Spazz Chicks ...

On our lunch hour, Smiley and I took a lovely walk along the Lakeshore. On our way back, I noticed YET ANOTHER one of those health shake places was open in the old railroad depot.

The sign read "Refreshing Energy Drinks."

It was HOT.

And HUMID.

"What the heck," I said, bracing myself for a big weight-loss-program pitch and silently apologizing to Smiley for getting her into it, "Let's try one."

Being an agreeable sort, she nodded.

We walked in and were greeted by an attractive couple and an extensive menu of flavors. Twenty-five, at least.

"Can I tell you about us?" the blonde asked.

"Uh, sure," we replied warily.

"Every time you come in, you get three things. A shot of aloe, for digestion - "

"It isn't going to send us straight to the can, is it?" I interrupted.

"No, it's a soother."

Still sounded iffy to me, but Smiley and I clincked Dixie cups and downed it.

"You also get a tea for energy," she said. "Along with your shake. So, all of that for $5."

Tea? Yummy!

Smiley and I are ACCOMPLISHED tea drinkers, each downing at least a cup a day - and many more than that on days when we're setting our keyboards aflame. Tea? No problem. What could POSSIBLY happen from a little tea?!

We didn't get pushed too hard, only getting a mere mention of the free "body analysis" (which I will do at some point. Tonight I'm getting tested at the gym).

We took our two drinks and sat outside on the deck. Fleetwood Mac was pumping out through the sound system - well, as "pumping out" of a sound system as Fleetwood Mac can ever be.

We took our first sips with trepidation.

"Not bad," said Smiley.

"No, it isn't," I agreed.

The tea, icy cold and tasty, went down quickly. We tossed our cups in the trash and walked back to the office with our shakes in hand.

"I'd have another," I said.

"Yeah, me too," said Smiley.

That was two hours ago, and now, the third floor corner office is ALIVE with nervous energy.

Both of us are WIRED to the MAX.

"My stomach's warm," said Smiley.

"I need to do some jumping jacks or something," I mused.

I can't IMAGINE just how much caffeine was in that bad boy. If it's enough to make two tea junkies shaky, it has to be just a HAIR under prescription strength. We're talking barely legal here.

I guess I'll just enjoy it until the inevitable crash ...

WheeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Carefree Highway ... Let Me Slip Away ...

Okay, so I've semi-caught up on work and running and the CC's campaign and I'm over turning 30 and I finally have some time to muse a bit about my vacation.

THE PLAN was something like this:

• Pick up Mom
• Drive for 15.25 hours
• Drop Mom at youth hostel (um, no joke)
• Spend 4 nights, 3 days with Yin in Bozeman
• Hike
• Raft
• Visit ghost towns
• Pick Mom up from youth hostel
• Drive 4.25 hours
• Cross into full flight panic in Teton Pass
• Check into Roach Motel
• Spend 4 days, 3 nights in Jackson
• Hike
• Stare and smile absently at mountains
• Attend writer's conference
• Get ego stroked
• SHOP
• Drive 19.75 hours
• Flop into bed
• Resume reality

I have to say, this is one time when it happened almost that way.

SUNDAY
Mom and I pulled into Bozeman close to midnight mountain time, to a soundtrack of Leonard Cohen and the Dixie Chicks. (We switched off between my iPod Shuffle and her CD collection, and these were her choices. I approved.)

Yin is more of a social animal than she'll ever admit, and she had been texting me with her newly acquired cell phone the WHOLE drive, monitoring our progress and asking what was taking so long. She was waiting up for me when I arrived, and that trooper carried my super-heavy suitcase while I scrambled with an assortment of bags containing cosmetics, Camelbak bottles and Doritos.

I had barely enough energy to inflate my air mattress. I crashed hard on the threadbare blue carpeting of Yin's graduate student apartment.

MONDAY
The next morning, I woke surprisingly early. I was still incredibly bummed about missing the half-marathon a few days prior; I decided to "test" my IT on a quick 2-mile run.

My knee was okay; the altitude had me hacking and gasping like a five-pack-a-day smoker.

Yin had signed us up for an afternoon rafting trip. I was a little wary. I wasn't quite sure what she had gotten us in for. I love water, love to boat and paddle and splash and swim, but Yin has never feared death the way I do — or, probably more accurately, she has never feared mussing her pretty face the way I do.

You see, for me, it's not the pain, it's the SCARS.



