Mary Bellamy

Sometimes when I clean up my Yahoo! e-mail, I find stuff that is too priceless to actually trash. I'd like to preserve the following e-mail exchange here on my blog. It's kind of an homage to my relationship with Tom.

From: Mary
To: Tom
Subject: don't freak out
OK, so Hope and I were just discussing weddings. And I was thinking, if we ever get married, can we rent out McDonald's and have Mayor McCheese officiate?
Love,
Mary

From: Tom
To: Mary
Sometimes "no" just isn't a strong enough word. Besides, I don't think Mayor McCheese actually has any legal authority, even in Playland.

From: Mary
To: Tom
It would be nice if you could be more supportive of the things that are important to me. It would help me feel that this partnership is a two-way street.

From: Tom
To: Mary
Fine, but Grimace will be my best man.

From: Mary
To: Tom
And Birdie shall be my maid of honor.

From: Tom
To: Mary
Grimace Crowe?

Grimace Crowe is a reference to our attempt to name Jen and Don's unborn baby.

The weather has, not surprisingly, been cold in Alaska this summer. Cold enough to make me wonder about entering the Chena Lakes Triathlon this weekend. Sure, I have a wetsuit, but a 2mm shorty is good for surfing and not much else. I just don't know if I'm up for a 500-yard open water swim (especially since I've been running more and swimming less lately. It has something to do with limited pool hours but unlimited daylight). In order to avoid the late entry fee, I need to decide in a few hours, because open registration is from 4-7 today.

I keep swinging back and forth. I could just go do it. I could post a bad time. I could enjoy the race. I've got no one to cheer me on from the sidelines. It's good practice for future triathlons. I could skip it and focus on my running and enter a few road races. I like multisports. I haven't been biking in a while. I had a good run yesterday. The water might be painfully cold. The weather might warm up before Sunday. It doesn't matter how fast I go. There could be lots of really competitive people there. So what's wrong with a little competition? I hate to lose.

You see what the voices in my head are saying?

Dear Sir or Madam Who Is Setting Off Fireworks Somewhere In The Swamp Behind My Cabin,

Hurrah! It is, indeed, the Fourth of July. And patriotic sentiments are everywhere (as evidenced by the clerk in Old Navy who kept trying to sell me a flag T-shirt "because they're only $3" or some such crap). Now don't get me wrong. I, too, am patriotic. For instance, I loved Team America. Especially the unrated version. But fireworks? In Fairbanks? For the Fourth of July?

a) Most of the people in the rest of the United States think we're part of Canada.
b) It's the Fourth of July. In Fairbanks. Alaska. Don't you think those fireworks might be better saved for some celebration that occurs when it actually gets dark at night?

Yours,
Mary

ps You're the person who's always firing his or her guns back there, aren't you?

Joey Chestnut, left, points to returning champion Takeru Kobayashi during the Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Competition Tuesday, July 4, 2006, in Coney Island, New York. Although Chestnut came close to beating the champion by eating 52 hot dogs, Kobayashi won his sixth straight title by beating his own record and eating 53 and 3/4 hot dogs.

Since my camera is currently riding around somewhere in North Dakota with Tom, I'll just have to make do with pictures of grown men gorging themselves silly in eating contests.

This weekend started off with a bang on Friday, when fellow indexer Hope rented a stretch Hummer limo (because who cares about mileage when gas is hovering near $3 a gallon?) and we hit the town for her bachelorette party. It may be the first time the Midnite Mine has ever had a limo parked out front. For some reason, three guys from the bar hopped into the limo with us, and we had trouble ditching them for a while. We finally shook them loose at Kodiak Jack's. Yes, it's true - I went to a country western bar. After an eventful ride home, I grabbed a few hours of sleep before heading off to dance rehearsal.

In the late afternoon, James called my cabin to see if I wanted to join him with some steaks at fellow blogger Super Smooth Andy-G's cabin. My parents didn't raise me to turn down a free rib eye, so I readily agreed. What followed next was several hours of orgiastic eating and, well, nothing. We met at the cabin, then decided to travel over to visit The Deekers and avail ourselves of his sauna. A mighty fine sauna it was, too, until someone threw a little too much eucalyptus on the rocks, and I had to run outside to breathe. Around that time we started firing up the grill, then stood around staring forlornly at it until we decided that rare was good enough because, dammit, we were hungry! Fully sated on steak, pie and ice cream, we went back to Andy-G's cabin. Around the same time, James and I realized that if stayed out any longer, we'd be sucked into an all-nighter. Since we're getting a little old for that, we high-tailed it out of there and back to the commune.

