The Great Minnesota Gorge Together

After a week of licking my wounds from last week's failed experiment in blogging. I have retuned. This post has just about everything anyone could want - animals, kids, food, obesity, body parts and crop art. Enjoy! (You ungrateful bastards.)

The last week of summer is always punctuated by a visit to the Minnesota State Fair. Every year it is basically the same thing. Animal barns, kids rides and food.

Officially it's called "The Great Minnesota Get Together" but the kids and I made it a fair-food fest.

Main entrance.

The mascot.

We got going early. For E, it was too early because she had a difficult time figuring out what she wanted for breakfast so we left the house with her unfed. (I know, "good parenting," but just you wait - it gets even more impressive.)

It was a beautiful sunny day with cool temps - just a perfect day for the fair. We entered on the north entrance so it wasn't at all crowded and the food booths were plentiful. First order of business, find E some breakfast. What did we settle on? Prono-Pups. (Like corn dogs, but much better. OK - exactly like corn dogs, but they have sweetness in the batter.)

E had already finished her Pronto-Pup. F still had a little nub left. Notice also our morning beverage of choice - Sprite! (Now that is some good parenting. You will notice my wife is no where to be seen, she was working.)

From here we actually looked at some stuff. I will let the pictures speak mostly for themselves.

First up the Horticulture Building

Scarecrows made of various materials. I also like the various seed corn samples on the wall - how do they judge that stuff?

Crop Art = art made from corn, wheat, barley and any other type of grain.

This was my favorite.

I actually kind of liked these from a graphic design point of view.

On the way to the animal barns we came across one of Minnesota's finest contributions to the cuisine of the world.

My kids are "thrilled," especially E.

Then we came across the the second of Minnesota's finest contributions to the cuisine of the world.

(Try to imagine a tater-tot hotdish on a stick with cream of mushroom dipping sauce. Some of you probably have NO idea what I am talking about.)

Finally, we made it to the animals.

Sheep

I love them in their little jackets to keep their wool clean before showing.

Getting groomed.

Nuts! (or as F would say, "Nuths!")

Different nuts. (I especially like the chainsaw sculpture with the guy pondering his future while a bear sneaks up behind him to rip his head off with razor sharp claws - or at least that's my interpretation. Hey, it's "art" - I can see whatever I want.)

Cows

Thrilled kids, once again.

Pigs

Deano

Pig on the loose.

Pigs getting a shower.

After seeing where so much of our delicious food comes from we were hungry.

Hmm, what first.

Deep fried cheese curds and Icees.

E liked the curds way more then F.

E and I had roasted corn on the cob. F wasn't interested.

That was followed in rapid succession by:

Tom Thumb Mini-Donuts and

Sweet Martha's Chocolate Chip Cookies.

The fair is always good for people watching. With a mass of humanity like this:

It's not uncommon to see people like this:

This gentleman was nothing compared to the rather larger woman standing behind me at the ticket booth. Wheezing. While she was standing.

and couples like this:

I like the way the pink feminizes what could easily be mistaken for a camo blouse that matches her husband's hat and t-shirt ensemble.

All in all it was a very fun day. Can't wait for next year.

I GET IT!

Apparently verbosity will get you nowhere. I thought the criticism of my long post might just be a Canadian thing, but since all three of my readers (I have three readers now, my popularity is soaring - thanks for commenting twice, Mom) have mentioned an aversion to posts of length I will keep my posts much shorter and sprinkle them with pictures (actual photographs, not "word pictures" of which I am so fond.) Brevity is my co-pilot. That being said, my posts may be few and far between until something even remotely interesting and picture-worthy occurs.

Since pictures are now required for audience approval - check out this one.

Roo Nailed It

That was the first comment from yesterday's post. At least she got through the whole thing before making a judgement. I think D got bored and gave up early.

It looks like I have to write "accessible" posts for those afflicted with short attention span.

Yesterday's post was "weird" even by my standards of weirdness. I could delete it, but I think I will leave it up as an example of what not to do on my blog.

Let's just put that behind us and move on.

I Really Need To Get Out More

Alright, I started a post earlier today bemoaning my life and the fact there isn't really anything blog-worthy happening. This is how far I got so you can all see how lame and self-indulgent it was.

I am writing this post out of a sense of duty. Duty to my dear readers (thanks, you two) to have something to read from me. I am not writing this because something miraculous has happened. Quite the opposite. I really feel like NOTHING is happening.

