Author Archives: Rachelle

About Rachelle

I live on the west coast but hail from the eastern one and I love the things I love. I think life should be the pursuit of happiness, because what's the point otherwise? I'm a writer, a dancer, an unlikely MBA and a yoga teacher. I live on a beautiful island in the Pacific Northwest with my dashing and fun husband, Adam and our two furry cat-kids, Maui & Hermes.

I bet you never thought I’d write about bot flies.

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But you’d be wrong. I made myself a note yesterday! Let’s see now, what did I say I’d talk about? Oh yeah, they are (in no particular order):

  1. Brain-eating amoebas
  2. The Plague
  3. Bot flies

There is a common thread to all of these disgusting things, but you’ll have to read this whole post to figure out what it is. First, let me tell you why they’re on the list. As you may know, I write a blog for work, all about health. It’s called Health-bent (how I got away with that name, I’ll never know) and it’s pretty much the best part of my job. Last week’s post was all about allergies, which must’ve resonated with a lot of people, because many people commented in response to my quest to find a magical cure. It was all going well, and then came the brain-eating amoebas.

Well, actually, first came my comment about neti pots and distrust of this image, which I cannot stop posting. There’s something mesmerizing about just how much this guy is enjoying his ridiculous predicament. One of my readers posted a comment (with a link to a news story, no less) about how people using tap water in their neti pots somewhere in the southern US contracted a brain-eating amoeba. Seriously, you guys; this is for real. It was in the news in December. <<barfs>>

So, that’d be a bad day. Imagine: There you are, rinsing your sinuses, and suddenly your BRAIN is being eaten. By a zombie-like, brain-eating amoeba. FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, THIS IS TERRIFYING STUFF. And to think I was contemplating trying a neti pot. NOT ANYMORE.

Okay, next point. Right. Moving on. To the Plague. Mmm hmm. A nice light topic. Last time Adam was in Seattle for coaching training, I was watching movies on Netflix and saw one with Sean Bean. I figured it must be good. Except for how it was all about bubonic plague (not sure what I thought it would be about, given that it was called Black Death). Suffice it to say, this movie was Pretty. Darn. Gross. Seriously. It was gory (people die in horrifically medieval, by which I mean not generally humane, methods). The next day, I was at work, and began to wonder if the way they portrayed the plague was, in fact, based on fact. So, I looked it up. Do NOT do this. I urge you to heed my advice. But, I can assure you that the way they depicted black death in the movie (which you probably shouldn’t watch) was very true to reality (which you probably don’t want to know).

Clearly, I cannot be trusted to take care of myself whilst on my own. I watch horrible movies and stay up too late. I need a grown up.

Okay, so last one. Bot flies. Last week on my monthly Friday-night craftiness party (in which my friends and I make crafts involving rubber stamps, double-sided tape and oh-so-much glitter), we somehow ended up listening to Ashley describe bot flies.

By “somehow”, I mean that we were talking about bugs and Annie mentioned that her crazy roommate on the MBA trip to Brazil (oh right, that was me…), felt compelled to look up and learn about the types of insects they might encounter while pottering about in the Amazonian rainforest. I admit that, in hindsight, this was a mistake. As was, apparently, the sharing of my new and unwelcome knowledge with Annie, who has evidently not yet forgiven me.

All this talk of looking up disgusting bugs that want to kill you made us discuss the spiny fish that swims up your you-know-what, if you pee in the water (I don’t know if it’s true, but our guide said not to pee in the water, so I took his word for it). After agreeing that this would definitely be an unpleasant experience, Ashley shared with us a story about bot flies and how she learned what they do by Googling them. I would strongly suggest you do not do this. For real. Trust me. I haven’t, because I have the benefit of Ashley’s verbal description and I’m not quite done twitching when I think about it.

