I'm sick.

For the last two weeks, Kris was sick. He had some sort of cold/flu/lung congestion, coughing all day/night, with several days in bed, sick days at home. Through it all, I was able to take care of him, no problem. Well, as much as one needs to take care of someone who spends the whole day sleeping.

He managed to heal enough to restart his training for the Wildflower Triathalon, which he, Ben and Kyle are doing in two weeks. And then he overdid it, becoming ill again.

I stayed healthy through it all.

At least until I ran out of apples.

I've been eating a fuji apple a day, with peanut butter, as fujis are in season, they're sweet, crunchy and simply delicious. I'm convinced the nectar of the gods wasn't some mead or other drink, it was apples covered in tasty, tasty peanut butter. Mmmmmmm....

The organic ones are currently on sale for $1.99 a pound at Whole Foods, so I've been buying them by the armful, 20 at a time.

But I ran out last week.

Right about the time I came down with whatever Kris had. Or a reasonable facsimile there of. That was last Sunday. I felt bad on Sunday morning, but went to practice anyway. I managed to do the warmups, run the plyometric drills, play a few points, stand around for a while, then go home. I was tired, feverish and not feeling good at all.

Two days of trying desperately to recover, working slowly from home, and off to try the track workout tonight. Half a mile warmup, ladder drills and I feel like crap. What the fuck was I thinking? High intensity workout with a fever. Hello?

So now I'm back home and feeling horrible: feverish, achy sore, unable to breather, the works. What was I thinking?

Sigh.

(And, no, I don't really think running out of apples was why I got sick. Quite coincidental.)

Climbing onto my self-righteousness soapbox here...

Received an email from a teammate tonight. It referenced tryouts for Mischief, the coed team I play for.

I just got off the phone with P.  Apparently beer run has been
bad mouthing both us and monkey (and probably other teams) to 
try and get our tryouts.  At any rate, I'm told it is working,
they just hooked J (she said no to monkey at their last tryout).

P told me that he'd like to see us rather than beer run get a
couple folks monkey cut.  As such we've got a few more folks we
should consider...

Quick seque... Or not so quick. I often think these entries are like a Simpsons episode, where the first 5 minutes are compellingly strange and designed to set up some completely improbable scenario that leads to the rest of the episode.

On to the part where Lisa says something clever...

When I was living with Kelly Johnson, she would often provide insights into people's behaviour (being a psychology major, such insights were probably second nature). One of the behaviours she pointed out was the act of criticizing others in order to make oneself appear better.

It's quite easy to do, as it's easier to cut the other person/team/group down than it is to build up oneself.

Once Kelly pointed it out to me, I tried to eliminate when I made myself appear better by making the other person look worse. Sure, honest self assessment is always hard, and bad-mouthing someone else isn't really bad-mouthing if what you're saying is true. But as the saying goes, if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

Or something like that.

So, when I received the email quoted above, I was a little annoyed. Okay, a lot annoyed. Probably more so because I sometimes feel I have no options to play with another team because I'm expected to play with Kris, and his options are limited. So I'm on this team, even though I want to try to get on another team.

When I voice this desire to Kris, he'll ask me if I want to get to Nationals because I earned it, or because I rode the coattails of others on the way. What joy is there in winning if you spent the entire tournament on the sidelines? I can help build a team, contribute to the success of the team, or I can let someone else run the show.

And then there's age. Or at least the perception of age. I'm not convinced I'm heading down in my athletic ability. But I'm also not convinced I'm as fast as I was, say, at 25 when I started playing. I train much smarter now. And more deliberately. My mental game, lord, my mental game is definitely better.

But why you got to be dissin' us, BR?

It bothers me. More than I thought it would.

Climbing back down off the soapbox now.

Today Kris and I spent just about the whole day working on stuff around the house. Usually when we work together (on weekends), we manage to work only on the front yard, because it's such a huge task. We're still working on it. I'd like to say the neighbors know we're working on the yard, but even Mike said just today, "You're working on your front yard? Good."

Hmph.

Mike was over this morning to move the rest of his compost from our driveway to his yard. When he showed up, I insisted he put on sunscreen. I had a sunburn a few weeks ago on the back of my neck, so I've been insistent with anyone I'm with. Kris got the spritz, too.

As careful as I was with my sunscreen, I didn't quite get all the areas that were sun-exposed. In fact, I missed my lower back.

So, at some insistence on my part, Kris helped me out and we made light of the situation.

Last night, I had a dream that startled me awake with fear and dread. After I woke, I actually had to think, and think hard, if what had happened was true or not. Of course it wasn't, but, oh, if it had been, such misery!

I was in a house I had dreamed about just a few nights ago. It was a fake modern-rustic two story lodge-like house in a well developed subdivision at the base of a mountain. I say base, but it was more like a mile or so away, in the mountain's flood plain. The house was two stories, with the entrance way open to the second story, and windows on the second story (when standing at the loft railing on the second floor looking over the entry way, the windows were straight across, overlooking the roofs of the other houses and the base of the heavily forested mountain).

Te first thing I remember of the dream was heading into the bedroom at the top of the staitrs near the landing/loft, and picking up Liza. Liza was a little older than she is now. We chatted some small talk and I carried her out to the landing.

My dad was out on the landing, and my cousin Laura, a much younger and more playful cousin Laura, was sliding down the banister. Another cousin was at the top of the stairs, though I don't recall which one. I vaguely think it was my cousin Mike, at his current age, but I'm not sure.

Someone in the crowd of family down in the living room (living room merged into the entrance way), asked my dad a question, which he answered. I started correcting him, or answering the question more thoroughly. Out of the corner of my eye (I was looking down into the living room), I saw a six prong, dark black smoke explosion on the mountain.

"Did you see that?" I asked loudly.

Everyone turned to see what I was pointing at, though the angle of view for everyone but the four of us on the landing was poor.

We all heard, however, the distant explosion and saw the black trail of a huge Redwood tree flying toward the house. We watched as it came closer and closeer and closer, until it went over the house and crashed behind it, with another explosion.

I turned to look at my dad, as another crash sounded, and a huge branch dropped through the roof to my right, not ten feet from my dad and me. Afyer looking at the crashed branch, I turned back to my dad and asked, "What is it with this house?" He replied, I think it's in the drain field." After I woke up I realized he probably meant it was in the foothill's flood plain.

Dad said something to me. At this point, as in many dreams, we were magically teleported to another location: we were downstairs, with everyone else.

Suddenly, there was this loud crash, as tons of rock and concrete started dumping through the roof. I jumped up immediately, and started running to the interior of the house, under the stairs up to the loft. I made it 4 maybe 5 steps before remembering what my dad had told me in the previous dream of this place: you have to run towards the falling debris, and climb it as it pours down.

So I did.

Upon realizing the falling rocks would crush the house, I turned back to the rocks and started climbing them. They kept falling, and I kept climbing. Eventually the rocks stopped falling, and I was standing on the top of the pile. The house was completely shredded, and everyone was under the pile.

I woke up realizing everyone was dead. The dread was overwhelming. My entire family was dead, and I had saved myself by climbing the rock piles.