The kids have about a week and a half of summer vacation left and zero activities planned. This means I have to plan activities, something I am terrible at. My inability to plan activities makes me feel like a terrible parent. (Case in point - F has a friend over right now, they are playing Wii and have been for a couple of hours - yes, I said HOURS. It was raining earlier and everything is wet and our street is still torn up so it's totally a muddy mess, but still.) Tomorrow I get a respite because A doesn't work so it is my "free day" to get stuff done (read: find a job.)

I will do some of that "job finding" stuff - I actually have an informational interview on Thursday - but mostly I run some errands, write some stuff, drink coffee and sit around gazing at my navel. (Have I written this post before? It seems familiar.) All of this sitting around - I mean actual sitting - has started to wreak havoc on my aging body. We are familiar with my lower back issues and I think I am developing some aches and pains in my upper back, too. Like the stabbing pain under my shoulder blade that radiates into my neck so I have a hard time looking left. (Don't be around me when I have to drive.) I need to stop sitting around - literally!

I know, I know - oh whoa is me. I have it so rough. Boo hoo. That's not what I am saying.

Sad, isn't it?

After A got home from work I went for the run that got rained out this morning. As I was clicking off 11 warm and sunny miles, I decided that if my life isn't exciting I would at least make it sound like it is. To the most mundane blog posts I will bring interest, drama, excitement, blood-letting and violence by adding -- that's right --

ZOMBIES!

Why zombies you ask? No one likes zombies. Zombies are soulless, brain-eaters that the general public seems to enjoy seeing shot-gunned, macheted or otherwise dispatched with axes, hatchets, flame-throwers, circular-saw blades, high-caliber firearms, arrows, cross-bows or shards of broken glass. Sure, they look like your loved ones, friends or neighbors, but they are already dead - killed by the bite of another zombie - so if you destroy them you are only taking out the trash and can't be held responsible for killing someone, because they are already dead. Also, inevitably they are stinking, drooling and terrible dressers (although some are pretty good dancers - Thriller! - but that is beside the point.)

The more interesting blog posts might have run-ins with zombies as well, if it seems appropriate. Think of it as a dash of salt to bring out the flavor of any already delicious story. Where as for the boring posts, think of zombies as the seasoning salt that covers the taste of the ground beef (or mashed potatoes for you vegans, or white rice for the gluten intolerant) that is my life.

So zombies it is!

Or have I completely over-thought this whole concept? Zombies might be "over" already. Maybe I should throw in random infections of the N1H1 flu virus (you know, the "swine flu.") Nobody likes the flu either. It's timely and top of mind. People who have the flu are runny nosed, coughing, sweaty, smelly and soulless. They dress like shit and they never want to dance. Problem is, if you whack the head off of a flu sufferer with a dull, rusty hatchet you are actually committing murder - not a public service.

I don't know now. Let me work on this concept a little while longer and I'll get back to you.

My Friend Vic

My back is back.

Friday morning I was standing at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth (you will all be thrilled to know oral hygiene is very important to me) and as I leaned forward just a little bit the small of my back went "ZING!" and almost immediately I started walking like my 80 year old grandmother (before she died, god rest her soul.) For what ever reason my back/ass/piriformis started to spazz out. This is just getting ridiculous!

I walked around gingerly for most of the day and popped fistfuls of Advil while yelling at my kids for reasons unknown to them (a sore back makes me really crabby with a short fuse.) To make matters worse, I had a 16 mile run on my schedule for the next day.

Welcome, Vic.

A couple of hours before bed I welcomed my friend Vic into my treatment plan. Vic has seen me through a wide range of painful situations - physically painful, not emotionally or psychologically (my friend Porn helps me in those situations. Ha, I kid. But not really. I am kidding about that, too. But not entirely. I am totally kidding.) Now, I LOVE Vic. He always makes me feel better, relaxed, mellow, totally chill.

Vic doesn't have the same affect on everyone who looks to him for assistance. My sister gets "dangry" with Vic. (You, know 'drugged and angry.') Vic makes other people I know barf. I always offer to take Vic off those poor people's hands. Vic gets about $50 per "session" on the street, but I could never part with my dear, dear friend at any price.

I had Vic make another visit right before bed. Then, at about 3:30 in the morning I was awoken by my aching back - AGAIN! That is IT! I creakily made my way to the bathroom where Vic hangs out and had a double meeting. Then I drifted off to sweet, slightly psychedelic dreamland.

