Change.

The last two months have brought with them a little bit of everything. Travel. Adventure. Tears. Laughter. Questions. Answers. And Change.

My last post detailed my issues with which (if any) half-marathon to choose for the fall/winter season this year...which was a real, credible dilemma at the time (one I've since resolved - but more on that later). The next weekend was spent hanging out in Winston with my college buddy, Shelly, while Erich and Barry headed to the Empire State for a Battenkill adventure. Good times!

After a great book club with the girls, complete with delicious food and wine (and the occasional mention of a book for good measure), September took a really different turn on its usual road to autumnal happiness. The inexplicable losses of two of our friends' fathers in the span of just 9 days changed, well...everything, really. Plans. Perspectives. Just...everything.

In between two funerals, Amy and I tackled one of our favorite races, the Salem Lake 10K. We weren't really planning to do that race at all. And we certainly weren't really trained for it. But it just didn't matter. That particular trip around the lake was about something very different from heart rates and split times. And it might have been our slowest - and best - one yet.

I celebrated my 31st birthday with a few of my favorite Canadians. Bonding with Janet's beautiful new daughter reaffirmed two things I already knew: 1.) She's a tiny kindred spirit. And 2.) I should probably give up having a kid before I even start because I'm pretty sure I can never make one that cute. It's so odd and wonderful to watch one of my best friends be a mother. It's like...we're growing up and stuff. So, so much love. And way too little time.
In the middle of the Canadian invasion, we also hosted a party for the City Loop Mafia following their (non) annual 100K. Pedaling their way through The Dash as the leaves are just starting to turn...and then gathering together with mafiosa family and friends for chili, beer, and college football...that's a tradition I hope we hold on to for a long time to come.

And then in between clinics and Erich's trip to Baltimore to present his latest research, we made time for a deep-fried Reese's Cup at the Dixie Classic Fair. And a winter weather prediction at the Woolly Worm Festival...followed immediately by Brunswick Stew and homemade apple butter at the Valle Country Fair. And what fall season would be complete without a trip to Colonial Williamsburg for a walk down Duke of Gloucester Street and a little Tribe football action? Long story short, I met the Griffin; the Tribe sealed their 1-point victory in the final 30 seconds; and going back home again never really gets old.

So now it's...now. A few days status-post Halloween party (Flo the Progressive Insurance Girl + Iceman from Top Gun = 4ever). And just a day and a half of clinic left to round out the week. Then Starnes and I take off on Saturday for a girls-only road trip to Wilmington. She committed to the Battleship Half Marathon long ago. Before the fall got so chilly. And so hard. While I'm certainly not trained up for a half-marathon, I've decided to tackle it with her, allowing for plenty of walking. And soreness. And hard-earned fun! In true half-marathon fashion, I've summoned the winter to join us. So the forecast low of 35 degrees on Sunday morning (in Wilmington!) should really surprise no one. If you think about it, that's actually quite balmy compared to 31 degrees with freezing rain and snow in Orlando for my first half-marathon. Seriously?! Seriously.

Even today as I write this, the rain has been falling, and there's a noticeable drop in the temperature. The leaves, once brilliant orange and red and gold, now letting go of their branches and drifting to the ground. The pattern of living in this particular fall season has felt something like that to me, I think. So many experiences, both happy and sad. Beautiful, vivid colors...and letting go. Some things have changed forever...precious new life and deep, painful loss. Other things have changed just for now, much like the trees. And then there are those few, invaluable things that never change...like unseasonably wintry half-marathons. And friendship. And love.

A Pastry and a Quandary.

So I sat on the front porch this morning with my husband, sipping Mello Velo coffee and munching on cinnamon rolls. Beautiful way to relax on a weekend morning. We talked about his upcoming trip to New York to recon the Battenkill route for April 2011...talked about his slaughter of the Tour de Gaps...talked about a screen door for our front porch...and talked about how sore I am from my measly 2.3 mile run yesterday. All of this, of course, just adds to my dilemma over whether (and where. and when.) to do another half-marathon.

For the record, I think it's totally reasonable to hash out the pros and cons of doing another half-marathon over a cinnamon roll.