What’s the moral of this long, seemingly disjointed and rambling account? Don’t look things up. Do not Google them. And heaven help you if you do, but do NOT click on the images tab. Just leave it alone. Look at pictures of cute kittens to distract your mind. Trust me. There are some things you don’t need to know, especially graphically.

I remember the day I looked up the plague at work. I ran over to my coworker’s desk and told her how horrific it was. To which she replied, “Well, yeah. It’s The Plague. What did you expect?”

How very reasonable of her. I didn’t really have an answer. But I wish I didn’t know what it looked like.

 

Ooh! Look! A bumblebee!

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That title has nothing to do with anything in this post. However, should you feel inspired to giggle, you can always watch Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and on one of them, you’ll see a Welsh guy named Steven Williams. He will say “Ooh, look: A bumblebee!” I guarantee you that you will laugh. If it weren’t 10:35 pm and thus past my bedtime, I’d go watch it right now. It’s that good. You’re welcome.

I guess I just made my title refer to the content of my post. I assure you, this was not my aim. I fully intended it to be just a random quote I picked out of my memory banks. Sometimes, though, I’m too clever for my own good.

I had an idea for a blog post tonight, but I forgot to write it down and now it’s gone. Pffft. Vanished into thin air. Just like my intention to write the idea down. Perhaps I shall remember it tomorrow. Perhaps. We shall see…

Oooh, but you know what? I forgot to tell you the best part about yesterday’s hot yoga class: Bending & Boiling, Part Deux. There was a girl in front of me (who has clearly done hot yoga before, inasmuch as she, unlike me, was not wildly looking around the room as if to say, “What’s going on? How did I end up here, inside the molten core of Earth herself?”) whose nose just started bleeding. I’d noticed it for quite some time, but was too damn hot and bothered (not in the way you think, either) to mention it. Also, people don’t talk in hawt yoga and I was not wanting to break the rule, just in case they sent me to an even hotter corner to sit and think about what I’d done for punishment.

So yeah. Her nose is a-bleeding, all down her face. Seriously, you guys. There are mirrors all over the frigging place in this hotter-than-Hades room. And she’s all bending and sweating and seemingly oblivious to the bleeding, which I can only assume was occurring due to severe over-broiling of the body. Eventually, she turns to her friend and mouths: “Is my nose bleeding?”

Um, yes. Yes it surely is. Unless you sweat red, my friend, and if you do, you have a whole other set of problems. Gives a whole new meaning to the saying “Blood , Sweat and Tears,” doesn’t it?

Oh! I just remembered what I was going to write about! How very absent-minded-professor-like of me. I’m too lazy to draft more right now, but I will leave myself a cryptic hint, for tomorrow:

  1. brain-eating amoebas
  2. The Plague
  3. Bot flies

I bet you’re intrigued now, aren’t you?

I will end off with this little story for you:

In 2005, Adam and I went to Disneyland. It was the funnest. Time. EVAR! Seriously, there are many yarns I could weave about that adventure-laden expedition, which I shall mete out in small, delicious morsels, lest you be overcome by the EXCITEMENT of it all.

So, anyway, they sell all these princess costumes for the little kids to wear there. Any little girl can be her choice of princess, but alas! Not so for the more mature (you have to pronounce that “mat-ooor” for the full effect) royal wannabe, such as myself.

Oh, the humanity! So, I went to the princess section, bought a tiara and stuck it in for the remainder of the day. I mean, really: the kids’ mouse ears have elastics on ’em, so the kid can wear them about, but not the adult ones. I guess we’re meant to just sit still and watch happiness happen, to avoid any gentle breeze that might knock my last vestiges of childhood from my head. Why, yes; it bothered me—how can you tell?

But I digress. While wandering around California Adventure, a park employee dashed out in front of us from one of the movie-making buildings (I don’t know what they’re called, but you can go in and see/learn things, I think. I don’t know for sure; we didn’t go in because we were too busy having The Time of Our LIVES). He was gasping like he’d run the Boston Marathon, holding one hand up to stop us. We thought we must’ve dropped something.

