At 11:30 a.m. on Monday, I told my project lead I was leaving. At 1:00 p.m. on Wednesday, I was introduced to my replacement. Which, damn, the wheels turn quickly around here, apparently. Had I known finding someone else to fill the job was going to be that easy, I’m not sure I would have worried so much about giving a full two weeks notice. When it gets right down to it, I didn’t really want to give two weeks notice. I wanted to walk in there, tell them to take the job and shove it, and then walk out of there a free woman with a week off before I started the new gig.
Sadly, I am far too responsible and/or wuss-like to do such a thing. So I gave them my two weeks notice and proceeded to pretend to be productive for the rest of the time. Then New Guy entered and I discovered that my job for the rest of my time here (happily, down to a week) will be to sit in a conference room with him and tell him everything I know. Which is, in all honesty, not a whole lot. And, while we’re being honest, I can think of about 47 other things I’d rather be doing during that week than sitting in a conference room with some guy explaining data flows.
It’s not that I begrudge the guy the chance to, you know, be prepared. It’s just that I’m angry and bitter and totally over this job in more ways than I can count. Training New Guy requires effort, which is the last thing I want to be putting into it right now. I want to occupy space and catch up on my blog reading and take long lunches because, dude, what else do I have to do with my time?
Another thing: this job is, in many ways, not that hard. My “training”, if you can even call it that, was, “Hey, we need a spec in two days. Here’s the requirements list, and here’s a copy of the spec from the last release. Go for it.” I had no idea what I was doing, so I did a lot of copying and pasting and, “Hey, this requirement is a lot like the one already in the older spec, so we’ll just change a few names and be good to go.” That was my training, and while it sort of sucked, it was apparently sufficient. The idea of having to spend several hours explaining to someone what I figured out in a couple of minutes? Is certainly not at the top of my list of Things I’d Like To Do.
But I’m trying to take a deep breath. Trying to put on a happy face and be helpful and give this guy the good start that I got screwed out of so he can, possibly, enjoy this job slightly more than I did. It’s just that I so very, very much want to be done. Oh well. (Well, that and the fact that I just did this a couple of months ago before I went on leave. However, I suppose the fact that I’m stuck doing it again is my own fault, since I didn’t have the decency to get a new job before coming back to this one. Oops.)
One of the things I learned about the northwest when I moved out here last spring was that we have coyotes here. It didn’t surprise me all that much since a) we have a lot of heavily wooded areas around here and b) one was spotted in a downtown Chicago Quizno’s the year before I moved away, so, clearly, these are not animals that are going to be kept back by a little civilization. I wasn’t too worried - I wasn’t a small furry animal roaming the woods alone at night and I never saw or heard one myself. Even on my early morning runs along the river. I saw a ton of deer, but no coyotes.
I don’t know what’s different this summer - maybe there’s a new litter in the woods behind our house or something - but while I still haven’t seen one, I’ve heard them. Usually in the middle of the night, which makes sense, but let me tell you this: a pack of coyotes yowling in the dark is not a pleasant sound. First of all, it’s loud. Very, very loud. Like, “are you sure they’re not all sitting on our deck making that much noise?” kind of loud. Plus it’s not a pleasant noise at all. It’s not the sort of elegant solitude that you’d imagine from one lone wolf howling at the moon, but rather a frantic yipping and yowling that sounds less like, “Dude, Bob scored dinner!” and more like a pack of dogs being shoved into a wood chipper.
I’m not ashamed to admit that it sort of freaks me out. The first time, it was OK. It wasn’t that loud and I wasn’t even sure what it was until The Boy said something. Then the other night it was loud enough that it woke me out of a sound sleep at 2:30 in the morning. I tried to fall back asleep, but it had been so loud and awful sounding that I couldn’t and wound up going downtstairs to doze on the couch until The Boy decided to head up to bed. At least last night he was upstairs with me when it happened, but it was still more than a little unnerving.
I suppose the one good thing is that it doesn’t go all night, and it’s not every night. We’ll have a minute or so of frantic howling and yipping, but that’ll be it for a few days. Even so, I can’t wait for winter to come again so they quiet back down. Plus, I’m sure the cats would prefer to be let out of the bathroom. Where they are currently residing. For their own protection, because there is no way they’re getting even remotely close enough to the doors to make a mad dash for the outside.
Yesterday at work I did something that I haven’t done in seven and a half years: I quit my job.
Those of you that have been around for a while are probably thinking, “But, how does that work? Haven’t you lived in like 47 states over the past few years? You must have changed jobs in there somewhere…” While it’s true that I have changed jobs as I’ve moved around the country, it’s all been for the same company. Which means all of the job changes have been internal transfers. The managers I was working for all knew that I was looking for something else and had to approve my request to interview, so when I told them I’d accepted a new role and would be leaving the team, it was no surprise. Besides, it wasn’t like I was going far. Sure, I was leaving the state, but I was still working for the same company.
This time, though, I’m branching out entirely. The job itself isn’t brand new - it’ll be a lot like what I was doing when I left Chicago - but the fact that it isn’t for the same company is. It’s a little strange, since my paycheck has been coming from the same place since I finished college, essentially, but it’s time to move on.