Running with Vic.

My alarm went off at 5:00 AM. Mmmm - mellow. I got up rather easily, got dressed, made myself something to eat and drink and then headed out to meet my running partner. My back felt great (as did the rest of me.)

I pull up to CS's house and she hops in the car. I ask her how she is doing, where are we going, etc. etc. and then I realize that I am YELLING EVERYTHING. I CAN'T CONTROL THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE. I apologize and get it back under control and THEN I REALIZE THAT I AM AGAIN YELLING EVERYTHING I AM SAYING. Then I come clean. "CS, I am sorry I am talking so loud," I whisper, "I am whacked out on Vicodin." She laughs - nervously - I am driving after all.

We get to the starting point of our run and hit the trail. As before, my back doesn't bother me when I am standing, walking or running - it only hurts after I have been sitting for awhile or lying down on something too soft. Vic don't fail me now.

I must point out that it is completely false to label Vicodin a "performance enhancing drug." My legs and body have never felt so strange during a run. I felt like everything was on a 5 second delay. Truly weird. Luckily about 45 minutes in everything was back to normal, but those first miles were trippy - and not in a particularly enjoyable way. I also think I kept talking too loud.

Vic is still my friend. I am sure he will visit again when I have a migraine, a tweaked muscle under my shoulder blade or more back/ass pain. I just hope he doesn't come back anytime soon and I hope I never have to run with him again.

Eliseism

E: "Moooom! F just kicked me in 'the parts'!"

A: "Too bad! You're in the 'no sympathy zone.'"

A Difference of Opinion

Or maybe it's perspective. Whatever.

Yesterday I was kind of tired all day. I ran in the morning, but not particularly hard - I just think I didn't sleep real great. Anyway, if you read my previous post (and weren't weirded-out by me talking about my "parts") I mentioned that the nurse guessed I was a runner after taking my blood pressure and telling me I have a pulse of 52. (I was thinking to myself - wow, I am in pretty good shape, this running junk works.) So, I come home and announce to A that my HR was 52. Her response, "Wow, that's low. Maybe that is why you are so tired."

For me a badge or honor. For A a cause for concern. It's funny how it's all about your frame of reference.

My Morning and a PSA

***This post gets a little "personal" so if you would rather just read funny stuff about my kids or marvel at my incredible athletic endeavors, then maybe you want to come back later. I am not saying this won't be humorous, but my body parts might be alluded to.***

This morning I had my first run with MS in what seemed a very long time. It was nice to catch up with her. Her dad has been engaged in an ongoing battle with prostate cancer and they have exhausted all the "conventional" treatments so they headed down to the Mayo Clinic last week to see if they could get some info on new or different treatments.

In the course of our conversation about her dad's doctor visit, MS told me the doctor asked her dad when his last digital prostate exam was (for those unfamiliar with the male anatomy and what this exam entails let me paint you a picture - the doctor crams his finger up your "bung hole" and feels your prostate to make sure it's not bumpy or bigger than it should be - sounds like fun, right?) His reply was something to the effect, "That is a 'one way' street and nothing goes up there." MS voiced what I was thinking - that sentiment is part of what got you here today!

Following our run I had a run-in of my own with Dr. Jellyfinger also known as my urologist. Here is a little background:

My dad died of prostate cancer ten years ago this year. He had an extremely aggressive form, but stayed with us for 18 months longer than the six months they had originally expected. He was 57. That is young for a person to be diagnosed with and then die of prostate cancer. Because of his young age and the aggressive nature of his cancer, my primary care physician recommended I see a urologist once a year starting about five years ago just to be safe.

So here is the PSA (this actually has a dual meaning - Public Service Announcement and Prostate Specific Antigen - the "thing" in the blood test commonly used to detect early prostate cancer. Here I mean the former.) (This only applies to men - women have other "parts" to mess around with.)

Men, when your doctor recommends that you start having your prostate checked - have it checked! The whole "digital exam" takes like thirty seconds at the very most. Oh, and according to a doctor friend - if you think you don't like getting that exam, apparently doctors like giving it even less. So don't be a "cool guy" who never "lets anything in through the out door." Relax! It might save your life someday.

BTW - My tests all came out normal and just fine. The nurse who took my blood pressure and pulse asked if I was a runner. Perhaps my nearly dead heart rate or barely perceptible blood pressure gave me away - she wouldn't tell me how she knew.

(And that is more than anyone ever wanted to know about me!)