And then. You guys. Then, he takes a step back, makes a massively regal-looking and graceful bow to me, and announces, “Your Majesty!” FOR ALL THE WORLD TO HEAR. Didn’t I just die (of happiness)!

Best. Moment. EVAR! Seriously. This guy wins like 9 zillion customer service points from me.

Anyway, long story made short, this picture reminded me of that moment:

Owl + Royal Treatment = Happy Place

Well, that was fun. At least it was for me. Aaaand, that’s what really matters. Adieu!

 

D00d, where’s our car?

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Law Grad Formal was nothing short of AWESOME (requires all caps to convey my happiness). You know, I made some fabulous friends during my MBA (I believe it’s normal for people to bond during highly intense and traumatic experiences, at least according to Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock in Speed. It’s in a movie, so it must be true), and there are a couple of people I know I’ll be friends with forever. But when it comes to the people we’ve met through Adam’s law school experience, I’m thrilled at the bountiful abundance of exceptional, talented, lovely-inside-and-out, funny and clever people with whom our lives have been blessed.

Have I mentioned that they are all exceptionally good-looking?

The handsome gentlemen of The Old Swingers Club.

And also stunningly beautiful 😉

The gorgeous feminine side of The Old Swingers Club

[Just for the record, because he’s about to become a lawyer and I don’t want to get sued, I’d like to attribute these amazing shots to the fine photography skillz of Mr. Ryan Johnson]

Anywho, last night was super-awesome-amazing good times. To say the least. Know what’s pretty fun? Having everyone you meet say, “Oh you’re Bay? Adam’s wife? He’s such an amazing guy!” Never gets old hearing that kind of stuff! Adam’s speech (voted by his peers, along with his fellow student, Darcy, to address the class) was perfect. Thought-provoking, humorous and inspired. I got all misty, and saw several other people wiping their eyes. I’m so lucky to have married this guy. For real.

He’s going to put his speech up on his website and when he does, I’ll link to it here!

Since I know you’re all dying to know how my ensemble worked out (No? You’re not? Oh well, I’m telling you anyway), you’ll be pleased to know that it was a hit! I felt pretty good, too, which is always nice. Not that you need compliments to feel good about yourself, but you know what, my friends? It doesn’t hurt. Not one bit. And the big wildcard of the evening, a.k.a. My Hair, was a success. I did an intricate kind of updo, with French braids on my temples, a small bouffant (I teased it! Me! TEASING my hair!), and then 93 trillion bobby pins holding up the curled ends. You can kind of see it in this photo:

We're blowing kisses. You're welcome.

There was a professional photographer at the formal, doing a photo booth. I LOVE the whole photo booth thang. It came about just after our wedding (just missed that trend…) and it’s such a stellar way to capture all the guests at an event, have a little fun and create memories. I love them. They typically involve props and hilarity. We did a bunch of group shots and couple shots, so I can’t wait to see them! I’ll share ’em when we get ’em!

I could go on and on, but I’m tired, because of the late night good times (and possibly many adult beverages). I was definitely dragging my rear today. I was going to get up at 9 am and go for a run, followed by hot yoga/sweat-o-rama at 1 pm. The run did NOT happen.

Oh well, I thought, I’ll catch yoga now and then run later. At precisely the moment I needed to leave to get to yoga on time (it’s not within walking distance), I remembered that our car was parked somewhere downtown: We’d abandoned it in favour of being responsible adults and cabbing… So, I caught a cab to the car, but alas! it was too late to go to yoga.

So I went for a run and caught the later yoga class, at 3:45 pm. Oh wait, no I didn’t—I watched bad movies with the boys, didn’t run at all, and missed that class, too. At 5 pm, I kicked myself in the rear and dragged my sorry self to yoga after all, for which I’m pretty glad. I wonder if the people around me could smell the haze of night-before-excess that I was sweating out (“Does anyone else smell pinot gris?”).

