Working Hard in the Big Easy

So read my out of office reply at work. This trip was my first time in New Orleans, or anywhere in the South other than Florida (and some folks will say that doesn't count outside the Panhandle). I had chosen this race last fall as part of my master plan to qualify for the Ironman 70.3 World Championships in Mont Tremblant, Canada. Yes, I actually wrote that sentence. For those of you who have known me a long time (hi, Mom!), you understand that this is what we call a "stretch goal." I'm the girl who struggled with tee-ball in elementary school, and was so far behind the pack in middle school cross country races, she got lost. (Ever wonder why I never mention that I tried cross country for a few weeks in middle school?) Even with swimming, I trained up to 20 hours a week in high school but never qualified for nationals. Or zones. Or regionals. So when I told my coach last fall that I'd like to try to qualify for Worlds, I was shocked when she said, "Ok, let's do it!" She must not know me very well, but here goes nothing... 


For my readers who are not triathlon-obsessed (hi again, Mom!), there are actually several world championships each year. The most iconic (and televised) one is the Ironman World Championships at Kona, Hawaii. This is for the full iron (140.6 mile) distance, sponsored by the World Triathlon Corporation, aka Ironman. There's also an Ironman 70.3 (half iron distance) championship, which was held in Vegas for several years but is now moving around annually -- Quebec in 2014, Austria in 2015, etc. Between 1-3 men and women of each age group qualify per Ironman 140.6 or 70.3 race, regardless of nationality. There are also world championships for non Ironman-branded events, in which athletes represent their countries, (amateur) Olympics-style, ranging from sprint to international to half iron distances. (I'll be competing for a spot on Team USA this June - stay tuned.)


So this takes us to New Orleans, April 11, 2014. Elliott was busy leading spring break rowing camp so I traveled solo, bike case in tow. I think the cab driver from the airport thought I was nuts. "I'm here to race in the half Ironman on Sunday... It's a triathlon... You know, swim, bike, run? Like, a race? A marathon but actually more total miles...? No, they don't pay me to do this; I pay them... Um, nevermind." For those of you considering this race, I have two pieces of advice: 1) Rent a car 2) Stay at the Hampton Inn Garden District. Free parking, gorgeous neighborhood, quiet streets, two blocks from a local version of Whole Foods, delicious breakfast, pool that is cold enough to be wetsuit legal and cloudy enough to practice sighting, free wifi, etc. This was my first solo out of town race, so I had to assemble my bike by myself. Success! Well, almost. When I stepped back and admired my handiwork, I noticed an extra washer on the table. Hmmm now where was that supposed to go?

 And for my next trick, I'll make my bike hover in midair!

While I had traveled to NOLA solo, I wasn't totally alone -- several Team HPB athletes whom I'd met at Smashcamp in February were also doing the race. Hooray, familiar faces! And hooray, extra space in a rental car so I can take my bike to a mechanic! (Thank you, Marc!!) Finally, I was ready to ride and excited for the day.


However, race morning was bittersweet. A group of triathletes from Atlanta was hit by a car while test riding the course. One athlete was killed and another seriously injured. I reminded myself that no matter what happened to me that day -- flat tire, blisters, or nausea -- I was lucky to still be alive and racing.


Swim: Yum, diesel!


We swam in the (in)famous Lake Pontchartrain, or more specifically, in a harbor in the (in)famous Lake Pontchartrain. The harbor swim was necessary because the main lake has a tendency to become violent. The harbor, however, has a tendency to become gross. One of the athletes who had done the race last year said she looked like she was sporting a beard in her race photos, thanks to all the silt and gunk from the lake. Awesome. To fit a 1.2 mile swim within a harbor, we wound up jumping off the dock in groups of 7-10 ("time trial start") and then swimming in a crazy M shaped pattern. The smaller start group meant it was hard to find someone to mooch draft off, but I did get to turn all kinds of tricks.

Bike: Hello, wind!

Before the race began, the announcer said that it was our lucky day -- no winds. Now, either the situation changed or he was just being mean because it was definitely windy out there. This is why I love my power meter; as long as I kept my watts in the right range, I was fine. Sometimes that meant 15 mph. Sometimes, 35. (That part was fun.) The course was mostly flat, except for a few overpasses, going past a deserted amusement park (creepy), bayou (no gators, sadly), and memorial for the Atlanta triathlete (heartbreaking). To keep myself occupied, I dedicated five mile stretches to my family, friends, colleagues, teammates, and replayed some random words of encouragement I've received over the years. (A favorite: "Pretend everyone you're passing is wearing an ascot!") I think these events are an exercise in mental endurance as well as physical.