Death of a Thousand Cuts

Tears, actually.

E wasted no time in retaliating for F's opening salvo. Her strategy is pure genius and resorts to wearing the poor kid down by degrees. Infinitesimally small degrees. Her first shot was to tear his poster. Not off the door. Not in half. Just a tear large enough to be seen, but not enough to be considered intentionally malicious by a parent - namely, me.

F went ape shit when he saw the tear. (I was in his room preparing to read with him before bed and witnessed his reaction.) He claimed E did it on purpose. E feigned innocence and said that she did indeed tear the poster but it was an accident. F continued to protest that E did it ON PURPOSE. I decided to half believe E but told her to tape it back together.

To tell the truth, I have an ulterior motive - I want to see how this skirmish escalates because it is such entertaining blog fodder. With any luck this could be a protracted siege.

Battle of the Siblings

F has lobbed the first volley in the battle of the siblings. Apparently fed up with E's "shenanigans" he made up a "Wanted" poster and hung it on his door listing her "crimes."

I am awaiting E's retaliatory strike and I will keep you posted as the battle rages on.

(The poor kid spells like his mother.)

"Redneck" is the Understatement of the Century!

A fantastic video about our neighbors to the east and their idea of a good time. (When I say "fantastic" I really mean "moronic.") Enjoy and weep quietly for the future of our country, as I did.

(And yes, I tend to be an elitist snob.)

Interesting

I ran this morning as usual. My schedule says a nice, easy run. I was running alone as some people are out of town while others are intimidated by me (what-everrr!) I decided to go 10 miles. Easy.

It was fricking fast! Faster than Tuesday and it felt like way less effort. In reality it was only very slightly more effort. Here is a comparison of the two runs:

(This is really small, I know.) On Tuesday my average was 8:00/mile - today it was 7:47/mile. My average HR on Tuesday was 135 with a max of 156 - today my average HR was 139 with a max of 154. I don't do math real good, so I won't even try, but that tells me that I was running faster with little additional effort. And the weather has actually been less than ideal here. This morning it was 70 degrees and Amazon humid. Tuesday it was probably about the same with a little less humidity.

After a stumbling start, I am feeling pretty good about where I am. The test will come with my next run - a 14 mile "long run." It's supposed to be at my easy run pace which appears to now lie somewhere between 7:45 and 8:00/mile rather than the 8:18/mile recommended by my SmartCoach program. We will be out of town this weekend, so I have to do my run either tomorrow morning with the husbands of my "running ladies" or on Saturday by myself around a lake up north. That decision can wait.

Knock on Kwood

I ran 11 miles this morning. MS wimped out because it was just going to be her and me and I sent an email last night saying I was not sure how far I was willing or able to go. Turns out I was willing and able to go 11+ miles at an 8 minute/mile pace. My easy pace is supposed to be 8:18. And that 8 minute/mile pace was the average for the whole 11 miles - my first mile was 8:50 and my last mile was 8:11 but everything in between was 7:44 to 7:46. I had one mystery mile in there that was really slow, but that was because caffeine betrayed me again and I had to make an emergency stop and I forgot to stop my watch right away.

No discomfort running and no increase in discomfort since - I actually feel better and looser. I will continue to be careful, but I think I can get through without too much trouble. If I do run into trouble, my kind doctor gave me a prescription for vicodin (already filled.) Mission accomplished. (Kidding, but not really. OK, yes, I am kidding. Kind of. Not.)

What a Pain in the A**!

Literally!

Thursday after my promising run I sat on the sofa and worked on my laptop. When I got up my hips were kind of stiff and my lower back was kind of tight. I didn't think much of it. Since getting back into marathon training mode I have been religiously doing my core strengthening routine and didn't miss a session despite my discomfort. By Friday night I was getting out of a chair like an old man. My lower back was so sore and stiff. I was supposed to run 14 on Saturday morning, but was saved by crappy weather. I figured I would just postpone until Sunday.

As the day went on my back was worse and worse. I was taking fistfuls of Advil. And groaning. I decided to go for a short (4 mile) run at an easy pace. It actually felt fine. Then I got home and sat around and it got worse. Saturday night was miserable. My back was so bad it woke me up at 3 AM. I could not get comfortable and I could barely get myself standing upright when I got out of bed. It got so bad I took my last vicodin and hoped for relief.