I bought a Montana Whitewater thong when we checked in.

"I can't even use the excuse I'm buying it as a gift," I joked. "I'm the only one I know who would wear it. Well, maybe Jag."

We ended up on a raft with four giggling college students and a d-bag guide who couldn't stop talking about his night job as a country-western singer and who was just THRILLED to have six women on board. He gave us all the glad eye, determining that Yin and I looked the strongest and would lead the paddle. We took our seats in the front of the craft.

NOTE TO TRAVELERS: If you get "Jess," pick another raft.

We would later learn that our other role as the leaders was to absorb the impact of the huge waves for everyone else.

We got SOAKED, but it turned out to be fabulous fun. Just exciting enough - a mix of Class III and IV rapids. (V is highest.) Bozeman had been getting SNOW, and lots of it, up through mid-June, and the melt made for exceptionally high (and cold!) water.

Later that night, we watched Shakespeare in the Park with a picnic dinner. We had been told we were seeing a production of "Merry Wives," but it turned out to be "Macbeth."

(There's something profound in that statement. I'm just not sure what.)



TUESDAY
The next day, we went on a fairly challenging 8-mile hike. We had to pass through Ted Turner's ranch - featuring a surprisingly modest house - to get to the trailhead in the Spanish Peaks.



There were a zillion bison.



Lovely scenery. I was a little cranky, though. The heat and altitude was getting to me, and by the end, my IT was acting up. (Downhill terrain had been my worst problem.)

Plus, Yin kept yammering about wanting to see a rattlesnake. NO! That is NOT COOL! That is SCARY!

A few shots:







That night, before a MASSIVE sushi dinner featuring TWO desserts ...

NOTE TO TRAVELERS: Looie's.

... we stopped to check on my mom at the hostel.

A shirtless man greeted us, as did a HUGE bong. On the porch, a bunch of hooligans drank and smoked who knows what.

"I'm surviving," she said, only halfway convinced herself. (She had brought all her own linens for fear of bedbugs.) "But - I am staying with you in Jackson. Sorry."

WEDNESDAY
On our final day together, Yin and I took the back roads through a million adorable cow towns. Lots of diners, rivers, cute flyfishermen, and annoying huge RVs going 45 mph. Our destination was Bannack, Montana's first territorial capital and a gold rush town that had been abandoned in the 40s.

The state eventually adopted Bannack and turned it into a state park. They perform only the barest maintenance on the buildings to ensure safety; otherwise, everything is just as it was left.

Other than thousands of crappy kids had carved there names into interior walls. GRRRR.

Photos:

Hotel ... can't you just see people out on the porch in big flouffy dresses?



Lots of THESE ...



The jails ... if you look closely, you can see the gallows ...





Yin and I ...



View from a hill ...



Pretty cool. I bought a book on Old West "Ladies of the Evening" on my way out.

NOTE TO TRAVELERS: Montana Subways don't count vegetables. Sick of a mere five olives on your Veggie Delite? Come west, where a sub with everything needs to be eaten down with a FORK before you can jam it in your mouth.

THURSDAY
The next morning, Mom and I left for Jackson. We drove through Yellowstone and parts of Idaho. Gorgeous.

NOTE: There is a freakin' MCDONALDS just outside the park's border. And people were LINED UP to eat at it. I wanted to SOB. WHAT is WRONG with us as a SPECIES?!

I had talked Mom - an extremely outdoorsy type who, by comparison, makes me look like Tammy Faye Baker - into getting a facial on the drive out. I had located us a spa in Teton Village, home of the famed Jackson Hole ski resort.

When we walked in, we quickly determined were NOT in Kansas anymore.

It was REALLY ritzy. Plush purple couches, gorgeous decor, hottubs and sauna to splay out in before or after your appointment, funky elixirs to drink, health-nutty snacks ... a place for all the rich physician's wives who have retired and moved in from the coasts.

Mom and I put on our robes, assumed unladylike positions on the furniture, and drank it all in. I pocketed a few tea bags and high-quality disposable razors.

Surprisingly, the staff didn't seem to care that I was a lowly middle-income copywriter and mom was a lowly middle-income probation officer. They were extremely attentive, and both my facial and pedicure were heavenly. (In fact, my pedi is STILL in good shape!)

NOTE TO TRAVELERS: Solitude Spa.

After, I did my best to stimulate the economy at a store called Teton Village Sports.