My dilemma is this: there are plenty of half-marathons out there, some close to home and others far away. Some flat, some hilly. Some in the warm temperatures, others where it's cold. But it's a daunting process to train for months at a time. No matter what. So I find myself agonizing over which one to choose, thinking that will somehow make it all easier. I know - that sounds crazy, even as I type it!

One race that has lots of potential is the Battleship Half on November 7, 2010. Wilmington is beautiful and flat, and now my buddy Starnes has signed up for this race, her first half. So I'm awfully tempted to sign up, too. My main hesitation is that a.) it's on a Sunday (no rest for the weary) and b.) November is soon! Still, it remains near the top of the list...mostly because Starnes and I look like this when we run together:

You're scared now, right? Yeah, well...ummm...you should be.

And then, of course, there's Disney. Ahhh, good ol' Disney. With snow and sleet and freezing rain, Disney was so very good to me the first time around. Crazy, epic adventure - start to finish. And part of me really, REALLY wants to do it again. Shelly and I had an amazing time, and I sort of find myself wanting to relive it all. But Florida's certainly not as close as Wilmington. And Orlando could be 85 degrees come next January (you never know). Then again, Wilmington doesn't have Donald Duck waiting for me at the Finish Line...

See what I mean? Dilemma! I'm really not sure I can decide. Seriously.

I think the whole point is that a half-marathon still intimidates me. So I want the perfect scenario so I can try it again...and I keep thinking that if I pick exactly the right race, that will somehow make it less, well...scary.

Hey, in other news, football season is upon us. Maybe I don't do either race, but sit on the couch and watch College GameDay for four straight months instead?! Possibly the best solution so far.

Somebody help?

V. sport health!

After lots of talking and plotting and scheming, V. sport health seems to have come to life!

It's a new adventure for us - training plans, nutrition guidance, medical coverage - lots of work and hopefully a ton of fun.

Follow along on Twitter and Facebook!

The idea is to Play Hard. Eat Well. Be Happy.

Simple enough, right?!

Le Tour de Vie.

Ever since the 3rd day of July, Erich and I have been faithfully watching the Tour de France, almost as if it were our job. And, to be perfectly honest, we've watched at times instead of actually doing our real jobs. But if the peloton is under the flamme rouge with 1K to go...and the patient is waiting in the exam room (very comfortably, I might add)...another 90 seconds surely couldn't hurt, right?!

This race is impossible to watch without feeling all sorts of various emotions throughout the three-week journey. Anticipation before the start of the Prologue gives way to heart-pounding excitement as the first stages get underway, complete with nervous crashes and photo finishes.
This year's cobblestone stage added a whole layer of complexity, certainly for the cyclists, but also for the fans. On that day, the race was already over for many - and the foothills of the mountains had not yet come into view. Of course, there's always sympathy for those who are injured or ill, forced to retire from the race long before Paris. And then as the riders climb the tallest mountains in the Alps and the Pyrenees, the strategy and suspense build dramatically.

In addition to all of my usual thrills from watching Le Tour, I added frustration and a touch of anger to my repertoire of emotions this year. A very questionable attack at a pivotal moment left the subsequent race leader, Alberto Contador, in the yellow jersey...and in the hot seat. My blog can be anything I want it to be, but a forum for the discussion of cycling ethics it ain't! At least not for today. That aside, suffice it to say I felt strongly about the outcome, and it will be talked about with other Tour lore for a long, long time to come. Rightly so.

What I'm left with as the race quickly approaches its grand finale in the City of Love is a deep appreciation for the beauty of the French countryside, as well as for the sport of cycling itself. And I was thinking lately how this race is really a pretty good analogy for life. That probably sounds cheesy, but hear me out.
There are the easy days, right? Super flat road ahead, beautiful scenery, no hills to climb, wind in your hair, feeling 'no chain.'

There are lessons, many of them hard to learn. That cheating gets you nowhere, not really. That the guy in front of you owns you. And that turnabout is fair play. Always.