I awoke on Sunday and peered at my clock. It seemed to say 7:25, and I cursed getting only 6 hours of sleep. Then I realized it actually said 1:25, and spent some time trying to figure out if that was a.m. or p.m. until the realization dawned that I had just slept for 12 hours. I usually get by on about 6, so that was a good sign that the night before had wrecked me. A downpour forced the dance troupe to move our Sunday evening performance inside the Civic Center at Pioneer Park, where they had trouble figuring out the lights and sound system.

Monday was somewhat cloudy, but Amanda and I decided to brave it anyway, threw on our suits and headed for Chena Lakes. When faced with the beach full of kids or the alcohol-free but deserted beach, we made the smart choice: We took the empty beach but drank our beer regardless. The intermittent sun made me wish for a good warm day back in New England, lounging on a beach in Rhode Island. Instead, I listened to a little girl scream as she found a leech on her foot and got caught up on Amanda's life.

Today actually marks another day off for me, but I needed to catch up on some work at the office, so I popped in. I needed to get at a fast computer anyway. The new Johnny Cash album was begging to be downloaded.

Joanna is confused as to why I haven't been posting. Me? I'm just shocked.
Are you as shocked as I am that I've been so darn lazy in posting? To be fair, I was trying to hold off on writing about the Solstice Belly Bash until I got the pictures, but there has been a slight technical hitch, so the blog must go on!

On the weekend before Solstice, I packed up the car with food, clothes, a sleeping bag and Heather, and headed down to Healy for the first Solstice Belly Bash. This was the first tribal fusion dance event in Alaska, featuring talented instructors such as yours truly. Classes included Bollywood Combinations, Tribal Hip-Hop, Oriental Fan Dancing and Fire Dancing, featuring guest instructor Riz, who traveled all the way from Florida.


I had the immense pleasure of finally meeting Danielle, the host of the event, seen here teaching the Tribal Hip-Hop class. She went all out for the event, offering us free rafting, free lodging at the Boat Camp (AKA Testosterone Central) and providing the inspiration for future events. Moreover, I had the chance to bond with the tribal fusion girls from Anchorage. I do love me some tribal fusion girls! Joanna may be my soul mate (she appreciates AP style and font selection! Too bad she's married), Amanda is a driving force in the Anchorage dance scene, Kathryn is a quiet ball of fire, and Danielle is an inspiration to us all.


See? Joanna+Danielle=Yummy!

After that fun weekend, I returned to Fairbanks to prepare for the next weekend and the Amaya workshop in Eagle River. Amaya is an amazing dancer who just doesn't give up. She has a unique Spanish gypsy fusion style that I've never seen before, and an amazing stage presence.

Susan, Nicole, Teresa and I spent the weekend in Eagle River dancing, eating, relaxing, eating and eating. Well worth the trip. Amanda did not attend the workshop but met up with me in Anchorage on Monday for some quality time together.


Even more importantly, Maya brought a pair of Melodias to the Saturday night performance for me to try on. All hail the Melos! I think $70 is a bit high for a pair of pants, but when they make the entire room fall quiet and comment on your, um, assets, they might be worth it.

So there you go - a quick list of my recent activities. In reference to my recent post, Tom has chimed in against the idea of another cat. Apparently Nibbles is more than enough for him. SO now I'm thinking of a new tattoo. Is this some kind of midlife crisis?

So, I should probably address this in an e-mail to Tom first, but I've been thinking about starting a family lately. Not actually gestating one, and definitely not the human kind.

I started mulling the idea of getting a dog a while ago, probably because many of my friends started reproducing. But then Nancy mentioned that getting used to twin daughters was like getting used to anything, and that she had gotten used to scooping the dog yard. That reminded me that a dog will require an outside house, straw, a new form of food, daily exercise, self-control not to eat Nibbles, regular shit patrols, etc. That may be a little more commitment than I'm ready for.

However, Nibbles was raised with lots of other living things around her. She didn't get quite as bad as Pudge did, but she's still kind of needy. With Tom gone, there's no one but me to pay attention to her, and frankly it's getting kind of draining. She's all up in my face whenever I'm home, violating my 2-foot bubble of personal space while I sleep and licking me frantically. I'm starting to form a theory that if I got another cat, she would have company throughout the day (once she got over hissing, hiding, plotting and attacking, that is) and would be more manageable.