We checked into our motel ... one of the cheapest rooms in Jackson ...



We were helped by Larry, who was openly smoking a filterless over the front desk, and whose red Corvette was parked right out front. No computer here - just an old-skool log book. He kept an eye on us as we moved our stuff in.

The room itself was actually pretty cute. Full kitchen, even.



FRIDAY
The next morning, I registered for the conference and was greeted by Tim Sandlin himself. And, yes, for the second time, I felt too groupie-stupid to ask him to pose for a photo with me.

So, I didn't.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

It was a long and fascinating day of listening to and speaking with writers - Jane Hamilton, Michael Perry and Elizabeth George were the best-known - editors, and agents. That night, a three-hour query letter workshop was offered.

I sat through the first two hours, taking copious notes, until I realized the SUN WAS SETTING OVER THE TETONS mere FEET from me.

I snuck out early, grabbed Mom, and we drove through the park.







SATURDAY
This was the day all of the writers in attendance had one-on-one confabs with published authors and editors.

I had two good conversations with women who provided some valuable feedback. Both liked my work, and especially the protaganist. Voice, they told me, I have down pat, and it's a very appealing one. I am strong with dialogue. Place, I need to work on.

My last meeting was with a New York editor from a MacMillan affiliate. I had noticed his gigantic hazel eyes earlier, when he was part of a panel discussion.

NOTE: I Googled him when I got home, and he's actually on a list of the Sexiest Straight Men in Publishing. Sadly, I couldn't find any photos.

He had clearly read my work very closely, as he kept referring to specific passages and lines. He, too, loved the voice and character, and also advised I add more "place" details. He told me that if I could make the dark just a little darker, I'd really have something. He urged me to start looking for an agent, because he felt the manuscript is one that transcends categories - more than chick lit.

I walked out of there on air, and again did some fairly extensive shopping.

NOTE TO TRAVELERS: While Jackson is lovely, BEWARE the locals. They hate you and will not hesitate to MOW. YOU. DOWN.



SUNDAY:
2:30 a.m. Mountain - We left.

11:30 p.m. Central - We arrived home.

Absolutely BRUTAL, but it was all WORTH IT.

Fun & Friends ...

Thanks to Mom, Steve, Ma HH, Pa HH, HH, Yin, Yang, Jag, Mrs. BCUG, the BCUG, WM, and Mr. WM for their parts in a fabulous all-day birthday celebration last weekend, which included tube slides, open slides, speed slides, alpine slides, go-karts, bikini hazards, VS gift cards, designer toilet paper, funny Hallmark decor, Peanuts anthologies, Krakauer books, Aveda, an 80 gig iPod, deep fried macaroni & cheese bites, fries generously dipped in ranch, MASSIVE chili cheese burgers and yum-tastic s'mores cupcakes with Hershey chunks, graham cracker and melted marshmallow on top.

And a very SPECIAL thanks to Mrs. BCUG, who kept us entertained by reading from Yang's "guide" throughout dinner. I don't know how I made it 30 years without knowing the definition of the "Chinese Star."

Clandestine Operator ...

Starting next week, I think I'm going to do a little expose.

As a health nut, I've long been both fascinated and disgusted by the moneyed politics of food, the predatory weight-loss industry, and how they, no pun intended, FEED off each other.

I've always wondered how I would be treated were I to walk into a for-profit weight-loss center. And, as more and more of these places crop up around town (have you taken note of the shake people who have taken over EVERY vacant building in EVERY neighborhood?!), I've become more and more curious.

Will they laugh, show me the door and hand me the number of an eating-disorder specialist? Or will they dig around, find an insecurity and exploit it for the shiny silver coin?

I think I'll start with the nutrition shake people, and their complimentary "body analysis." Will they pick apart my lean (though bootied), 5'8", 132 lb., 21 BMI frame, descibring problems which can only be cured by six months' worth of pricey peanut-butter-chocolate-chip-flavored drinks? Or will they be up front and ethical, and say, "You could maybe lose a COUPLE of pounds, but you are in a healthy weight range. Go home."

We shall see. Stay tuned.

Movin' On Up ...

I haven't taken a real run for nearly a month in an effort to let my IT band heal. I way overtrained this year, and I paid the price by missing the big event I was training for. Bleh.

During my trip, I did a TON of hiking. While a downhill grade caused a little tweak, I felt pretty good. So, yesterday, I decided to give my old favorite distance, the 5K, another try, traveling 17 minutes up the expressway to everyone's favorite tiny tourist town (and HH's city of employment).