What a great weekend. Awesome. Thank you, Weekend!

Prom 2012!

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Tonight is Adam’s Law School grad formal. I am VERY excited. I don’t get nearly enough opportunities to get dolled up and prettified, so I’m getting right into the spirit! This morning, the wives of the law grads (and the one lawyer-to-be who is a wife), all went for manicures and pedicures together. Davis kindly and generously took us all for that treat and Val brought wine (we waited until 12:04 pm, because we have some standards). My nails are an amazing orangey red, called “My Chihuahua Bites”. I feel like Gloria from Modern Family.

Because it’s obviously all about me, I’ve been quite concerned about what I should wear. I hear “formal” and I think floor-length ball gown. I have several of these on hand (of course, right? A girl always needs to be prepared for fabulous parties and fancy shindigs). But I don’t want to get there and be way overdressed, even though, according to Oscar Wilde, “You can never be overdressed or overeducated.” The other problem is that from ball gowns, I have oodles of sundresses and not a lot in the mid range. Any dresses in the cocktail range are all hand-me-downs, and they’re all a little big. I mean, that’s better than them being too small (especially given my shocking propensity towards laziness and missed workouts as of late), but still. Strapless dresses that don’t fit quite right are a problem.

I am wearing a gold dress and gold peep-toe heels. Seeing’s how the sun only made her grand debut two days ago, my legs are still pasty looking, but whatevs. Some of the ladies are getting their hair done, which, in retrospect, would’ve been a good idea for me. I can do French braids, but apart from that and ponytails, I am not skilled when it comes to styling my hair, which is currently at The Most Difficult length ever. In fact, I’d love to write more, but I have to pore over Pinterest to see if there’s any way of saving this mop from looking so, well, moppish.

Here are my feet. I always feel like I should apologize to the person working on my feet, because 20+ years of dancing and copious amounts of swimming, running and yoga make the job a little tougher…

At least my feet are cute (if you don’t think they are, keep that to yourself. I think they are.):

Lucky Feet!

I gotta go figure out my hair. I’m pretty sure it will involve some degree of French braiding and ponytail.

 

 

Spring. It’s so hot right now. And The Shower Incident.

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So maybe “hot” isn’t quite the right word, but whatever! It was GORGEOUS outside today! Working from home, which, by the way, is favourite, means getting out for a lunchtime run is a bit more simple than when I’m at the office. This is because when I work from home, I wear sweatpants (which I call my “creative pants”. Jeans are “happy pants”, just for the record).

I can run and not shower and I don’t have to get all dressed up again afterwards, like I would at work. Okay, so I don’t really get all gussied up for work, but from the home office, I can just put the sweatpants back on (sweat is in the name, so it’s fine to do so sans shower). Hey, at least I wear pants when I work from home: From the sounds of it, I’m doing better on the wearing of clothes at home than some others I know. Or at least according to their purported home-working ensembles, which tend to involve degrees of partial nudity, or so they would have me believe.

Here is a thing about me:

I do not like shared showers. Never have, and am fairly certain I never will. If there’s not a shower stall, I’m not showering. I don’t feel comfortable prancing about in my birthday suit. Oh yeah, that reminds me, I still haven’t told you about the Shower Incident. <<shudders>> I will do so below. Read on, brave souls. You’re in for a treat.

Honestly, though, I’m just not into it. I wear deodorant and shower at least once every day, so I really don’t think I reek of feet or armpits. Plus, I’d have to lug in even MORE stuff every day and life’s too short. I have yet to hear someone around me say, while quizzically sniffing the air around them, “What’s that stench?” so I think I’m doing okay.