While I waited for the vicodin to kick in I started to panic. I have a history of chronic back pain. When I was about 24 I had surgery for a herniated lumbar disk. Since I have been running, however, my back has never felt better and if it does feel sore, I go for a run and it feels great. This was very reminiscent of my experience prior to my surgery.

I started to self diagnose. My back really hurt right in the small of my back. Prior to surgery I had sciatica so bad I almost couldn't use my left foot, but I never felt pain in my "back." What I was feeling now was actually a good thing. It meant it was more than likely muscular. My hamstrings felt super tight, but they didn't hurt. My ass hurt. I did a little research on Runner's World, re-read Frayed Laces piriformis saga and did a little self assessment.

Yep - piriformis syndrome. I had upped my mileage and intensity too quick. Dumb.

I tried to do the recommended stretches but just could not do them. I was so tight and sore. Sunday, I skipped church since I couldn't sit for any amount of time and then stand up. Time to call in the pros - I went and got a massage.

I spent the good part of the noon hour with some strange guy's elbow planted firmly in one buttock and then the other followed by him digging deeply into my various hip flexors. Neither experience was nearly as enjoyable as it might sound and I hopefully won't have to do that again soon. But it helped a TON. (Thanks, John.)

It didn't "cure" anything, but loosened everything enough to allow me to stretch, which has already brought huge improvements.

Half-pigeon, frog prince and other hamstring and glute stretches are on the menu a few times a day until after the race. I have to dial back the mileage and intensity this week and then ramp back up more gradually. Back to basics.

Rookie mistakes, what a pain the arse.

Well, That Wasn't So Bad

Uh, yeah, that injury - not that big a deal. It still hurts when I walk but it didn't affect my running at all this morning. I will probably stop referring to it as an injury anymore as it doesn't really warrant that status and compared to SIC it not that big a deal.

I met up with "the ladies" to run this morning as usual, but I did forewarn via email that I needed to do a tempo run and would warm up with them for the first couple of miles and then take off. They were all cool with that.

My tempo pace is supposed to be 6:58/mile and I needed to hold it for 4 miles. It all seemed a little daunting to me as I have taken a little time off from hard marathon training, but I went for it anyway.

The first mile flew by, but I was concerned about holding the pace, so I kept telling myself I didn't have to do four miles, maybe three would be OK. The second mile seemed to take longer and again I told myself maybe just three is fine. Or three and half. Three and a half puts me back at the train tracks that mark two miles from our start and finish.

I seemed to be doing OK and holding the pace, but now I was off the trail and onto residential streets and making corners and then on sidewalks and kind of all over the place.

I made it to the train tracks and kept going because I told myself, "At this point it's only 800 yards to finish, why quit now?" I proceeded to watch every fricking tenth and then hundredth of a mile tick off on my watch and when I hit four miles I stopped.

Then I quickly started running again to warm down.

I had done it. I had done the full four miles and I had held my tempo pace without feeling like I was going all out.

I got another surprise when I got home and downloaded my data. Here is the mile breakdown:

(I don't know why these things are always so fricking small so I guess I will spell it out as well.)

Mile 3 (the start of my tempo pace) Avg Speed = 6:52, Avg HR = 145

Mile 4 Avg Speed = 6:52, Avg HR = 149

Mile 5 Avg Speed = 6:52, Avg HR = 154

Mile 6 (running through neighborhoods and junk) Avg Speed = 6:55, Avg HR = 156

That is CRAZY consistent. I am now feeling much better about my fitness and can imagine it only getting better over the next 8+ weeks. This could be really interesting.

Sad News

Only recently I have become a fan of Fatty and his blog Fat Cyclist, but in that time I have learned a lot about his family's challenges. Last night his wife, Susan ("Win Susan"), died after a long battle with breast cancer. Offer condolences and help fight cancer at his website - Fat Cyclist.

Wine Snobbery

**I forgot to post this one so it's a little after the fact**

We ate at an "Italian" restaurant in the middle of Wisconsin on our way back from vacation. I should have guessed it would not go well when I looked at the wine list (I was just curious) and saw this at the top:

I didn't even know they still made Riunite, much less sell it at restaurants. I dared A to order it on ice and then I sang the jingle for the rest of the night.

So nice I thought you would like to see it twice.

Injury Free No More

OK this is such a minor injury that compared to what Maggs is dealing with it barely counts, but for me it counts because I rarely get injured and this kind of hurts. (Oh, and I am currently wearing a skirt and painting my fingernails a sparkly shade of pink.)