Run: Well fine, then.

I was feeling pretty good by the end of the bike. I'm usually toward the front of the pack after the swim and had only been passed by one person in my age group on the bike. So either I was in second or there were some speedy swimmers who stayed ahead of me on the bike. The first few miles of the run felt pretty good. And then the sun came out. No shade, just miles and miles of flat concrete ahead of me. I started to get the niggling sensation in my stomach that I had ignored in Panama and wound up in the medical tent. I willed it to go away, and it did--if I slowed down. It was this cruel compromise with my stomach and heart -- stay at an 8:30/mile pace or slower, and I felt fine. Venture south of there, and my heart rate would spike, along with the urge to puke. I really didn't want to return to the med tent (after all, the coke they serve has high fructose corn syrup!), so I slowed down and kept going. A girl in my age group passed me around mile 8. Nooo... must...catch... burp....ok then. At mile 11, I decided I could suffer through to the finish and picked up my speed a bit, but not enough to catch her. Oh well, I finished with a smile on my face, which is my #1 goal for any race.

It took about 20 minutes for me to get my medal (handed out by pro winner Andy Potts--so classy), some food, and some beer(s). I finally staggered wandered over to the bag check area so I could get my backpack and cell phone. So many text messages! Including one with a screenshot of the results page, showing I'd placed third in my age group!!!! I jumped up and down, then realized that was a terrible idea, and sat down to call Elliott and my parents instead. But there was still an unknown -- if there are only one or two Worlds spots available for my age group, what happens if the first and second place finishers claim them? This is what happened in Panama -- I placed third but since the top two took the spots, nothing "rolled down" to me. I nervously waited until the award ceremony -- the deadline for the first and second place finishers to claim their spots.

If you ever race an Ironman-branded event, it's worth sticking around for roll-down. First of all, it's really fun to watch. Second of all, you might wind up with a ticket to Worlds. The announcer will go through each age group and say how many spots are available. If one or more spots are unclaimed, the announcer reads down the list, giving each athlete about five seconds to come forward, Price is Right style, and claim the ticket. Sometimes it doesn't roll down at all (ahem, Panama). Sometimes, it rolls deep. Like today. "Women, 30-34. Two spots, zero taken. First rolldown spot goes to #3, Katherine Tobin." To say that I "informed the announcer that I'd be interested in claiming the spot" is a bit of an understatement. I was standing about 10 feet from him, with some friends from camp, screaming and jumping up a storm and rushing up to the front to high five the announcer, the race director, and anyone else who would let me. To make things even better, two other people I know from DC also got rolldown spots. Party in Quebec!

Many, many thanks to Elliott (of course!), my family, Coach Kerri, DC Tri Club teammates, colleagues, and friends. You like tolerate me even though I'm usually sweaty and/or hangry. Here's to the next adventure!

We Interrupt this Frigid Winter to Bring You the Panama 70.3 Race Report

For those of you not in DC, it has looked a lot like this lately:







Polar vortex, global weirding, groundhog's revenge -- whatever you call it, it has not been fun. Aside from commuting, I've done nearly all my riding on an indoor trainer, and most runs on the treadmill to boot. The result: pasty skin, a habit of using my aero bars primarily for balancing an iPad, and a well honed ability to tune out and keep going. Note that last bit, as it will be important later on.

The day after #Snowchi dropped a foot and closed the airports, Elliott and I hopped on a (surprisingly punctual) flight to Panama City. As in, Panama, the Central American country. Hello, humidity! It was around 90 degrees and I started sweating through my compression tights and cycling jacked almost immediately. Awesome.

I'll do a separate post on travel logistics for this race, in case anyone is interested in making the trek next year. But in the meantime, I'll cut straight to the chase race.

