Thursday, August 21, 2008
Days in Hell: the Job
Ok, so I've been tired of this job for a long time. I tried to leave a couple of years ago, got another job I pretty well liked that was an adjunct to this department, then about a year ago, they decided to let that department "go." So I begged for this job back. I believe I may have made a mistake. When I "came back" I realized just how much I hate this place. I have tolerated it for a year. I have gone back to school and work is paying for the majority of the school (less the textbooks and miscellaneous fees) so I really want to keep working for the company. But, the straw is breaking this camel's back. We launched a new claim system 4 days ago. It sucks. It has lots of issues. It is NOT easier to use than the prior 30 year old main frame based (Cobol based) system. It is more complex. It takes 10 times longer to do anything. Everyone is at their wits end here and we are all being told to be "positive" about it. I think that's wrong. Examiners have huge caseloads and they are just getting more behind because now something that used to take 5 minutes is taking an hour. I am sure there will be some improvement as we become more proficient with the system, but some things are just inexcuseable. And here's the funny thing, the management knows it sucks and they keep feeding us "treat" food. . .to make us feel better. So pretty soon we will all be 10 pounds heavier and depressed! Way to go.
Monday, August 11, 2008
I love the smell of road rash in the morning
On Saturday 8/9/08 I raced the biggest/longest race of my life. And I finished. The only thing I've ever done that was harder than this race (physically) was delivering my son. My son tore things up a bit when he came into the world and this race tore me up a little bit upon entry as well.
The swim (1.2 miles) took way longer than it should have. It took me an hour. But I wasn't last.
Not 100 feet out of transition on the bike I wiped out on soft gravel. My brain had first told me to WALK my bike over that spot, but I thought I could be tough. Flesh is soft and gravel is sharp and hard. I ripped my left arm up pretty good and got road rash from my shoulder to my knee. But I wasn't broken. With a little assistance I picked myself and my bike up and I gave the rest of the race a go. 56 miles of hills and rolling hills on the bike later. . . I returned to the scene of my fall, got off the bike and walked that damned thing back to transition. At that point I wasn't quite last either, but the leaders were finishing up the race at that point. How nice for them.
I still had 13.1 miles left to run. At many points along the bike portion I thought to myself, "I can just stop now." But I knew I was kidding myself. I wouldn't stop until I was done, or too sick to continue. Oddly enough when I started running I wasn't all that fatigued in the legs. They felt decent. I was tired, but not dead yet.
The trail we ran most of the half marathon on was beautiful. Because there were so few people in the race, there were whole miles that went by where I didn't see another runner, just the prairie or one of the volunteers. Give those volunteers a hand for passing out water for hours and cheering for every last one of us! Did I mention I still wasn't last? I mentally bargained with myself to finish the run. . .one mile at a time. It worked. I ran up that damned Amsterdam Hill at mile 11.5. Well, maybe it was more like a shuffle, but it was NOT a walk! Once I had that done, I knew I could make it in.
Charles, and friends Heather, Jon and Taena were there at the end cheering as hard as they could when they saw me come out of the woods. I almost stopped there to cry, but I gave it the last bit of juice I had and ran over the finish mat. My bike sat alone on its rack. There was one runner behind me, someone must have collected her bike for her. I finished. I wasn't last. I cheered hard for the last person.
I do love this sport, but I also now believe that this distance is not meant for me. It's just a little too much.
I am sore, I am bruised, I am scabbed up, I had a tetanus booster (ouch) but I am a finisher. I hope I can be a finisher with everything important in my life.
The swim (1.2 miles) took way longer than it should have. It took me an hour. But I wasn't last.
Not 100 feet out of transition on the bike I wiped out on soft gravel. My brain had first told me to WALK my bike over that spot, but I thought I could be tough. Flesh is soft and gravel is sharp and hard. I ripped my left arm up pretty good and got road rash from my shoulder to my knee. But I wasn't broken. With a little assistance I picked myself and my bike up and I gave the rest of the race a go. 56 miles of hills and rolling hills on the bike later. . . I returned to the scene of my fall, got off the bike and walked that damned thing back to transition. At that point I wasn't quite last either, but the leaders were finishing up the race at that point. How nice for them.
