she wouldn't listen.  So pay I did…and then I found out that one of my teammates didn't have to pay the $10 even though he, too, forgot his card.  It was clear to me that the universe was against me, and I should seriously consider purchasing or renting a wetsuit at the event.

Once they got more money out of me, I wandered over to the food court, and stood in line for a hot dog—then I realized that was a bad idea.  So, I got some faux Chinese food.  It did have vegetables, and that seemed like a better option the day before a race.  After eating, I wandered around looking at wetsuits.  The woman at the wetsuit rental tent offered to let me borrow one so I could see if I thought the water was too cold.  Since it was so hot outside, I decided that the water must not be cold, and my choice to go sans wetsuit was made.

That night I slept like a baby.  Okay, I slept as well as someone could when they are camping.  Morning came, I got out of my tent, and there was no sun to be found.  No, no sun.  Just…fog.  Crap!  I don't have a wetsuit!  It was so cold outside.  I got my gear together and threw a sweatshirt on over my race-wear.  My friends and I headed down to the transition area, and we set everything up.  Our wave was an hour and a half after the start, so I had plenty of time to regret my decision to go in the water without a wetsuit.  Did I mention how cold it was outside?  Whose idea was it to wing it anyway?  As we watched the swimmers get out of the water and run up the hill to the transition area, I realized that I didn't have any flip-flops.  This caused me great distress.  I don't like running barefoot because my feet are quite delicate.  I never had a problem running around barefoot as a kid in the 110 degree heat, but now I'm a shoe-wearer (Not only am I  a staunch shoe-wearer, but I get totally grossed out when others don't wear shoes in the city.  Come on people!  I've stepped over needles.  It's just a bad idea!).  And that's when I realized something about myself.  I'm a Poorly Prepared Princess.  There is so much irony in being a PPP, and I tack on more irony because I don't even care that I am so poorly prepared.  I mean, come on, if you're a princess, shouldn't you make an effort to be prepared, and then if things don't turn out right, wouldn't you be upset?  But not me.  It's as though I've resigned myself to the limitations of my own laziness and lack of concern for obtaining the creature comforts that I want.  It's far easier (and somewhat fun) to announce that I don't have something that I want (or, in some cases, need), then slough it off as something unimportant because…I'm wingin' it.

But enough about that.  Let's get to the race!  Twenty minutes before the start of my wave, the sun finally made an appearance.  It was at that point that I finally started to feel a little better about my non-wetsuit-wearing ways.  Of course, I was the ONLY girl without a wetsuit, but that just made me special…and I won't even talk about how horribly unattractive I looked in bike shorts and a sports bra.  The wetsuit would have been infinitely better because I would have looked like cat woman.  Instead, I just stuck out…and the announcers could see my race number printed on my arms, so they announced my name.  Little did they know, I'm a slow-poke.  So, not only did the entire crowd know who the girl in her underwear was (and yes, it was somewhat reminiscent of the naked at school dreams we've all had), they could follow my progress and see that the two waves after me overtook me…and they were 10 years older than me.

I got through the swim, even though I went off course a couple of times, and emerged from the water.  Once again, the announcers called out my name, and everyone was cheering me on, telling me how much I rocked…and I knew, even though I was completely dizzy and wanted to slowly walk up the hill that I simply could not.  I was a pasty-white-soon-to-be-sunburned sore thumb!  So run I did, and once I got to the top, someone handed me water, and I stood next to the trash, drinking it, trying to keep my head from spinning.  Once I had my bearings, I wandered over to my bike and got ready for the ride.

The beginning of the ride is up a 2 mile hill that is very steep.  I took my sweet time, as did everyone else.  Since we were going so slowly, it took people years to pass each other.  I'd hear, "On your left…maybe…well…maybe later…wait…I'll be on your left in about a minute…okay…never mind."  We also cheered each other on, letting everyone know how great they were doing at .25 miles an hour.  It was really encouraging.  Once that hill was mastered, the race was on…until we got to the next hill, and the one after that, and after that, and after that.  Yeah, it was hilly.  I did quite well throughout the bike portion of the race.  Then, as I got to the top of Lynch hill (which was the hill I climbed in the beginning), I was zipping down, calling out "On your left" to runners and bikers letting them know that I was passing them.  I have no idea how fast I was going, but I'm guessing it was about 35 mph.  I should have known, but my computer wasn't working.  I just figured it was the batteries; after the race, I discovered it was because I put my wheel on backwards, so the computer thought I was going in reverse.  Rookie mistake!  Back to the hill.  I was going full speed down the hill when a tragedy almost struck. 