About a week before the race, the athlete guide was released. These things are usually pretty straight forward -- schedule of packet pickup, standard drafting rules, pro prize purse, blah blah, oh HELLO BRAND NEW BIKE COURSE! Rather than an out and back along the Panamerican Highway with 2000 feet of climbing, it would now be a four loop, multi-turn, highly technical course through the city with only 200 feet of climbing. Hmmm. Oh, and one aid station. Awesome. Surprisingly, this didn't come up during the athlete briefing, so I asked one of the organizers. "Honestly, if we tried to explain the bike course, it would make people's heads explode. Don't look at the map too hard. It will be signposted. Just go with it." This will be fun.

Normally, I like to spend much of the day before a race scoping out the course. What's the swim like? What does the swim exit look like from the water? How does my transition spot look when I am coming in from the swim? What does it look like when I'm returning from the bike? How far away from the finish will I actually see the chute? I then bike the run course and drive the bike course, noting patches of rough road, sharp turns, hills, approximate locations of aid stations, etc. This time, however, not so much. We didn't have a car and much of the bike course involved going backward against normal traffic flow (on closed roads) so even taking a cab wouldn't help. And after hearing some horror stories about biking around the city from some Canadians at check-in, I decided to play it safe and turn "bike the run course" into "bike the parking lot area near transition, make sure my bike doesn't fall apart, rack it in transition, and then drape myself over an a/c unit the rest of the day."

Outswimming the Fishies

Ah, race morning. One of the few times it seems totally normal--and actually exciting!--to wake up at 3 AM and start eating bagels. Today was no exception. (Yes, Panama has bagels! Check the freezer section.) It was really fun to chat with the international crowd in transition. Most athletes were from Latin America or Canada, with a few Europeans or Yankees sprinkled in the mix. I borrowed a bike pump from an Edmontonian and speculated with an Ecuadorian about what was splashing around in the water below us. (A Colombian helpfully suggested they were stingrays. Gracias, dude.) The swim was a point to point 1.2 miles down the Panama Canal, wetsuit and current assisted. Wheeeeee! We had to hang on to the dock to avoid getting swept beyond the start line before the gun went off. I had a great time with the swim, watching the buoys and following some fast feet. (Pro tip: if someone wears Swedish style goggles, they are probably a good swimmer so follow them!) However, my lack of doing a practice swim came back to haunt me, as I dutifully followed the buoys...past the swim exit! I saw it as I swam past it, then had to make a hard left and fight the current to get to the stairs. Ugh. Then again, had I known what great inferno awaited me, maybe I would have lingered in the water a bit longer.

Go Go Speed Racer!

As I mentioned, the bike course was challenging. I spent the first loop figuring out where I was going, navigating how quickly I could do the 180 turns without falling (answer: unclip but don't put a foot down), and spotting the rough patches of road. I was able to ride more confidently the next three loops, chasing down some women who had passed me earlier, and watching my watts. By the end, I was having a pretty fun time whizzing down the freeway off-ramps. Others, not so much; there were quite a few bike accidents, collisions, people losing water bottles (hence the accidents), drafting penalties, etc. Considering the number of people on a 14 mile loop, 75% macho male participant rate, "a la izquierda" is much harder to say than "passing left" and aid station water bottles too small for our bottle cages, it's not surprising it was so messy. PS, the 200 feet of promised elevation gain was actually 1750. Even if they meant 200 meters, that's not the same thing.


The run. Or, "things that make you go UGH"

If you've done a triathlon, you know that the first mile or so of the run feels like poo. Your legs are wobbly, you're ready to be done, and yet the finish line is oh so far away. Now picture that feeling for 13.1 miles. Backing up a moment to the swim: as was the case last year, the swim start was delayed about 45 minutes because cars were still parked on the bike course. This means--you guessed it--the sun was high in the sky by the time we hit the run course. And what a run course! We ran along a narrow causeway connecting Panama City to some islands that used to be pirate hangouts. So perhaps it was appropriate that it felt like I was running on wooden peglegs. Water stations were few, the wind was strong, and my body constantly reminded me that I'm not from around these parts. Even though I had planned to run the whole thing, I started taking quick walk breaks at the aid stations, or if my heart rate went into zone 5. After around mile 6, however, I managed to figure out a good system: get ice, stuff down bra (sorry, dudes, ladies only!), grab a cube for each hand, hold ice until it melts, recommence fishing around my personal ice chest for more, etc. I haven't seen the race photos yet, but I probably look pretty well endowed. (Maybe that's how all the Venezuelan beauty queens do it?) And still, the run would not end. I pulled out all the mental games -- "Keep running to the next aid station," "Catch that dude up there," "Tomorrow you'll look back on this and know you could have run the whole thing," "Remember that time on the treadmill where you didn't stop?" etc. Then I hit mile 12. This was great, except I couldn't for the life of me remember hitting mile 11. Oh boy. Focus, Katie, focus. The fastest way to cool down is to get to the finish line. They have cold things there. So I kept running. I turned the final corner into the finish chute, saw the balloons, and sprinted. But that wasn't the finish line. Nor was the next set of balloons. Not funny, Panama, not funny. Eventually, I reached the finish line. I think.