And there are days with a seemingly interminable climb before you, where the finish line is impossible to see. And maybe just when you think the end is in sight, you encounter a switchback, completely changing your direction and forcing you to 'grab another gear,' just to hang on. And then there's everything in between. Where, truth be told, most of us probably spend the vast majority of our time. Nothing that seems insurmountable...yet nothing without some sort of little wrinkle, just to keep us from becoming too complacent. And I suppose you have to have a little bit of everything - the easy and beautiful, the epic and hard - even the occasional crash - just to remind you that you're alive and serving a purpose. All the time soldiering on toward the Finish Line of a job well-done. So as the peloton charges over the line on the Champs Elysees this Sunday, I will surely miss the race, the drama, the views, and the beloved old Brits. But this year's Tour de France has brought with its usual suspense and thrills a stark reminder that perseverance is worthwhile; that honor outweighs a trophy; and the time-honored truth that in the end, the good guy always, always wins.

Maybe my favorite lesson from this year's race has been the subtle illustration of how things can change so quickly, even on what would seem to be the most routine of days. A flat tire here, a clipped pedal there - and the race changes, for good. So what I take away from it all is that it's probably best to live every day with eyes wide open - not only to avoid the cracked cobbles and the oil slicks and the dropped chains - but also to keep from missing the breathtaking vistas and the fields of sunflowers all around you.

Maybe Diane Ackerman said it best: "I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I have just lived the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well."

Vive le Tour! And Vive la Vie...

Everything and Nothing!

You know that thing where you look at your life and you think you're way too busy...but then you try to figure out what exactly it is that makes you way too busy - and you come up empty? Except you know that can't be true because you always feel busy?! Right. So that's how I feel lately! I haven't even blogged about it all, which I really like to do. But I can't say for sure why that is...except that it's because I've been busy...but I'm not even sure just what it is that I've been busy doing! See what I mean?

Maybe recounting the past few weeks in bullet-points will help...

On Memorial Day weekend, Erich, Amy, Aliza, and I worked on medical coverage for a bicycle race in High Point, North Carolina. A weekend filled end-to-end with adventure, complete with a guy who fractured the greater trochanter of his femur in a bike crash...and capped off with the birth of Baby Sydney, the beautiful daughter of my all-time favorite Canadians.

Then we traveled to Boone the next weekend for an overnight stay in the mountains before E's bike race at Roan Mountain. Gorgeous views - perfect getaway. We cooked out with the Bus Crew later that night when we got home (after the obligatory huge nap)...nothing quite like sitting on a patio with good friends in the summertime...

We visited my family in Virginia the weekend before Father's Day, which was nice and relaxing. Dad and Erich went for a spin on their bikes before meeting up with the rest of the family for lunch at my grandparents' house...followed closely by the USA v. England World Cup soccer match...and then a delicious cookout with Mom and Dad Saturday night before driving back early Sunday afternoon in a classic summer thunderstorm. Good times!

Oh, and right in the middle of all of our weekend trips, Starnes and I launched into our next training plan. I guess I thought the only thing crazier than doing a half-marathon at Disney World would be to sign up for a second half-marathon at Disney World. That's the idea, at least...and it's the carrot I'm dangling to make myself get out in all this heat and humidity and put one foot in front of the other...in slightly faster succession than a walking pace (I mean, for some people). At least it feels good (well, sometimes awful) to be back out there again!

And then there was Argus. The band gathered in The Dash this past weekend for an acoustic show at Krankies Coffee Shop. The most fun for us, really, because we had so many of our friends gathered in one place (our home!) for a ton of fun. After suffering through the Clemmons Rotary 5K early Saturday morning, I was ready to hang out at our house for the band's rehearsal (a.k.a. cookout and jam session) prior to the show later that night. And I have to say - the show was awesome! To be sure, I must have a built-in bias. But there were plenty of people there to show their love, and the guys returned the favor by offering up some great music. Our Sunday was mostly about rest and recovery before heading into yet another busy week...

And the madness continues. Erich and I have tossed around the idea of backpacking and camping this coming weekend. Though admittedly, hanging out at our house and just catching our breath would totally suffice, too. I guess time will tell!

Always, always, always an adventure on the horizon...