Am I completely wrong in this theory?

As I skimmed the Anchorage Daily News at work, I noticed an article on Alaska auditions for the next season of ABC's The Bachelor. It turns out that their new bachelor is Lorenzo Borghese, who I went to high school with back in Connecticut. Sadly, I'm wikkid happy with Tom and not keen to appear on reality television, so I will not be receiving my 15 minutes of fame by auditioning for a touching reunion.

Since I keep in touch with just one person from high school (who tracked me down on the Internet), I've really got no one else to tell this to except my hordes, nay legions, of readers.

Remember back when I started this blog? It was all cabin this and cabin that as I struggled to convince people that they should build me a new cabin, rather than kick me out for the QIRs. And even when they agreed to do it, I was still leery of the QIRs. Then they had the gall to show up early - early, mind you - and I was forced to move into a room in the main cabin and leave my cat behind. Keep in mind they're also vegans.

Things were not looking good for Mary and the QIRs. Except ... well, except for the fact that Jacob and Gretta are wonderful people. They took on the challenge of living with Nibbles, and they grew to love her (although I'm still convinced that Gretta shaved my cat). They took on the challenge of living with the Hillbillies, and they grew to love us! They helped us pick and fight our battles when we needed to promote the best interests of the community. They worked with Tom and I when we hit a rough patch. They threw themselves into living and Hidden Hill, and they helped make it a better place.

Today they left Hidden Hill, headed for parts unknown, and the main cabin will feel somewhat empty when I go home. While I know the commune will continue to change and grow as new members move in, I'll miss Jacob's joke (he only had one) and Gretta’s patience (no, really, he only had one joke), and I'll miss having them at meals, and I'll miss their unique take on Quakerism. Whether they end up back in Doylestown or they start a new life in Ben Lomond, they'll be sorely missed at Hidden Hill. And I hope they don't complain too much if we all come to visit at once. I hear they've got indoor plumbing.

Two of the library regulars are back and making their usual fuss. They're of the "the local media is corrupted and only we know about it" sort, and they're looking at old copies of the News-Miner on microfilm, raising a stink that a political ad appeared on the Faith page. "It makes my skin crawl to see that," one guy said. "Only guys like Jerry Falwell do stuff like that," the other replied. One of the guys seems to be running for an office in local government, and is trying to figure out how much advertising his opponent did in the last election.

Unfortunately, the printer attached to the microfilm machine has once again broken, prompting a long tirade about how the repair work is contracted out to a company in Anchorage that won't bother to come up here until several machines are broken.

Sigh. Just go upstairs to another machine. Please. No, please don't start in on the need to mobilize WalMart workers to unionize. Oh God, don't talk about how the military encourages families to have as many kids as possible since Uncle Sam will pay for it all.

I need to get away from people like this.

If you leave me now, you'll take away the biggest part of me.
Oooooh, no, baby please don't go!

After a small gathering last night, Tom and I woke up early this morning to head to the airport. We refrained from getting teary eyed, though I may have choked up a little bit after I left the terminal. He's now on an airplane headed for Seattle, then bound for Maine by bike.

So now I'm awake and raring to go, but with relatively little to do. What's a girl to do? Well, start work on a practice journal, blog a bit, go pick up supplies for a craft project, get flowers, work on the planters for our cabin, maybe patch the holes in the ceiling and touch up the paint .... sheesh, I need to stretch out my projects!!

If you're more interested in Tom's trip than in me, check out the links to the right. He's got his very own section for his travel blog! He'll be updating it from the road, and I even sent him along with my digital camera to post pictures. Since he wanted a mascot, I gave him my Ganesh finger puppet. Who says I mock religion?

Tom is such a sweet guy, that he decided to get me a present before abandoning me for months. Well, not quite....

Earlier this week, we were running errands when he said he needed to swing by Barnes and Noble. I was happy to go browse at Lowe's while he did so, but then I discovered that he was buying me a present. I'd be thrilled, except he has no intention of giving me said present until he returns from his bike trip!! You just don't do that to a girl, especially not to me.