TNT is not dynamite.  Everyone gets a little down on TNT, but I never knew why…until I almost got into an accident with a cluster of them.  I was flying down the hill, when I saw a group of four runners side by side.  Not only is that poor etiquette, it's unsafe.  Next to the four runners was a biker.  How she was going the same speed as the runners is beyond me.  I started yelling, "On your left!", but they didn't stir.  I kept yelling.  I kept telling them to move.  I tried to hit my brakes, but I was going too fast.  I also knew that if I tried to slam on my brakes, I'd fly over the handlebars.  Also, I didn't want to get disqualified (or killed by oncoming traffic), so I didn't want to cross the yellow line.  I also didn't want to hit one of the bumps on the yellow line because I knew that would be the end of me too.  So, I just kept yelling, "On your left!  MOVE!  I'm talking to you purple!  MOVE!!"

Still nothing.  I got within two feet of the cyclist, and screamed at her as I started to lose control of my bike, "I'm going to hit you.  MOVE!"  Finally, she inched over enough so I could pass her.  As I passed, she said, "I couldn't move.  There were runners."

That wasn't a good enough excuse, I yelled back, "They needed to move too!"

Luckily, the crisis was averted, and I made it to the end.  I ditched the bike and headed out for the run.  Man was I tired…and nauseous.  Suffice it to say, I walked the majority of the run.  In my usual style, I did manage to run anytime I saw a camera pointed at me.  It is important to me that there be no records of my walking ways.  After much hill climbing, I got to the top of Lynch hill again, and started the run down.  I was doing so well.  I was almost done!  Then a 92 year-old woman passed me.  How do I know her age?  Well, in triathlons, they write your age on your calf, so, for me, I always know how out of shape I am for my age.  It's so awesome.  It was even more awesome to see the woman pass other twenty-somethings ahead of me and see them point at her calf in shock and awe. 

Finally, after 4 hours and 23 minutes of racing, I crossed the finish line.  I smiled the whole way and almost cried.  I was so excited to be done with that race.  A photographer came up to me and wanted to take my picture.  In my mind, I looked awesome, but when I saw the picture later, I realized that no one looks awesome after 4 hours and 23 minutes of racing.  Once my photo was taken, I stood by the trash drinking water.  Who am I?  Hulk Hogan? (And yes, there is a story to that one…maybe later).  Once I moved from the water, I went straight to the port-a-potty.  Did I mention that I had to pee throughout the entire race?  I tried to just let it go during the swim, but apparently my body is averse to peeing while in motion.  Talk about uncomfortable.

So I finished.  And I told myself that the one thing I wanted when I finished was a hot dog, then I saw the line to get on the shuttle bus back to camp.  Now, I could have walked up the hill back to camp, but I was in no state to do so.  Instead, I opted to wait in line.  I walked over to the line, and a guy came up 2 seconds behind me and asked, "Is this the shuttle line?"

"Yes"

"How long is the wait?"  Seriously?  Did you not notice that we arrived in the line at the exact same time?  Why would I know anything more than you at this point?

"No idea."

Then a couple of spectators walked up.  "Is this the shuttle line?

"Yes.  No I don't know how long it takes."

"Oh," they sounded disappointed.  "This isn't the line we want.  This is the line for people with bikes.  Where's the line for people that don't have bikes?  We shouldn't have to wait with all of you.  It's too hard to walk up that hill, so we should have our own shuttle."

At that moment, flames burst out of my head (and it wasn't the sunburn).  Are you kidding me?  Really, you've had a rough day?  You've been leisurely sitting around outside eating ice cream while everyone with a bike just RACED for multiple HOURS, and you deserve to be on the bus more than us? "There's only one bus."

"That sucks."  Then, they walked away, and I knew that I should eat because I was mad at the world for no reason in particular.