Also, I like my shower. It’s got all my stuff. I have a prescribed order of shower-related events to which I adhere, so my bathroom is the place to be. Plus, Hermes sits on the toilet and waits until the shower’s done, then jumps into the tub to lap up the tub juice. Then he jumps out and leaves cute little paw prints on the tiles. I don’t get that at the pool, though it would be a nice touch. Pool cats. Aww!

Here, in a nutshell, since you’ve waited so patiently, is the Shower Incident:

Once upon a time, which was roughly 2 years ago, I was at Crystal Pool for my morning swim, when, whilst showering as per the pre-pool regulations—in my bathing suit, of course—before entering the pool area (this seems to be optional for many pool goers, but it’s really more of a rule than a suggestion, so COME on, people: Read the rules! And then follow them!), I turned around to find a naked woman surprisingly close to me.

As you may know, I’m particular about my personal space and a bit of a prude, so you can imagine my discomfort at being in close proximity to a stranger who was naked as a jay bird not wearing any clothes, let alone any feathers. Not even a smidgen of modesty. Shame on you, Jay Bird. Shame.

Egad! I thought, what does she think she’s doing? And then she smiled and asked me, “Would you mind getting my back?” At which point, she held out a pouf that was manufactured during roughly The Dawn of Time and vigorously used ever since.

Here is where I calmly said, “I’m sorry, but I’m really just not comfortable with that,” and left to go for my laps. Because that’s what an adult would do who did not wish to do the thing requested. Because it is my prerogative to say no.

Except I didn’t say no, because the first thought in my head was: “Aaaah! There’s a naked lady here, talking to me!”

The next was: “EW EW EW! I don’t want to touch her scaly old back!”

Followed by: “I really need an adult! I want to say no, but then she’ll think I’m a weirdo freak with boundary issues (which I one hundred percent do have).”

So, I said sure (and threw up in my mouth) and gingerly accepted the disgusting pouf and lightly ran it on her back, letting the water from the shower hide my tears of horror while I gagged and shuddered.

You guys. Do you know what happened next?

No, of course you don’t. So, let me tell you. She said, “Harder.”

And I died inside, after dry heaving and fainting cold on the disgusting tiles of the shower room floor.

When The Horrid Event was over, and I turned my shower to scalding to wash away my feelings and clean my soul, she said thanks and winked conspiratorially at me, saying, “It’s just so hard to reach your back!”

You know what, you guys? It is not actually that hard to do. Reaching your back, I mean. And you know what else? This lady is A FIT WOMAN. She could probably kick my arse. She can for sure reach her own back. I was so ashamed of myself. Seriously. Who does something like this when it makes them retch and squirm? This girl, that’s who. Yeah, the girl who is technically bilingual (I’m a little rusty) and knows how to say “no” in no less than five languages, except in moments when she really needs to.

Thing is, this woman is at the pool every morning I am, same time, same channel (different lane, though). So, you know what I did to avoid this unpleasant scenario? Like the big, grown-up and independent woman I am, I changed my schedule to ensure that I wouldn’t be in the shower with her EVER EVER AGAIN.

So sad. If you’ll excuse me. I need a shower.

This will do nicely for me.

Oh Day.

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You know when you can feel things ramping up at work and you’re mildly concerned because you have no idea what you’re doing? No? Just me? Well then. Aren’t I lucky.

I’m feeling morose. On account of it being Thursday and all. Thursdays go from 8:30 am until 10 pm. That is long. I cannot brain anymore. Though, my neighbour in InDesign tonight made me laugh so hard tonight that it nearly made up for the day of meh. You know when you are laughing at something that’s not really that funny, but you can’t stop? Those moments that occur usually at incredibly appropriate time and places, like in class, or church. You guys. I was crying. Tears of mirth.

Well, this made me smile. I like this bear, who likes California. I like California, too. I could so use a road trip right about now.

I'm not stealing this image. I'm promoting it. Buy this print. I want to.

It’s almost the weekend. Come on, Friday!