The next hour or so was a bit of a blur. There were volunteers at the finish line assigned to "catch" each athlete and ask them some questions to see if they needed medical attention. In Spanish. Having gone to high school in California, I actually do speak Spanish, but there's reading a newspaper/"Sí, me gustaría una cerveza, por favor" Spanish and post-race, thoroughly dehydrated, rapid-fire medical question Spanish. I was not up for número dos, so off to the med tent for me. They set me down on a cot, covered me with ice bags, and handed me a Coke. I asked, in Spanish, if it had real sugar or high fructose corn syrup. I got a blank look. ¡TOMALO! ("Drink it!") So I did. And promptly vomited. (Guess sugar vs. HCFS didn't matter after all.) Out came the IV drip with a saline solution. I first made sure my GPS watch was turned off while I had two hands free (priorities!), and that I was indeed wearing a finisher's medal. Oh good, I can relax now. I slept for a bit, then woke up enough to ask about my finish time and try to convince a bystander to try to track down Elliott. ("He doesn't have a cell phone or speak Spanish but he's blond, wearing a blue shirt and should be by the finish line or transition." Shockingly no luck there.) Hats off to the med tent volunteers, because I was probably a handful. Also, a huge GRACIAS to my high school Spanish teacher, since without language skills, this whole experience would have been a big mess. (As it turns out, English skills are not required for medical staff at international races, so come prepared. Or just don't wind up in the med tent. Whatever's easier.)

Eventually, Elliott found me, rescued my gear from transition (turns out my back wheel was flat, whoopsie), and I worked my way through the saline bag so they cut me loose. I tracked down a finisher shirt and hat (normally I don't care but felt I really earned them this time), ate some pizza, and took the bus back to town. According to the preliminary results, I got 3rd place in my age group (yay!!) but there were only two spots for 70.3 worlds (boo!!), though if one of the spots went unclaimed, it was mine, all mine. I showered, napped, donned my patriotic Smashfest tank, and returned to the convention center for the award ceremony and rolldown. As I had feared, both worlds spots were claimed by the two winners. Oh well, considering they got 2nd and 5th overall respectively (I was 18th), I'm sure they'll kick ass at Mont Tremblant. As for me, I have another shot at 70.3 New Orleans in April, with Leadman 125 in Bend as an awesome Plan B. But first, Smashfest Camp in Tucson at the end of this month!!

At the risk of making this race report even longer, I will add a quick PS. Did you know that Panama has stuff other than a half Ironman? Since our flight to DC wasn't until the evening, we rented a car and spent most of the day in Soberanía National Park, hanging out with howler monkeys, cherubic capuchins, noisy birds, and some tapir-like creature that made us wish we'd bought a wildlife guide. Next time...

Special thanks to Elliott for his continued awesomeness and support, Coach Kerri for pushing my limits (and convincing me to take rest days), Athlete Studio for keeping me injury-free, and of course  my friends and family who encourage me every day--especially the 4 AM trainer twitter parties!

How To Get Your Groove Back

Happy new year! Time to start being perfect! Time for a clean house, clean diet, eight hours of sleep per night, acing all the scheduled workouts, foam rolling after these workouts, slipping in some clever core stability exercises while waiting for the metro (but not looking like a psychopath). Um, probably not. So let's forget about perfection, and focus on perseverance. After all, perfection that only lasts three weeks really isn't. Real progress comes from making a change over the long haul, even when the going gets tough.

Dawn breaks on the new year. Can you just smell the opportunities?


After my recent whirlwind of buying a house, putting all worldly possessions in storage, selling a condo, camping in said empty condo for six weeks, and moving across town, here are some things that helped cut down on the crazy (somewhat) and keep training mostly on track.