No hot dog for me--just a banana nut Clif bar and a bad attitude.

Upon arriving back to camp about an hour later, my friend approached me.

"Hey, is your tent the one next to the car?"

"Yeah, why?"

He started laughing.  "It blew over.  We saw it and immediately started taking bets on whether or not it was yours."

"Of course it's mine!  Was there really a question?  Wingin' it!"

"Yeah, we figured.  We were all joking around that you were probably in the tent when it blew over, and you were just hanging out in there resigned to your fate to never leave the tent again."

"Well, had that been the case, I probably would have just taken a nap.  Wingin' it!"  I laughed as I approached my overturned tent.

I started to pack up the tent, then decided it was shower time.  Oh glorious shower time!  Once I finished my shower, I saw the 92 year-old woman that passed me.  Upon closer inspection of her calf, I discovered she was actually 72.  Wow...so much less humiliating.

We packed up the car, and headed back to the city.  My vegetarian friend suggested In N Out (which was exactly what I wanted since I didn't get that hot dog).  We both had hamburgers, along with 200 other Wildflower participants, and it was the best darn hamburger I'd ever eaten.

So what did I learn from this race?  It's true.  I do like camping, and I bet I'd like it even more if I wasn't just wingin' it.  Also, I'm still slow.

Triumph!

You know what they say...Bitch betta have my money.  And, by George, bitch did!

The day finally arrived.  I won my battle with Phonies.  I have to admit, for the past few days, I started to question whether or not the battle was really over...and it is!

I checked my mail this afternoon, and what was waiting for me?  A check.  Who was it from?  Phonies.  How much was it for?  The exact amount they owed me.  I have overcome!

And let me tell ya, the timing couldn't have been better.  My bank account was about to be overdrawn, and if you know me and my meticulous financial accounting and conservative view of how much money I should have available to myself at all times, you know that's about as rare as bird poop landing in someone's mouth.  Of course, now I want to know what happened to all of my cash.  I blame Phonies.  Well, except their check allowed me to send off my rent check and the extra $10 that DPT claims I owe them for a parking violation (which I think is total BS because the ticket clearly stated $50, but they are claiming it said $60...and I don't have a copy of the ticket to prove my point, so I'm out ten bucks for a stupid parking violation that, while I did deserve it, was totally annoying because the officer quickly wrote it as I was walking up to my car, then ran to his car and sped away so he wouldn't have to face me...they should have to pay ME $10...but after the Phonies experience, there isn't much fight left...so I wrote the check.) without risking overdrawing my bank account and incurring overdraft fees.  I don't want to admit that Phonies saved me in the end, but maybe it's just desserts for them.  Here they were trying to screw me for months, and in the end, they helped me out by actually doing the right thing.

So, yay!  Now I just need the government to give me my money, and to get those overdue expense checks, and then I'll be back on my game.  And then when I'm back on my game, I need to figure out where all my money went.  Hookers and blow?  Perhaps.

Why Must I Always be Next to the Annoying Guy?

Ah, another day, another chance to eavesdrop on an annoying individual.

Today, I went to my local hamburger joint for lunch.  It's the kind of place that is usually pretty good, though I've been wronged before.  It's also the kind of place where you expect poor service.  Yet, it's the kind of place I still frequent on a very infrequent basis.  As I sat down to read the weekly paper and peruse the menu, I noticed a couple of fellas sitting at a table caddy-cornered from me.  The guy facing me probably wore ToughSkins jeans as a kid, and he was working hard on his ego to overcome whatever social limitations his physical presence might bring.  The conversation revolved around his business and how great he was.

After awhile, I was given the opportunity to order my food by a waitress that seemed less than thrilled to wait on people.  A few minutes later, the food arrived at my neighboring table.  And that's when I had no choice but to stare as Mr. Spectacular exibited poor customer behavior.

Mr. Spectacular surveys his plate, while still talking about his business acumen.  While determining his plan of attack, he notices that something is amiss with his burger.  As soon as he sees the waitress walk by, he attempts to get her attention (in what may be the worst possible way aside from snapping or clapping at her).