Mochas & Schemes.

The last few weeks have been blissfully quiet. Nothing too pressing, just the everyday routine of working in clinic, hanging out with friends, and making the world go 'round.

Our book club met this past Thursday night, which is always a ton of fun. We discussed our latest book, Apologize, Apologize, and caught up on each other's lives over some brie and some fondue and some Riesling. Ahhh, just as it should be...

So this past Saturday morning, I woke up early-ish (for a Saturday, I mean) to meet up with my buddy, Starnes, for some girl time. We originally tossed around the idea of going for a run, but with the sky threatening and the coffee brewing, we elected to head straight for Starbucks instead. Naturally.

The morning was quiet, for whatever reason. We had our laptops open, and Sarah McLachlan's Greatest Hits album was playing in the background. It wasn't too long before the cloudy skies opened up. But we were so happy to catch up and hang out together that the rain just sort of added to a super-cool, much-needed morning. And so it was, over a caramel latte and a white chocolate mocha, that we started to plot and scheme.

Some small plans, you know. And some bigger plans. Even some of our biggest plans yet. Medical coverage for bike races. Maybe a half-marathon somewhere down the road. Lots of travel ideas - some well within reach, some a little more like a fantasy (yet). But I can tell you this - our Google Calendars (and our hearts) were completely full by the time we packed up.

A mocha or two, a few plots and schemes, and a little more Shake.and.Bake. Look out, World!

Shake.and.Bake.

It all started with a letter.

In 2003, upon my acceptance to the Physician Assistant Program at Wake Forest, I received a letter from the President of the Class of 2004. Contained within was my official welcome to PA School, as well as the assignment of my big sister, or the mentor from the class ahead of me who would guide me through my first year. I couldn't have known it at the time, of course, but that class president would later become my husband. And the big sister he assigned to me all those years ago? She became my best friend.

Last week, as I prepared to stand beside her as her Matron of Honor, I searched through some of our old cards and photos. I even found the first e-mail she ever wrote to me, introducing herself as my big sister. Dated 04/14/03. I can't even believe I still have it in my Inbox, but there it was. And it's no secret to anyone - especially her - that she was possibly the worst big sister. Ever. Like, in the history of Wake Forest. Busy with the challenges of adjusting to PA School (for me) and surviving clinical rotations (for her), we almost never saw each other. I didn't know it at the time, but she was also grieving the loss of her precious sister-in-law, who had suddenly passed away only two months before I arrived at school.

But there's always a greater plan at work. And I'm not sure there's ever been a more powerful illustration of that in my life than during those early days at Wake. Because while my big sister was sorting through her life changes, another mentor stepped in - and much later, when the time was right, I even fell in love with him! As that relationship evolved, so, too, did my career. After graduation, I began working at an orthopedic practice in Winston-Salem. As fate would have it, my big sister was working there, too.

And that's when the magic started.

Our friendship blossomed quickly. She brought me something in my life I had never had before. And to this day, if you ask me what it is, I'm not even sure I can tell you. What I do know is that for as long as I live, I hope I'm never, ever without it.

We commonly refer to each other by our last (maiden) names. Payne and Starnes...or, more accurately, Payne&Starnes. Just one word.

I somehow tricked her into signing up for her first 5K back in early 2006. And to this day, I blame her exclusively for making me do my first triathlon. I can still remember that chilly fall morning before the Angels Race. We were so far beyond nervous, it was ridiculous. In the tradition of that race, you have your race number marked down one arm and the name of someone you race in memory or in honor of down your other arm. She raced in memory of Jenny, her late sister-in-law. But standing there in line behind her, I decided to have something altogether different written down my arm.

If you've seen the movie 'Talladega Nights,' then you know that Ricky Bobby and his best buddy, Cal, always give each other a fist bump before the start of any race and say "Shake and Bake." Earlier that summer, when the movie first came out, Starnes and I decided we'd snag that slogan for our friendship, too. We'd used it over and over so much that I suddenly knew exactly what I needed the volunteer to write on my arm to serve as my inspiration on the morning of that first triathlon.