• A Short Run (or bike, or swim, or nap) is Better than None: Pressed for time? Even 20 minutes of speed intervals (or deep sleep) will leave you refreshed and feeling like you've accomplished something and really are in control of your life.
• Try Something Different: Workouts feeling off? Just not feeling it? Try something new so you're working different muscles, thinking about your movements, and have no basis for comparison. Suggestions: swim strokes other than freestyle, explore a new neighborhood on a Bikeshare bike, or take a Zumba or barre class. 
• Trick Yourself: Sometimes you need to just suck it up and do the long/boring/hard workout. But your mind will be stronger than your legs, every time. While swimming, focus on one thing each 50 (catch, pull, finish, recovery, breathing, core, head position, body position, kick, turns --voila, a 500!). While on the bike trainer, you can pretend you're this guy or watch your watts with Trainer Road. For a long run, try to work in some Strava segments. If you're treadmill-bound and find it too bouncy to read, try flipping through a cookbook or travel magazine on your iPad. Plus you can laugh at yourself for running toward a picture of cupcakes.
• Be a Control Freak: Our lives are busy. Between training, work, friends, family, cooking, cleaning and -- oh yeah-- sleeping, we deal with a lot of logistics. Sometimes we have to deal with these logistics at 5 AM. And that is when we arrive at work and realize we have forgotten our lunch...and our underwear. (Pro tip: leave extra clothes at work or pick an employer located near stores, since bike shorts under a pencil skirt does not a fashionable statement make.) Enter the List. During the move, Elliott and I had about a half dozen lists going at any one time -- things to pack, things not to pack yet, things to clean/fix before the move, documentation to scan/fax, etc. For workouts and my day job, I've created a monster checklist. Depending on where I'm going/what I'm doing, many of the items won't apply, but this cuts down the risk of error.

Enough about me. Let's talk about you. What tips do you have for getting the proverbial "er" done? 

5 beds 5 baths 8 bikes

We finally did it. We sold our condo, bought a house, and moved (on up) to the east side.

If only this were the last set of boxes to unpack...

May I gush for a moment? The house is delightful. It was built in the 1930s and has only had 4 owners including us. The exterior is stone, the roof is slate (ish), and the interior is warm and cozy...

...except for that fun, snowy first weekend when Washington Gas lost our request to turn on the gas and we had no heat. I used space heaters and bourbon to stay warm. Good times.

The kitchen has several dozen cabinets...

(Note: "several dozen cabinets" are great until the pasta is boiling over and you can't remember which cabinet has the pot holders!)



...and even an island!

"Measure twice, install once," anyone?

Since the place sits on two lots backing up to a national park, we look forward to planting a garden. 

Though perhaps when it's a bit warmer outside... 

But in the meantime, we look forward to toasting some home made marshmallows over a roaring fire. Or two.

Seriously, there are two.

Come visit!!

Let's get a MOVE on already!

Have you had quite enough of winter, travel delays, hyper-commercialized holiday cheer, or maybe your local sports team's lackluster season? I can sympathize. I'm ready to be done with this:

Yes, those are our dishes. All our dishes. When we quickly packed up most of our possessions and whisked them away to a storage unit so that our condo would look spacious, we vastly underestimated the number of kitchen utensils that a food-loving couple would need for six weeks. (We also vastly overestimated the number of spices we'd need, but don't they look nice?) For the two of us, we also have one dresser and about six hangers in the closet on which to hang my five work-appropriate outfits (and E's suit jacket from our fancy schmanzy engagement dinner at the Inn at Little Washington). 

But the end is nigh - in one week, we'll be frantically packing up the last of our items to store in a moving van until we officially sell the condo on Dec 5, are technically homeless for 24 hours, then close on the new house on Dec 6. In the meantime, we are thankful that my friend Tess is letting us use her kitchen to cook Thanksgivukkah dinner. After all, sweet potato rolls, latkes, applesauce, stuffing, roasted chicken, quiche, and pumpkin cheesecake is a totally reasonable meal for two people -- but we are clearly lacking in tupperware. 

In Which KT and E Explore the 51st State

Ah, November. The leaves are falling, the wind is picking up, trainer rides are on the horizon, and yet the 2014 race season seems so far away. Time to avoid delay the inevitable with a quick getaway.