Mr. Spectacular: Excuse me.  Uhh..Excuse me.  (The waitress is halfway to the kitchen.) Excuse me.  Hello!  Anyone?  Anyone?  (The waitress turns around to find out the problem.)  Isn't my burger supposed to come with cucumber sauce? (The waitress looks confused, but still doesn't get much closer than 5 feet.)  Yeah, it's supposed to have sauce with it.
Waitress: You need sauce?
MS: Uhh...yeah.
W: It's probably on the inside.
MS: (Lifting the bun.) There's nothing in here.  I need the sauce.  It's on the menu.  This is a GREEEEEEEK burger.  The menu says there is sauce.  I go to your restaurant in the East Bay, and they put sauce on it.  It's on the menu.  They have sauce in the East Bay.
W: (Seeming confused and apathetic all at the same time.)  I'll get some sauce.
MS: (Calling after her.)  The East Bay location has it.  It's on the menu there.  I go to the East Bay all the time.  (Once the waitress is out of sight, he turns to his dining companion.)  I knew they had sauce.  The East Bay location has the sauce.

(After a few minutes, another waiter walks over to the table to inquire about this elusive sauce.  The waitress also walks out and takes the mustard out of my condiment collection while watching the interaction between Waiter 2 and Mr. Spectacular.  As the conversation wears on, she eventually puts the mustard on a vacant table nearby.)

Waiter 2: Sir, I'm not sure what sauce you want on your burger.
MS: It's supposed to have tahini sauce.  It's on the menu.  At least in the East Bay, it comes with tahini sauce.
2: I don't think we have that here.
MS: Of course you have it. It's on the menu.  I get it all the time in the East Bay.
2: I'll check the kitchen to see if we have it.
MS: (To his friend.) See, I know they have it.  I go to the location in the East Bay all the time.

(Waiter 2 emerges from the kitchen again.)

2: I'm sorry, but we don't have that.  It's also not on the menu.
MS: Oh.  Well it's on the menu in the East Bay.  They have a different menu though.

And that was the end of the debate.  Mr. Spectacular ate his sandwich, but was unable to get a refill on his iced tea even though he kept yelling out for "Anyone" to help him and pounded his cup on the table a few times.

My mustard, on the other hand, never made it back to my table.  I thought the waitress was bringing it back, but she ended up putting it on a table even further away.  So, when I got my burger, I had to go to another table to get some mustard.  Why would you take condiments away from someone that is awaiting food?  It's just weird.

So, that's the story of my meal.  Mr. Spectacular may well be the man of my dreams.  I just wish he'd stay in the East Bay.

Some Mornings Just Aren't Good

Sunday morning was not a good one.  It started out okay.  I woke up.  I got dressed.  I collected my notes for my tour.  It all started going downhill when I needed to leave the house.  Sure I knew that the train schedule was different on Sundays, but I had no idea it was non-existent until 8am (and I had somewhere to be at 7:45.

Here's the story:

6:54am - Check Nextbus for an update on the next train.  No results are shown.

6:55am - Decide that MUNI must not be running, so check BART. Those trains don't start running until 8am.

6:55:30am - Determine that I have to drive downtown and park for the day.  Search my brain for any ideas on a good place to park outside of garage where I won't get a ticket.

6:56am - Leave house.  While walking outside, I hear the sound of an old train--the one from Cleveland to be exact.  Walk over to the MUNI stop and board train.

7:01am - The train turns off of the street onto 17th.  Knowing that I don't want to do this, I get off the train and run down to the underground station.

7:08am - Stop in at my local diner to to chat with my very hungover friends and change some money.

7:12am - See the regular train go by and determine that I should leave.

7:15am - Walk outside to the underground station to find that it is closed.  Look up and notice the train is stopped a block and a half away, so begin running.

7:16am - While running, homeless people camped out by the church start yelling at me, calling me a c***. 