Speaking of weekends, this Saturday is Adam’s Law grad formal. I’m pretty excited. The girls and I are getting mani/pedis (ooh!). I’m still not sure what to wear, though. “Formal” is throwing me. Do I wear an evening gown? Because I could, you know. I have several (just in cases). I also have tiaras. I need to wear them more, too, so that’d really solve a couple of problems.

On that note. I’m off. Ciao.

Oh wait, before you go, I should mention that I could probably spend a lot of time on www.icanhascheezburger.com. This owl is AWESOMESAUCE, for 2 reasons:

  1. It is an owl. Enough said.
  2. It’s bowing to my royal self, not unlike that employee at Disneyland who MADE MY DAY!

You know you’re a grown up when…

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Today, I used my lunch break to hoof it to China Town, so I could get soap. Uh huh; soap. Not just any soap, mind you, but little cute ones from France that smell AMAZING (all the best things are French, says the Acadian girl). For serious, you guys. You should smell the ananas (that’s pineapple, friends) soap. If you come over, you can! Then I got a soap dish (will the excitement of my life never abate?). It’s a plain, clear glass one. I heart it. I’ve decided bar soap is better for the environment than liquid soap, so that’s why this little sudsy endeavour began.

Actually, the entire reason for this little jaunt was so I could visit the shop cats there and in Fan Tan Alley. All these shop cats are super friendly, lovely, soft and purry creatures. My own two cats are much less of all those adjectives. Yup, Maui and Hermes are ingrates. Good thing they’re so cute…

Anyway, here are those cats, for your viewing pleasure. They were chillaxin’, big time. The big black one, though it’s hard to tell from the photo, is roughly the size of my car. He’s a big boy (but not just fat, like Monsieur Le Hermes). The short-haired tortie looks a little like Minnette the 2nd, for those of you who remember my late confidante of 15 years.

So handsome & luxurious!

“You may pet me now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just for the record, while torties are really pretty, I’m not ever getting another one. They’re nuts. My vet was surprised I’d picked Maui, another tortie, because “torties are all weird, genetic freaks.” They call the bizarreness “tortitude“. If you will. Isn’t that cute.

 

Floor barre.

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Yep, tonight I made my Ballet Yoga Bend & Stretch class do a floor barre. I started them at the barre for some foot warm-ups and pliés (because pliés look stupid on the floor and feel worse). This is when I remembered that I spent the whole weekend snowboarding. My quads were none too impressed with me, might I add. Neither was I with them, however, so it all worked out in the end.

My favourite moment was when, just as we were beginning tendues on the floor, a student asked, “Are my heels supposed to pop off the ground like yours?” This innocent question allowed me to explain that I have rather, erm, robust calf muscles and that I’m knock-kneed, so no, she didn’t have to force her legs into mimicking mine.

The next comment: “This is way harder than at the barre,” followed by a chorus of agreement, told me that this was just what they needed. It’s much trickier to stick out your derrière to compensate for your forward-tipping torso (also known as “cheating”) when your rear is seated on the floor. Ha! Best way to demonstrate how much they were pushing alignment, without pointing fingers, evAR. And I would know, because after 20+ years of dancing, this kid knows every trick in the book!

Tell you what: They’re gonna feel that tomorrow! Unfortunately, so am I, since I did the whole class with them, but still, you guys. STILL. I feel better knowing that they’re going to hurt a little tomorrow. I wonder if that makes me a bad person or a good teacher. All I know is dancing and yoga is hard work, but it’s the kind of burn that lets you know you did something awesome for your body (even if your body disagrees the next morning). It takes years of hard work and dedication to look this good:

Grandmaman made these leg warmers. I wore them tonight!

Also, in completely unrelated news, my work blog, Health-bent, was about allergies this week. Because I know they’re coming. Know how I know? The crows. They’re building their nests, getting ready to swoop down on me, spraying me with pollen. Because crows think I want their babies. Just for the record, I don’t. Anyway, I had to include this image here, because I was pretty pleased with myself for getting it into my work blog. Oh how I laughed. Gillian, this one’s for you! Who knew cleansing your sinuses was this much awesome? This guy!