Since I've never been one to let sleeping presents lie (or however the old saying goes), I've managed to determine the following:

• it is a book
• it cost $12
• it was purchased on Wednesday at around 6:15 p.m.
• the cashier was a female with a tattoo on her arm
• Tom's debit card was declined at first
• Tom gave the cashier a lengthy explanation for this, since his bank recently sent out new debit cards because of a security breach (which also means I no longer know his PIN - damn!!)
• it is nonfiction (OK, I don't know this one for sure, but it's a pretty good guess)
• it is not a cookbook (again, a good guess)
• it is not erotica (trust me, he ain't that kind of guy!)
  

Blogger has been acting up, so I've been unable to post for the past few days.

Let me get right to the point:
It snowed on Sunday.
It. Snowed. On. Sunday.
It mother-f&#*ing snowed on Sunday!!!

Naturally, I didn't get a picture, and I'm too scared of The Mrs. to 'borrow' hers, so just take my word for it. However, it's finally getting back to normal summer weather here. By 'normal' I mean kind of warm with a heavy layer of smoke over everything. Looks like one of my fellow commies is not doing his job well. Oh, wait, he doesn't actually fight fires, he just cuts down trees and brush around historic cabins in the middle of nowhere to protect them from fires. Your tax dollars at work, folks.

Tom is, generally, a nice, conservative guy. Not conservative in the bad, Republican way, but in the good, don't-wear-a-wife-beater-in-public way. But for my birthday, he decided that rather than shave his head completely for the bike trip, he would leave a mohawk for a while.



Unfortunately, he ended up looking more military than punk. I think this could work to our advantage, though, as anonymous people might buy our dinners in restaurants as a way of thanking him for his service to the country. It would probably only work in crappy restaurants like Chili's, though, which just isn't worth it.

Just more of the swag from the triathlon: custom socks from Sock Guy.

My official time for the Gold Nugget Triathlon is in: 2:02:06. So, not quite the under-2-hours finish I had hoped for, but a good race nonetheless. And now, the story of the race....

The night before the race, Tom and I headed to Bartlett High School for the bike drop-off and bib pick-up. They were all out of swim caps but I picked up the rest of my swag: a race T-shirt and custom-made running socks. Nice! After making a nice pasta dinner for Kyle and Rebecca, we drifted off to sleep.

At 6 a.m., I was up and ready to go. Too bad the race wouldn't start for me for another few hours. The weather had been gray since we returned from the bike drop-off, so I decided to burn off some energy by driving out the check on my gear. With 1,150 women racing, the organizers keep people out of T1 after 8:30, so I wouldn't have another opportunity to check my stuff until I was racing. Sure enough, the rain had gotten some of it wet, so I brought it back to dry out.


While grocery shopping on Saturday, Tom and I had picked up fruit, yogurt, English muffins and cheese for a nice, healthy breakfast. On the way back Sunday morning, I stopped at Fred Meyer and picked up a tub of country bake and a diet Dr. Pepper. Healthy vs. junky: Which meal would win? In the end I ate them both. On a side note, if you've never visited a grocery store deli for breakfast, you should! Country bake is an oddly satisfying concoction of eggs, sausage, potatoes, cheese, biscuits and gravy, all cooked together and served by the pound.

Tom and Kyle dropped me off at 11:30, and I watched the swimmers a bit before heading down to the pool myself. After getting my number marked on both arms and a timing chip strapped on my ankle, I took a few warm-up laps, then joined the queue for a lane. After a quick countdown, I was off in what was arguably my best segment of the race. Despite my unorthodox backstroke/crawl combination, I passed other swimmers in my lane a few times and finished the 500-yard swim in 11:29. I crawled out of the pool and realized I should have used the men's locker room as I dodged bystanders on the pool deck trying to get to the women's locker room. I cursed wet spandex as I struggled to pull on my running tights, then trotted out to T1.


I wasted more precious seconds in T1 trying to fix my jersey zipper when I yanked on it wrong and it split from the bottom. With my shoes on and helmet firmly strapped, I grabbed my bike and ran for the chute. I had to dodge a young girl whose mother was helping her get her bike through the chute. I ran across the timing mat, hopped on my bike and got out of T1 in 5:08. I was cruising!