7:17am - I get to the train and the driver is outside.  Apparently he's not in a good mood because, in a very rude tone, he says "Tunnel is closed.  You can't get on."  Admittedly, I was a bit confused and distracted by the homeless people calling me a stupid c***, so I asked him to repeat himself.  "Tunnel is closed.  Won't open until 8.  You wait."  Uhhh...no waiting here.  I explained that I needed to be somewhere by 7:45.  "Not on train."  Needless to say, he was very helpful, and the homeless people really made me feel good about myself as they relentlessly called me a c*** and regaled each other with a blow by blow of how I, the stupid c***, ran like a c***, then, still as a c***, couldn't get on the train, so I, the stupid c*** couldn't go anywhere because I am a stupid c***.

7:22am - Feeling the crush of time, since I hadn't eaten any breakfast and really needed to get something in my system, I start to panic.  I see the Cleveland train pass by on Market Street.

7:23am - I start walking over to the first bus/train stop.  Nothing there.

7:24am - I spot a taxi and try to flag it down.

7:25am - The taxi turns onto Market, making me believe it's all over.  Then, the taxi driver waves me over.  I run through traffic, just to find that he has a passenger.

7:26am - The driver rolls down the window and apologizes.  I tell him to turn off his light and return to the sidewalk.

7:28am - I plant myself at the next bus/train stop.  No taxis.  No buses.

7:31am - A bus comes by.  I board.

7:36am - The bus passes the old Cleveland train.

7:41am - I arrive.  Since I have 4 whole minutes, I go to Noah's Bagels for a little breakfast.

7:42am - I order from a very angry girl.

7:44am - The angry girl takes my money. I misheard her when she mumbled the price, so I only put down $2.  Upon her return, she looks at my money and says, "Uhh...It's $2.29".  Easily fixed. I hand her another dollar.  She completes the transaction and throws my change at me.

7:46am - I just want my damn bagel.  I see it sitting over on the counter.  Another worker who was busy standing around staring at nothing finally gives it to me.

7:47am - I arrive at the Ferry Building and see my tour group.  I stand to the side and eat my bagel.

7:48am - I introduce myself.  Things improved from there.

Some mornings really blow.

You're Kidding, Right?

Uhhh.....yeah.

Remember that whole Phonies debacle?  Well, it's not over yet.  Today I logged onto my email to see that I received a bill from them.  What did that bill say?  Did it have the appropriate amount that they owed me on it?  No.  They apparently were under the impression that they only owed me $39, as opposed to the hundreds that they actually DO owe me.

Yes, I was livid.  Yes, I ran to bathroom to yell at my own reflection in preparation for my phone call.  No, I'm not able to actually look at the charges on my bill because they blocked my access to my account via their website.

I called and got someone from customer service.  Unfortunately for her, I was not in the mood to be my usual nice self.  No, I just let her know how frustrated I am, how much money they owe me, how they stole money from me, how the lied to me...you know, everything.  She was professional the whole way through.  She informed me that I was charged $65 for my monthly bill, and that set me off even more.  Why?  Because I was on a $15/month plan.  After quite a bit of hunting, she discovered that Omega (and I'm pretty sure she thought I made up that name) DID waive my early cancellation fee (since she DID do that after all).  Before she transferred me to finance, I wanted to find out about the $65 charge.  She said she was looking into it, but she transferred me to finance during her hunt.

Once on the phone with finance, I was connected with a new operator.  She was very sweet and was really enjoying the nice weather--so much so, that she couldn't type anything in correctly.  After quite a bit of quality time on hold while she had her supervisor fix my account, she returned.  The fee was waived, all was restored.  I mentioned the $65 charge, and she almost transferred me back to customer service.  Luckily I stopped her with my next batch of questions.  When will I get my money back?  Are you sending me a check?  When will I see it?  How much money should I expect?

The answers: We're working on that now. Yes. 7-10 days.  The correct amount I was quoted by Omega back on April 2.

She then offered to transfer me to customer service, but I told her not to because the check amount was correct (meaning they charged me even more money than they were supposed to...again!).  She then started whispering to me, but her phone kept cutting out.  I like to think she was telling me what a terrible company Phonies is.  After that, I engaged in a bit of small talk about the weather and wished her well.

It was a nice experience in the end.

It will be even better when I get that check in 7-10 days.

You know I'll be checking the mail, and if I don't see it, they are getting another irate phone call from a gorilla.

I Have One More Thing to Add...

