After our small group practice, Brynne, Beth, Kris and I went out to eat at a noodle house in Palo Alto. As usual, I had water with my meal. I nearly always have water with my meals, drinking about a glass, but not much more than that. If I have more than a glass, I have to go to the bathroom far too much, with my bladder hurting the whole time.

One of the women working came by to refill our glasses each time anyone at the table drank more than an inch of water. One inch of water and DING the woman was back at our table, water pitcher in hand, ready to pour. After a few of these instant refills, I started covering my glass, not allowing the woman to pour any water into it. I can't tell how much water I've had if the glass is continually refilled, and not knowing drives me nuts. NUTS! Something about drinking four glasses of water in an hour makes my bladder hurt just thinking about it.

The first time I passed on the refill, the server let it pass. She didn't seem too worried about my glass, it was only about an inch empty, plenty of water still in the glass. As the meal progessed, however, and my glass emptied further, she became more and more agitated. I drank, she tried to refill, I declined, I moved my glass, I covered my glass, I timed a drink from the glass to her table visit. She waited over my shoulder for me to stop drinking so that she could refill, I wouldn't let her.

Eventually, she started hovering over the table with the water pitcher as if no one else in the world existed. She was going to fill that glass if she had to commit murder to do so. She knew not of my water-glass-refill-avoidance skills. I wanted to know how much water I was drinking, and dammit, I was going to know. The battle of water glass wills had begun, and I was going to win. She wasn't going to give up, though.

She brought me a new glass of water and, when I looked at it in surprise, whisked away my nearly empty one.

She won.

Okay, clearly I was supposed to go to an ultimate tournament this weekend. Or, hell, even today would be good.

They're so big right now, that Kris is afraid to touch them. Even I'm almost too afraid to touch them. They hurt.

Stupid annoying body.

As I arrived at practice tonight, the team had just started their warmup lap around the field. They've been bringing out a boombox and blasting music during practice, but I was surprised I heard music.

Turns out, they carried the boombox all the way around the field.

It died less than a quarter of the way around the field, and they had to lug the dead weight anyway.

Practice was actually quite fun tonight. I'm not sure why, but I felt more connected with the team, and had a good time laughing with them. Having only one practice a week, with Kate taking the other night, has helped me timewise. That helped during this crazy week.

Tonight's track workout was all of forty minutes of fartlek running: around the track for forty minutes sprinting the first forty yards of each straight and jogging the remaining 320 yards of the track. I managed fifteen minutes before my insides turned to intense jelly balls of pain. I stopped for a minute to let the balls disappate before running around the fields and finding a couple dogs to chase for my sprinting - much easier and far more fun to chase.

I'm not sure what's so special about the first fifteen minutes of a long distance run. I had a very similar problem last week, running the dish: bad cramps at the beginning of the run, only to have them disappear after a minute break, and a good run following. This has to get easier. I can't keep running like this and not have it get any easier.

How do I pick these players?

My next player wasn't in at all, either. How do I manage to pick players who aren't even playing.