Originally, we had planned to spend two weeks in Central America, probably Panama and Honduras (and maybe Belize and/or Guatemala). Our time in Peru had whetted Elliott's appetite for monkeys (figuratively!) and I may as well use all those years of Spanish class. However, just as we were planning our trip, the government closed and I wasn't sure when I'd get paid again. Probably not the best time to book a vacation (great time, however, to buy a house). By the time I was back at work, we were packing up our condo for the move and decided to forego the vacation, save money, and be close to phones in case something came up with the sale.

But then we realized that camping at home is no fun. In order to make our condo look spacious for the sale, we moved most of our possessions--clothes, furniture, dishes, non-perishable food--into storage. Between the two of us, we have 4 plates, 4 glasses, 1 bowl, 1 dresser, and 2 chairs. The staging worked (we accepted an offer after just three days on the market), but now we have to live very minimally until the sale becomes final in early December.

After about a week of this, paired with snow in the forecast, we started studying our map and frequent flier accounts. The conclusion: Puerto Rico! There are direct flights from DC, it's just one time zone away, our cell phones would work since it's the US of A, and between United and Marriott points, we could live very well indeed on poco dinero. Neither one of us knew very much about Puerto Rico, other than a vague sense of solidarity with our fellow statehood-seeking compadres.

We learned a lot.

Lesson #1: You're still in America. Kinda.
Road signs are in MPH but gas is sold in liters. Half the road signs are in English and a different half are in Spanish. Elliott had excellent cell coverage but I had none. (Thanks, Verizon!) We weren't quite sure how to differentiate Puerto Rico from "rest of the USA, you know, the part that can [mostly] vote." When asked en español where I'm from, I started with my stock answer of "los estados unidos" and then awkwardly had to add, "la ciudad de Washington... Pero no soy política." Yes, that'll do it. 

Don't let the Spanish fortress fool you - still stars & stripes territory!

Lesson #2: Beware the wildlife
Picture a tropical island. Rain forest, beaches, coral reefs. What type of animals are in this picture? Monkeys? Parrots? Dolphins? Seagulls? Nice try. We learned that Puerto Rico has no monkeys (the rain forest has no fruit bearing trees), their parrots are one of the most endangered animals on earth, there are no dolphins (at least that we saw), and the beachside scavenger was not the seagull or even the pigeon, but rather the chicken. I guess that's where the "Chicken of the Sea"moniker was born.

Note the lack of monkeys

Lesson #3: Time means nada
If a store is supposed to open at 9, they really mean 9:45. Ish. If a local tells you a route is "really, really far," he means two hours (and really, really scenic). A "standard wait time" at the airport security screening is an hour because only one metal detector works. 

Fine, I'll relax. If I must. (And yes, we used our Eagleman 70.3 bags as luggage.)

Lesson #4: Imperfection can be grand
I think the biggest recurring theme from the trip is that nothing worked out exactly as planned, and that was quite all right. Bioluminescent kayak trip canceled due to uncooperative dinoflagellites? Bummer...until we heard the sudden downpour raging outside from the comfort of the delicious seafood restaurant we found instead. Missed the ferry back from Culebra? Oh no, guess we'll have to explore some more empty beaches and snorkel with sea turtles. Hiked 2.5 miles up to the top of El Yunque peak as the "cloud forest" reminded us of its namesake? Ok, that was kind of creepy but also awesome because we had the place to ourselves (or just couldn't see anyone else). I'm sure we'll still have to remind ourselves of this lesson on the next vacation, but it's worth noting.

Look, ma, no [other] tourists!

Speaking of next vacations, we only had an hour to explore the historic center of San Juan before our flight. Ironman 70.3 Puerto Rico, anyone? 

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Why hello there. Yes, it has been far too long. But I can either carve out a day (or six) and write race reports for the past year --which I'm sure you are all breathlessly awaiting-- or just go for the quickie.

So here's what's new in my life:

(Yes, that's a house)

But wait, there's more!

(Yes, it's an engagement ring. The fact it matches my shoes is pure coincidence.)

I know what you're all thinking right now: How did Elliott propose? Was I surprised? When is the wedding? Where is the house? And will you have to change the name of this blog? To keep with my goal of making this a short blog post, I'll just say a) on a boat! b) not really but I clearly didn't dress up for it c) May 2015 d) Anacostia, DC (seriously) and e) possibly, if I (or you, loyal readers) can think of anything better.

But for now, I'll just be really ridiculously happy.