This morning, when I returned from my 25 mile bike ride through very hilly terrain, everyone at the campground cheered.  They started asking me questions like, "Did you get any flat tires?"  You know, joshing me (even though, I didn't realize it at first because I was far too tired to understand anything beyond the words to "One Song, Glory" that I sang loudly as I went down all hills).  I attempted to start talking as I was dismounting the bike, when I learned another important lesson.  After a 25-mile bike ride, I am unable to multitask.  Rather than gracefully getting off the bike, I fell over.  People laughed.  I laughed.  A couple people came over to help me up, and the girl said, "That was all pride that got bruised there."  I just laughed, knowing that I didn't bother to pack my pride for this trip.

And PPS, I may not despise camping as much as I thought.  Sure, I'm not fond of sleeping in a tent because I don't sleep (especially when I set up the tent on an incline, so I wake up scrunched in the corner because I'm unable to control my body when it is in a slick sleeping bag), but the other parts of camping ARE fun.  And, I'd probably have fun camping with people that I actually know (as opposed to people I recently met).  And this campground had showers and toilets, so that really made EVERYTHING better.

Now it's meatloaf time.

Boy Have I Got Something to Blog About

Alright, so this post was originally going to be about terrible customer service.  I was going to talk about my experience at the sporting goods store on Friday, and I was going to be all up on my high horse.  I can still be up on my high horse, but, unfortunately for me, some events transpired this weekend giving the fellow with poor people skills one point over my 2.  In fact, he may have negated my first point, in which case, we're neck and neck.

It all started when I walked in the sporting goods store to purchase new tubes for my bike (because, as you may or may not know, I had a flat tire a couple weeks ago...and I finally fixed it on Friday night...right before I left town to go on a triathlon training weekend that included biking).  Being a regular at this particular store, I knew where to go--down.  I found my way to the bike and swim shop, started browsing the area for CO2 cartridges and bike tubes, when I decided that I should seriously consider buying a wetsuit. 

As you recall, I outgrew my old one and sold it to a tiny Asian girl who was smaller than I've been since I turned about 16.  I've been hesitant to purchase a new wetsuit because my heart hasn't really been in this open water swimming thing the way it used to be (probably because I don't own a wetsuit anymore).  I was in a real quandary about the weekend.  Do I buy a wetsuit?  Do I rent a wetsuit?  Do I wing it?  How cold will the lake really be?  I just didn't know what to do.

I wandered over to the wetsuit area, making a beeline for the sale rack (because these puppies are far from cheap).  There was a salesperson near me, who said, "If you have any questions about wetsuits, just ask."  I thanked him, and told him that I was trying to determine whether or not I actually wanted one.  I also mentioned that I've rented twice, so it might be time to buy, to which he replied, "Uhh...yeah.  Sounds like it."  I immediately disliked him.  At that point, I started looking for my size, but had a senior moment and couldn't remember if I was a WM or WMS.  Upon looking at the sizing chart, I determined that I am a WM.  The sales guy then said, in a rather irritated (and irritating) way, "Are you sure you don't have any questions about wetsuits?"

"No," I replied.  "I just didn't remember my size, so I'm checking to see what it is."  Upon determining my size, I searched the rack for it.

"You know, I could help you."  He said.

"Yeah, but it looks like you don't have my size."

"Uhh..not on the SALE rack."  He was very sarcastic and rude with his insinuation that I'm cheap (For the record, I'm thrifty and/or frugal...not cheap).  "We have your size in the regularly priced suits, so you should try looking there instead of just in the suits that are discounted."

Riiiiiiight.  Because, as someone who isn't thrilled with the prospect of buying a new wetsuit, I'd be more than happy to drop $600 on a fancy new one that is WAY more wetsuit than I need (since that's the one to which he attempted to direct me).  I wandered over to the cheaper new wetsuits, as he called after me telling me that I shouldn't bother looking at those because they weren't as good as the more expensive ones.  Duh!  I don't care.  And that's when I realized who he was.  He's the same guy that started bugging me about the tires on my bike when I brought it in after the terrible bike ride in the rain.  To refresh your memory, it went something like this, "Uhh..what's wrong with your tires?  Why are they so dirty?  Don't you take care of you bike?  You should get new tires.  They look like crap."  This was after he laughed and made fun of me when I mentioned that I fell off of the bike earlier (hence the dirty tires and need for a tune-up).  I hate that guy.