A couple of hard turns, and I was out on the bike course. I was eating goo. I was drinking water. I was unbeatable. And then that young girl from T1 passed me. And then other people started passing me. I ate more goo. I drank more water. I laughed at the moose on the side of the course. I cursed the sadist who designed a course that had all its hills right at the end. The T2 volunteers yelled their encouragement as I chugged up the final hill, then grabbed my bike, helmet and gloves and sent me on my way. Total bike time: 50:09.

I took a Powerade as I headed for the run course, and lived to regret it as that stuff apparently makes me nauseated. There was, to be frank, no way I was going to run right after that bike course, so I hit my stopwatch and walked for 3 minutes, at which point I was somehow on another hill. I grudgingly began to jog, passing walkers and feeling a little smug. After 8 minutes of that jogging nonsense, I stopped to walk for another 2 minutes and let a moose cross the trail. I decided to jog to the next water station, which was 1.5 miles from the beginning of the course. When I got there, I decided to grab a water and keep jogging for a bit.


After a few twists and turns, I realized something strange was happening. I was still running. My plan had been to run/walk this section, as running is definitely not my strong suit, but I was still going! I might look like I'm walking in the picture, but that's just the way my slow pace looks on camera, honest! When I hit the second water station at 3 miles, I told myself I might as well just run to the end of the course. And so down a road, through a tunnel, up a hill, over a bridge I went. When I turned the corner for the final stretch, a little voice said "Go for it!" and I kicked my heels up and pushed hard, racing for the finish line as Tom and Kyle yelled from the sidelines. Total run time: 55:20. And you know what? I could have kept going.


Since Snickers Marathon Energy Bars was one of the race sponsors, I expected one of those at the end, but a straight-up candy bar? Now that's not healthy! After a walk to cool down, we headed back to Kyle's so his ridiculous water pressure could beat me into submission, then Tom and I wrapped up the day with a trip to Peter's Sushi Spot.

The triathlon was an amazing experience. I went from no exercise in January to running a race in May, and managed to have some fun along the way, too. I've got my sights set on the Chena Lakes Triathlon in Fairbanks in July, but I'll be heading back to the Gold Nugget next year. My goal? Work on the bike and run, and aim for 1:40.

Just a quick update to let everyone know that I made it through the rain, I mean race... The official results are not up yet, nor do I have all the photos, but I am alive and well and made it to the finish line. Some people Jenna have sent Tom notes of condolence, assuming I must have expired along the course, since I haven't posted, but I am indeed alive. And now a triathlete, to boot!

I'm an adult. A grown woman. Mature, even. So why can't I stop giggling over the last name 'Furbush?'

Oh, and by the way, only four days until the triathlon....

OK, I'm officially out of brick jokes. That's right - I only had two. On Sunday I did my final brick for the triathlon: a 10-mile bike followed by a 5-mile run. It was supposed to be a 4-mile run, but I missed the turnaround point. I found out a few things, namely that I get really dehydrated and that said dehydration can result in a migraine so bad that I can't climb the ladder to our bedroom.

This week I am taking things easy and just swimming a few days. The race is on Sunday, and our friend Kyle has graciously offered up his floor again. I predict I will not actually start the race until after 11 a.m., and I think my goal is to complete the race in under 2 hours. Actually, my goal is just to complete the race, but I figure that 2 hours sounds about right for my (slow) speed.

I'm also looking forward to a return trip to Anchorage. Title Wave Books, Indian food and sushi are high on my list of priorities. Tom is pushing for Moose's Tooth pizza, Indian food and cheering me on. Not in that order, if he knows what's good for him.

It's now 10 days until the triathlon. Yeah that's right, 10 days. I have a bib number (635, hence the title of this post), I have plans to keep hitting the pool and I hope to do one more brick. At this point, training won't make me any faster, so I'll repeat my mantra: I just want to finish. I just want to finish. Hopefully adrenaline will kick in on race day and push me over the finish line.

Yesterday I did what is known in triathlon parlance as a 'brick.' Insert brick jokes here. A brick is two segments of the triathlon performed back-to-back. I opted to do my most challenging portion, the bike-run brick. That means a 10-mile bike ride followed by a 3-mile run. Don't even get me started on the fact that the race will be a 4-mile run.

Somewhere around mile 2.5, I started wondering why exactly I was doing this madness. No one needs to run a triathlon. Really. As I got closer to my car (because there was no way I was doing the brick on Goldhill Road - hills and all, y'know), I started simultaneously marveling at what my body was capable of and considering vomiting. Yeah, this is going to be fun....