I told myself I would just run as a knee-tester, and if I needed to walk, I would WALK. It wasn't chip-timed, and results were unlikely to be posted on the web; there would be no humiliating "DNF" after my name if I did need to bail.

I paid my $15 and got a nice T-shirt and a Nalgenesque purple water bottle. (Racers on the local circuit know the schwag is a key component of any event, second only - and debatably - to the beauty and terrain of the course.)

It was 85 degrees and humid. I'd guess there were between 60 and 80 runners at the starting line.

The flags dropped - yup, for real, red and yellow - and I took off. As we wound through the breakwall parking lot and onto a gravel lakeshore trail, I noticed I was the lead woman. And I kind of liked it.

The course was hilly, but my knee felt okay, so I clipped right along at a just-under PR pace. Two willowy teenage girls passed me, and another slender, runners'-build-gifted 20-something was so close behind me I could feel her breath.

The course was marked, but some little terrorists had decided it would be really fun to knock a couple of the flags down. The blonde behind me followed me right over one. Now, it occured to me, and probably to her, that we were almost assuredly going the wrong way, but it didn't sink in hard enough to inspire either of us to turn around. Instead, she dutifully followed me and my keen female sense of direction around a trail-less-traveled loop which, fortuitously, brought us back to where we had started.(This would add about .2 to my Garmin's distance register; I crossed the finish line with a 3.3 mile 5K.)

Wowsers, was it HOT! I'm sure it looked to all and sundry like I had just taken a swim.

I knew only a few women had passed me on the course. As I rounded the corner to the finish shoot, where HH was smiling and waving, I was all but certain I would take home some hardware.

Yup!

Despite the detour and an admittedly well-below-PR time, I finished FIRST in the 20-29 age bracket (LET IT BE NOTED: This is my last race EVER in that bracket! Tuesday is the BIG DAY! And I'm OKAY WITH IT NOW!), and was the sixth female overall.

Here's me posing with my first-place trophy ...



Yup, it's a COFFEE MUG.

I love small-town races.

Desperately Wanting ...

A favorite retailer of mine, initials "VS," has committed the most EGREGIOUS of sins.

They discontinued my FAVORITE STYLE.

Being the athletic, um, "compact" sort, I need to be VERY PARTICULAR about certain clothing items so as not to be mistaken for a ten-year-old boy.

This thing was FABULOUS. It created an optical illusion of sorts which served me ridiculously well.

I am CLEARLY not the only person who felt this way about this garment. After getting the latest catalogue and finding my beloved in the clearance section, I panicked and dialed the 1-800 number, demanding whatever they had left in my size.

There were only THREE. In all of the world. THREE.

ALL of which are being FedEx Overnighted to the Denfeld neighborhood.

Why do places DO this? Get rid of my FAVORITE stuff? I am a creature of habit, and order, and I like - no, scratch that, as my co-workers, friends and HH can attest, I NEED - EVERYTHING to MATCH. I had six of these models, and no others. Now what do I do?!

And it's not just the very best in soft goods that are rendered obsolete. This has happened to me with other very very important things like shampoo and concealor and lip balm. And it sends this anal retentive Italian broad into full flight PANIC.

BLASPHEMY!!

(I'm BACK! Major blog, photos and details to follow. Best trip ever!)

Goin' to Jackson ...

After today, I will be out of the office until fiscal '09.

(Now, in fairness, I'm spending the next two days in La Christie with Saint. I'm EARNING this vacation before I take it.)

NOTE: Shore City friends, watch for a little something-something to break Sunday. I'm bummed about missing it.

Then, I'm heading west. To my two FAVORITE places on the planet.

Yup, I greatly prefer to frolic in candy-apple-red states. Strange, I know. Stranger still is that Dick Cheney's home turf is my MOST beloved of locales.

In and around Bozeman, Yin and I are planning one full day of rafting, one full day of hiking in Yellowstone, and one full day of laying around in the high-altitude sun eating twigs and berries.

Then I'll be heading south to Jackson for a three-day writers' conference featuring Tim Sandlin. Weeeee!

It's been four years, almost to the DAY, since I last made this trek.

That is TOO LONG.

The mountains have long been healing for me. Therapeutic.

At the start of my 30th year, they are EXACTLY where I want to be.