Needless to say, he didn't sell me a wetsuit.  Instead, I had someone else sell me a tire tube.  He was very nice.  I liked him.  Too bad trouble was in store for that tire tube.

And that's where the story would have ended had I found time to write it on Friday.  It only gets better.

Saturday morning, I drove three and a half hours to Lake San Antonio, which was lovely.  I got there an hour before we were to start our bike ride.  Everything was going well.  I changed the tire the night before, and I attached the computer to my bike to calculate my speed and mileage.  I did have a nagging feeling of doom, but I figured it had more to do with camping and my inability to get quality sleep in a tent (and the fact that I was pretty unprepared for the whole thing because I was in denial that I was actually camping and might need something more than peanut butter for my meals).

We set off on the bike ride, and the coach took a quick stop early on (within the first 500 feet), to show us where we were supposed to run immediately after the 30 mile ride.  As we all got back on our bikes, tragedy struck.  That tire, you know, the one I changed the night before.  It popped.  To say I was angry would be an understatement.  Not realizing how slow I am at everything to do with athletics, a girl said, "Just change it."  Easier said than done I'm afraid.  I explained that that would take an hour (since it took me 45 minutes to perform a "20 second" tire change the night before).  The coach changed it, and another rider looked for the hole.  We determined that there was a piece of glass in the tire.  Sadly, I did look for it the night before, but found nothing.  Apparently, I'm not that thorough.  Also, I pulled out the new tire tube I purchased just to find that I got the wrong size, so we had to use my other spare tube (which, if you're counting, left me with nothing should any mishaps happen on the ride). 

With the glass removed, and the tire changed, we set off.  Needless to say, I was rattled...and I was having trouble getting up the hill at the start of the ride mostly because I was in a very negative space (as someone who is more new age-y than me might say).  Once I conquered hill number 1, I started feeling a little better.  I saw the next hill (which wasn't as steep), and prepared myself.  Then, the same tire popped AGAIN!

I cursed, I cried, I got off the bike and wanted to kick it...but knew that I wasn't planning on getting a new one so that would just add to my problems.  Now I was by myself with NOTHING.  A girl on mountain bike road by on the trail above me and didn't even stop.  I would at least ask if the person needed help as I road by with no intention of stopping.  I mean, come on, it's the least someone can do.  When I see someone in trouble, I'm happy to acknowledge their dilemma and do nothing to help because: a) I'm not skilled at helping people with anything to do with their bicycle much less my own, and b) because I'm just not that helpful.

Luckily, the coach came back to see what happened to me.  This time he saw my tears, and I was embarrassed.  I ended up walking back into the camp area with my bike and was fortunate enough to run into someone from my campground with a car.  So, they gave me a lift back.  I then put on my running shoes and headed out for a 6.2 mile run.  It was hot, hot, hot, so I went swimming in the middle of my run.  When I returned to camp, people were trickling in from the bike ride, and they all knew about my troubles.  It was nice to get sympathy, but I still felt frustrated since it wasn't my lack of athletic prowess, but my equipment that failed me.

Later that evening, a tire change clinic was scheduled, where I was the star.  As I pulled my bike around, I noticed that the front wheel was flat too.  Someone loaned me a new tire, and another person gave me some spare tubes.  The bike was up and running for the ride this morning.  Of course, when morning came around, I wasn't interested in riding.  But I did.  And I'm glad I did because it gave me back my confidence.  Admittedly, after all of the trouble with the flat tires and the monster hill climbs, I started feeling like I wasn't cut out for this triathlon.  However, once I rode the course, I decided that I could handle it.  Hopefully I can handle it in 100 degree heat because that is apparently a possibility.

So, I learned a couple things from this experience.  My tires were shot, and I should have bought new ones, so that jerk at the store was right about something.  I am fully capable of competing in the Wildflower Triathlon.  And, I should never try to set up a tent by myself while others are watching because the tent won't go up, and I'll have to choke back tears.

What a weekend!  Time for meatloaf.