I still had 13.1 miles left to run. At many points along the bike portion I thought to myself, "I can just stop now." But I knew I was kidding myself. I wouldn't stop until I was done, or too sick to continue. Oddly enough when I started running I wasn't all that fatigued in the legs. They felt decent. I was tired, but not dead yet.
The trail we ran most of the half marathon on was beautiful. Because there were so few people in the race, there were whole miles that went by where I didn't see another runner, just the prairie or one of the volunteers. Give those volunteers a hand for passing out water for hours and cheering for every last one of us! Did I mention I still wasn't last? I mentally bargained with myself to finish the run. . .one mile at a time. It worked. I ran up that damned Amsterdam Hill at mile 11.5. Well, maybe it was more like a shuffle, but it was NOT a walk! Once I had that done, I knew I could make it in.
Charles, and friends Heather, Jon and Taena were there at the end cheering as hard as they could when they saw me come out of the woods. I almost stopped there to cry, but I gave it the last bit of juice I had and ran over the finish mat. My bike sat alone on its rack. There was one runner behind me, someone must have collected her bike for her. I finished. I wasn't last. I cheered hard for the last person.
I do love this sport, but I also now believe that this distance is not meant for me. It's just a little too much.
I am sore, I am bruised, I am scabbed up, I had a tetanus booster (ouch) but I am a finisher. I hope I can be a finisher with everything important in my life.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Our State Fair
Our State Fair is a great State Fair, don't miss it, don't even be late!
Now, if you can't sing the whole of that song, or even that part of it you must not be from Iowa. Well, I'm not from Iowa. . .originally. I am, however, a born again Iowan. I can't remember the first time I went to the fair. It was either the year I was pregnant with my son, 1995, or the year before that. I suspect the latter.
Having grown up in California, a HUGE state with what, I am sure is a representatively huge state fair, I didn't care a whit about the thing. I never even considered going. I'm not sure where it is either. I think it's somewhere in Southern Cal.
Moving to Iowa in 1986 was eye opening in many ways. As a student from 1986-1990 I almost always went home over the summer and missed the fair. After I graduated, however, all I ever heard about at the end of July and beginning of August was the fair. Who planned to go? How many times were they going? How many corndogs would they eat? And on and on.
I have to admit that while some things get a bit passe, the essence of the fair - the people - never does. Almost a million people attend the fair during its 10 day run in August. Of course, those attendance counts also include the repeat offenders but don't include those little enough to not pay admission. So I guess it does probably come out pretty even up.
I love the people. I love how they sound, how they walk, how they interact with eachother, and what they wear. The fairgrounds come alive with people. They are everywhere and the demographics of the fairgoers are as varied as the sayings on their shirts. My favorite shirt to date said "Muck Fe." You figure it out.
Save a corn dog and a funnel cake for me! http://www.iowastatefair.com
Now, if you can't sing the whole of that song, or even that part of it you must not be from Iowa. Well, I'm not from Iowa. . .originally. I am, however, a born again Iowan. I can't remember the first time I went to the fair. It was either the year I was pregnant with my son, 1995, or the year before that. I suspect the latter.
Having grown up in California, a HUGE state with what, I am sure is a representatively huge state fair, I didn't care a whit about the thing. I never even considered going. I'm not sure where it is either. I think it's somewhere in Southern Cal.
Moving to Iowa in 1986 was eye opening in many ways. As a student from 1986-1990 I almost always went home over the summer and missed the fair. After I graduated, however, all I ever heard about at the end of July and beginning of August was the fair. Who planned to go? How many times were they going? How many corndogs would they eat? And on and on.
I have to admit that while some things get a bit passe, the essence of the fair - the people - never does. Almost a million people attend the fair during its 10 day run in August. Of course, those attendance counts also include the repeat offenders but don't include those little enough to not pay admission. So I guess it does probably come out pretty even up.
I love the people. I love how they sound, how they walk, how they interact with eachother, and what they wear. The fairgrounds come alive with people. They are everywhere and the demographics of the fairgoers are as varied as the sayings on their shirts. My favorite shirt to date said "Muck Fe." You figure it out.
Save a corn dog and a funnel cake for me! http://www.iowastatefair.com
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