This picture was taken about 2 years ago and still sits on my desk next to my computer.  With all the pictures I’m seeing of this year’s seniors, It’s amazing to think that we’ve all grown and started pursuing our dreams.  I couldn’t have asked for a better group of girls to have met at that time in my life.  I still miss you girls!

“I can’t do this again, I just can’t”

“Whatever you can’t do, I will.  That’s how this works.”

Jesus Christ, Grey’s, sometimes you’re just so damn spot on with what love is supposed to be.

So the Mudder was this weekend.  Not gonna lie, it kinda sucked.  Here’s a look back at my journey as told through pictures:

Here we are, the two love birds ready and eager to take on this physical challenge.  Look at those new shiny white sneakers and that hot exercise outfit!

Well, so much for that outfit.  But crawling through all that mud sure was fun!

Yes, I know it’s a great ass.  But see that water there?  I fell into it and it was probably about 40 degrees.  Think Ithaca Gorges.  In April.  

This was after the water and after a near vertical climb up rock and mud.  The look in my face says, “don’t talk to me.  I’m about to vomit and cry, and I don’t know which one to do first”.  Luckily, neither happened.

After I finished!  I sure looked tough, but I was shaking/I believe slightly hypothermic for about an hour.  Go May in New England!

A nice after-shot of the happy couple.  

The results of being tough.  Sunday Eric and I showed off our bruises and sat on the couch because we could barely move to do anything else.  We also could barely touch each other due to our bruises and scrapes and soreness.  I spent 24 hours believing beyond a doubt that I was going to need physical therapy, and if this was what being 60 felt like I’d rather die young.  By the way- you should see my arms.

All in all?  For some reason, I’m still describing the weekend as a “good experience”.  It really is awesome to look back on it all and go, “wow, I really did all that!  And I didn’t die!”  Still not sure if I’d do it again next year.  I think I need to let my ego of finishing build up a little more and some self-inflicted amnesia kick in.  

Skin-tight workout outfit?  Check.  Goggles?  Check.  Batting gloves?  Check.  Band-aids?  C’mon, no point- they’re not going to stick to all the shit that’s about to be on my skin.

Bags are packed, Grey’s is being watched, followed by a long night of sleep- just in case I can’t get comfortable in tomorrow night’s bed.  I’ve been carbo-loading and staying away from sugar (as much as possible) all week, and have been training for the past few months.   

I’M READY!!!

Plus, I have a strange excitement to be dirty.  Like, filthy, gross, muddy dirty.  How long has it been since you’ve been covered in mud?  My answer- two damn long.

As Eric and I were discussing our weekend schedule for the next month two weekend trips stood out to me: our trip to Bar Harbor followed by a trip to “The Cape” the next weekend.  Yes, both of these should be fun trips, but if you had asked me a year ago if I was ever going to be the girl taking trips to “The Cape” frequently during the summer, I would have laughed at you.  Luckily I will be going with people I know won’t be donning  cardigans wrapped around their shoulders and eating cornish game hens for dinner (that’s what all those crazy white people on “The Cape” do, right?)

I put my mind at ease, however, when I walked into an Ann Taylor Loft and tried on this dress: http://www.loft.com/loft/product/LOFT-Apparel/LOFT-Dresses/Border-Stripe-Tie-Waist-Dress/269099?colorExplode=false&skuId=11005087&catid=catl000013&productPageType=fullPriceProducts&defaultColor=9383  It’s cute on the hanger, but on me I felt old, stuffy, and just plain ridiculous.  

The point is, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable in this New England lifestyle, but I don’t mind shaking things up a bit and challenging the stereotypes in my head.  However, one day I vow to take Eric to South Dakota and make him eat cheeseballs and go mullet hunting at some local event.  

Someone explain why these past couple days since I’ve started running at 4+ mile stretches, I feel like a fucking blimp?  I don’t get it and I want it to go away.

So my weekend in Ithaca was awesome.  Obviously, not as awesome as all the memories that I made over the 4 years with the amazing people I met there, but awesome all the same.  I got most of my to-do’s checked off, with the exception of the bloody mary and the Purity ice cream.  Of course, my veggie cakes were the first to get crossed off the list: 

I didn’t get to share much of my past Ithaca life with Eric, but we’ll be in the area at least twice this summer.  I steered clear of the music school this time around, but I let him know that in the summer, when less people are there, I plan on enlisting his help to cross something else off my to-do list- making out with someone in the practice rooms.  I think he’ll be more than happy to oblige.  

In other news, my hockey team is sinking very quickly in the 1st round of the playoffs.  My heart is breaking slowly.

This Friday I’m going on a weekend getaway with Eric to… you guessed it, Ithaca!  I’m lucky enough that Eric’s best friend lives in Ithaca now, and he’s going on best man duties for his friend’s wedding prep.  I haven’t been back there since Applefest 2010, and I only have one weekend, so I’m making it count.  Luckily, it looks like the weather will be in our favor, so here’s the list I’ve made up of the things I hope to do (most involve where I have to eat/drink):

1. Chocolate crème brûlée at Madeline’s

2. Bloody Mary at Felicia’s

3. VEGGIE CAKES (eek!) at the farmer’s market

4. Burgers at Glenwood Pines (this is one of Eric’s must-do’s) after hiking Taughannock Falls.

5. Maltball Meltdown at Purity Ice Cream

6. Viva Margaritas

7. Lounging around at Ithaca Falls or the park by the lake (what was that place called again?)

8. Possibly visiting the old music school stomping grounds… we’ll see if nostalgia wins over my extreme desire to avoid being “the student who couldn’t leave”

Sometimes I wonder what people are thinking I’m listening to when I’m jamming out on the train to an all-male acappella version of “Come Sail Away”