I took the dog (the three-legged beast that he is) for a walk last night. As I was crossing our street - which is torn up right now and looks like some hillbilly thoroughfare or trailer park alley - my foot slipped out of my flip flop and I stepped down on a big pointy rock. Hard! Right in the middle of my heel.

The dog - eyeballing me. (The chess board is just a prop so we look all intellectual.)

My street - it's kind of third-world-ish right now.

The rock - or a near relative.

So now my heel is sore. I was supposed to go for a tempo run this morning and decided not to after waking up and realizing that my foot still hurt. (Hold on a sec, I have to hike up my skirt.) I could do a track workout this evening, but that might put my wife over the edge. I may just write the day off to "injury" and run tomorrow. 

It's OK, I'll get through this. I have lots of support and a positive attitude and this shouldn't affect my training. (Sounds like I lost my foot rather than have a minor bruise on my heel, doesn't it? I am such a little girl.)

And So It Begins

I finally dragged my lazy butt out of my house and did my first training run for the Twin Cities Marathon at the beginning of October. I left at 1:30. In the mid-day sun. It was warm - not hot - but plenty warm. At mile two I started to get a cramp in my left quad. I NEVER get cramps. It wasn't bad so I kept running. A couple miles later, I started to get a cramp in my right quad. Again, I NEVER cramp. I just kept going because they weren't debilitating or particularly painful. 

What did I learn? Uh, well, maybe hydrating before a run entails more than two cups of coffee in the morning, two glasses of orange juice at lunch and a large glass of Gatorade right before you head out. Duh! So now I sit with sore quads. Luckily I don't run again until Tuesday.

So what is the plan for the marathon, you might be asking? (I know you aren't, but I'm going to bore you with the details anyway.)

My past marathons I have been training with the greatest group of women with whom to run. This time around no one is willing to train with me (that I am aware of, anyway.) We all still want to run together, it's just that everyone is in the off season and just wants to stay in shape. So this time around I am kind of on my own. I looked back at past training logs, but I didn't keep the kind of notes and stuff that would be helpful, so I got a training plan from Runner's World's SmartCoach app. 

I plugged in my 1:33 half-marathon from this spring and it generated this:

If you look to the end it says that I should be able to run a 3:13 marathon. If I run that, I qualify for Boston by 7 minutes for my age group and 2 minutes for 35 - 39. Can I really do that if I follow this plan? 

If anyone has any experience with the SmartCoach training plans, please give me some feedback on whether or not they are good, accurate (I mean accurate as you can be - there are a lot of variables and unknowns) and/or well constructed. For now I am following it. 

I ran 7 easy miles today and averaged 8:12 miles trying to hold the 8:18 miles prescribed in the plan. Was it really an "easy" run? I didn't feel like I was working particularly hard. Could I easily hold that pace for another 13 miles or so in training? I think so. Am I in over my head? Probably, but I won't know for sure until I am actually drowning and by then it will be too late. Will I miss training with all the "ladies"? Yes! But it will only be for about 7 or 8 weeks and then the season is over and we are all back to trotting around the lakes and drinking coffee while it snows.

Hawaii Dreams

So, last night I had the weirdest dreams. Actually, I slept so horribly that I remember my dreams because the dog kept coughing (he goes to the vet today) and at times I thought he was going to hack up a lung. Anyhoo. The most vivid and memorable one involved Hawaii (but it was nothing like this) and bloggers I read (and was reading before I went to bed.)

In this dream I was in Hawaii for a race. Apparently Maggs and Rachel had hooked me up with a place to stay, but I had to carry their bags for them. They were huge bags and heavy.

Rachel's husband was there and very friendly and chatty. Then I realized I had completely forgotten to pick up my bag at the airport. 

I really wanted to go for a swim in the ocean, but I didn't have a suit. Also, I couldn't remember for certain if I had packed my bike. I was pretty sure I had, but couldn't remember for sure (I seemed unconcerned.) Rachel's husband brought me to a few stores to find a suit, but they had easily the worst and smallest selection of swim suits in Hawaii. (What the hell kind of dump dream tropical islands do you two live on?) 

For some reason I was also wearing Heelys and kept sliding into racks and things. I finally found a suit to try on and had to try it on in a toilet stall/changing room and not one of the handicapped stalls, but one the size of a coffin. The door and partition were extremely short and the old lady next to me let me know she wasn't looking at my junk. 

Then the dog started coughing again and I woke up. The end.