 

 

At last!

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Adam and I got groceries tonight. This may not sound like a big deal, but seriously, you guys, it’d been at least a month since our last dedicated grocery trip.

I’d been eating dinners that were really just mixed items from the fridge. Not even enough ingredients for an omelette. Last night, dinner was as follows:

  1. Fried eggs.
  2. A piece of toast.
  3. A handful of grape tomatoes.
  4. A handful of baby carrots, dipped in (see next item):
  5. Hummus.
  6. A pickle.

This is not a satisfying meal. And I’m not all that picky, either, but even my undiscerning palate was unimpressed.

Anyways, since we got groceries, I had just enough time to make a salad (I’d have taken a photo, but I was getting hangry and forgot) and write an article that was due today for the next issue of UVic’s Business Class magazine. It’s my several-th article for the publication. I’m not sure how many I’ve written exactly and I’m too lazy to look it up.

So, good night. Adios. Farewell. Oh, this is starting to look like a song from The Sound of Music…

Well, that was fun.

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Got down the mountain late this evening, just in time to have a nice hot bath with coconut bubbles (they’re so cocoNUTTY!) and epsom salts. Yeah, I’m sore. But not as sore as I thought I’d be, which is good. Thank you, yoga! When I was pouring in the epsom salts, a HUGE chunk fell in. I decided that this was probably not a bad thing. It also made me quite buoyant. Also, I needed a shower, due to my rather intense case of toque/helmet-head.

Me, in a helmet, on a slope.

I stayed in this morning, because I had some work to do. This did not seem like the best use of my time at a cabin on a mountain, what with my new-found love of sliding down said mountainside, strapped to a board.

I got as much done as I could, given that I needed some approvals before I could really move forward very much (that and the internet was spotty). Then, all alone, I decided I should do some yoga, which I began after texting Adam to ask how much fun he was having. He replied that he was having very much fun and I should join him. So join him I did.

I got my rental gear like a pro, swapping a wrist guard because having a left and a right seemed more useful than the two rights I’d been given.

I slid down to the bottom, feeling pretty pleased that I hadn’t forgotten everything from the day before. I also tested my theory that, despite my experiences with surfing and life in general, I was strangely a goofy-foot on a snowboard. The evidence I compiled through my empirical studies (read: flailing and bailing after hurtling goofy-foot forward, losing control and catching my toe-edge, resulting in the instantaneous explosion of me rolling down the slope), demonstrates that, in fact, I am not a goofy-foot. Solved that mystery pretty durned quick.

I also practiced boarding on my toe-edge, because anything with a toe-edge is not where I really excel. This is not my favourite. I’m not sure why, but I do have a sneaking suspicion that it’s because sliding down a mountain backwards is not altogether a moment in which I feel as though I’m the boss of me.

I practiced my linked turns, which aren’t really linked, because of my aforementioned toe-edge issues. Heel turns? No prob. All over it. If that were a competition, I’d probably win, against some 6 year olds. Toe-edge turns? Not so much. I have sorted out why I have yet to successfully negotiate a toe-edge turn (thus linking my turns, you see). Here is my hypothesis:

  1. As soon as I turn my board to prepare for my toe-edge turn, my speed picks up, pretty much immediately reaching mach 4.
  2. At this speed, I am not entirely certain that, were I to put my weight on my toe-edge, I would not fall backwards, endangering everyone around me, and most importantly, endangering myself, in the process.

So, clearly I need a little practice. Next time up, I’m taking another lesson to practice. I’d be level 2, said Liz, my amazing instructor. Level 2, you guys. Not too shabby.

Also, Mount Washington is really beautiful. See here:

My feet, on my sweet rental gear. See how pretty Mount Washington is?