So while I joke about blaming Starnes for making me do that first race, the truth is, I've been grateful ever since. We've now done so many races together that it's become one of the (many) signatures of our friendship. And maybe with the exception of a Baby Grant and a Baby Bus down the road, I'm pretty sure we won't slow down any time soon.

We've also traveled together a bunch - both with our guys and on the greatest girls' trip in the history of the world (so far). Our trip to New York City in 2007 was something I won't ever forget. Holiday lights, the tree at Rockefeller Plaza, a shopping bag from Tiffany's, and a peppermint white mocha every fourth block. And if you add that to Max Brenner's Chocolate Factory, the giant piano at FAO Schwartz, and pomegranate margaritas from Rosa Mexicano, all set to 'The Music of the Night,' then you have one of the greatest trips ever taken. Period.

Later that spring, I asked Starnes to stand with me as I married my Erich...the greatest day ever. And if you can believe it, I totally kept the secret when her Erik proposed to her the following spring until she could tell family and friends in person. And so life was really sweet. Crazy jobs and Starbucks dates and swim-bike-run...with a kindred spirit by your side, laissez les bons temps rouler.

But it doesn't take much living of life to know that a good friendship - I mean, the really good kind - needs to have its hard times, too. That's how you know it's made of the right stuff. Or as Kahlil Gibran (much more eloquently) put it, "How else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."

So last summer, on the 4th of July, I knew immediately when my mom handed me the phone that something just wasn't right. My parents and sister had come down from Virginia and New York, respectively, to visit us for the holiday. Starnes had left our house with Bus, her fiance', not two hours earlier on their way to dinner. So I had no idea why she was calling me...I just knew when I heard her voice that it wasn't for any good reason at all. The few words she could speak clued me in that her brother and Bus' father had been critically injured in a horrible accident. What followed was, I think, the longest, scariest night of our lives.

You learn a lot about somebody when you see them in that kind of pain. And you learn a lot about yourself when there's not one thing you can do to fix it. We spent that whole long first night shoulder-to-shoulder in the ICU waiting room. And when it finally became clear that recovery was possible at the end of a long road, I learned that it's totally possible to love somebody so much more than you already did.

This past fall, I watched from the edge of the pool, the side of the road, and the end of the trail as Starnes did the Angels Race again, this time in honor of her brother. It was the first time he'd ever seen her race. As she approached the Finish Line to the sound of him ringing a cowbell and cheering her on...well, let's just say it made waking up early on a weekend morning way more than worthwhile.

And so, this past Saturday, we came to her wedding day. My anxiety over somehow summarizing in a toast what it all means to me was outweighed only by the very deep honor I felt to stand beside her. We spent the early part of the day getting ready, and in addition to the countless other emotions, I couldn't help but feel really, really lucky. Because it's not every day that you find yourself sitting on the edge of a bathtub, drinking a celebratory mimosa, and watching your best buddy put on her (waterproof) mascara before heading off to the church. It was, in the very best way, such a privilege to be there in that moment. And I felt a nearly overwhelming sense of gratitude.


It was for those (and so many other) reasons that we had agreed to keep our words few before walking down the aisle. Because I knew that when everyone else had gone inside, it would be just me standing there with her and her father in that vestibule. So you may not believe this, but in a moment that will be a highlight of my life for a long time to come, we leaned over, gave each other a fist bump, and mustered up a "Shake and Bake." It was the planned ending to my toast for later that night, and she couldn't possibly have known it at the time. But that's just how we roll.

It was, in the most real sense, the Start Line of her biggest adventure yet, so for us, those were the perfect words. And I won't be able to tell you all that it meant for me to stand there beside her while that knot was tied. What I can tell you is that I have most happily surrounded myself with people who make me better because of who they are. And when you share a day like we all shared together this past weekend, what you're left with is a happy, (so very) happy heart. I guess every friendship has their own language, their own quirks and funny phrases that mean something special, just to each other. And you often hear about those three little words - I. and Love. and You. Believe me, Starnes and I said those words plenty of times on Saturday. But at the end of the day, it might have been those three other little words that knit our hearts just a little closer together.
Shake. and. Bake.