The experience of quitting, though? That was a little weird. Since I wasnt’ interviewing internally, I didn’t have to tell my manager. He didn’t know that I had an interview nor was he informed when I received and accepted the offer. There was no “working out” of a transition date between my old and new teams. There was just me telling him, “I’ve accepted another position and my last day here will be next Friday.” For as excited as I am to be leaving this job, actually quitting was surprisingly nerve-wracking. Happily, my project lead was pretty supportive of it. He didn’t try and talk me into staying or ask what they could offer me to make me stay. He just said, “If this is a good opportunity for you, then you should take it.” I will say this - for as awful as pretty much every aspect of this particular job has been, he’s been pretty awesome since he joined the team last fall. Plus, he knew that I was less than thrilled with the type of work I was doing and so I don’t think it took him entirely by surprise.
So after just another 7.5 workdays, I will be free from The Job That Has Sucked Like No Other, No, Seriously, It Really Has Been That Bad. This is an incredibly happy thought, and it’s pretty much the only thought that’s getting me through the remaining days of mind-numbing busy work. (Work that was almost tolerable before since it would be of some benefit to me if I was sticking around for a while. Now that I’m not? It’s just a time-killer since there’s no actual release work to be done right now, and a very boring time-killer at that.)
I’m excited to be starting the new job, but mostly? I’m excited to be on my way out of this one.
(For those that are wondering, Operation Go Back To School is still in full effect. The nice thing is if something doesn’t work out with that plan (i.e., I don’t get in), the thought of having to be at the new job for 2 or 3 years isn’t anywhere near as horrifying as the thought of needing to stay here in the old one for another few years. Whew.)
It’s taken me a while to get aroung to writing this report. Partially because I’ve been artificially busy at work and partially because I had to get some perspective on it. I signed up for the race back in March when I was heavily in my, “Well, if I can’t run then I’ll just be a cyclist this year!” It looked like a good event, the fundraising requirements were completely manageable (and were totally blown out of the water by my friends and family), and it would give me some motivation to get out and train. I was a little worried about the hills, but I was coming up on my leave from work and so I’d have all sorts of time during the day to get good, long, hilly rides in. It was going to be awesome.
The training started off well. I was clearly out of shape for distance cycling but that got better quickly. I was also clearly out of shape for serious hill riding (not helped at all by the fact that my bike isn’t geared for major hills, which means it doesn’t have the wee little tiny gears that most people around here have), but that was slowly sort of getting better. However, the more I rode my bike? The more I didn’t want to. Even if I was just going out for an hour, I had to get a route of 12-13 miles. Longer rides? Longer routes. And because I needed to ride hills for training I couldn’t just take the easy way out and ride on the bike path, which saved me from having to do lots of route planning and traffic avoidance. The last straw was a big chunk of construction that was right in the middle of my route around Lake Sammamish, which guaranteed that no matter when I rode through it, it would be messy and annoying and full of traffic.
All of this came together around the beginning of June and told me something: I am not a cyclist. I missed running. I’d drag my butt out on my bike but would wanting to be running the entire time. Running was just easier. I didn’t have to worry about as much distance to cover, and I definitely didn’t have to worry about what traffic on those roads would be like. This was when I got serious about doing my ankle exercises so that I could actually get back to running. But I still had this event to do.
I’ll be perfectly honest - if I hadn’t done fundraising for this event, I would have skipped it. I woke up early Sunday morning to cloudy skies, a chill in the air, and it started sprinkling as I was loading up the car. The idea of spending 8 hours on a bike was less than appealing. The idea of doing so in the rain? Was completely unappealing. But, it wasn’t pouring and given the weather around here there was a good chance it would be sunny and dry over in Seattle. The Boy dragged himself out of bed to drop me off and we headed out.
Once I got down to the start, I felt a little better about it. This part of the event was really well organized - the start for the bike rides was an hour earlier than the run/walk event, which helped keep the crowds under control. The staging put the 100 mile riders in the front, followed by the 70 mile riders and then the 45 and 10 mile riders. This made sense, as it would prevent the longer distance riders from getting stuck behind a pack of slow, shorter-distance riders in the beginning of the ride. The down side was that slower longer-distance riders (like me!) spent the first several miles of the ride being passed by whizzing groups of faster, shorter-distance ride cyclists. Faster cyclists that would pass me on both sides and had a far, far smaller “passing buffer space” requirement than I do. I realized during the start that I have a very, very strong dislike for riding in large groups - especially those that aren’t organized by pace - and the whole thing just made me twitchy. I kept waiting for the crowd to thin out so I could relax. It did a bit coming down 4th Avenue, but then we got on the ramp to the I-90 express lanes and went from three lanes of traffic down to one. Which meant that it got crowded again. Just as another fresh wave of super-speedy riders was coming through.
Crowd-induced tension aside, riding over the I-90 express lanes was awesome. I love races/events like this that take you over bridges that are normally reserved for vehicular traffic because it’s just an awesome feeling. Some of my best race memories - crossing the Ambassador bridge into Canada in the 2005 Detroit marathon, or starting the 2007 New York marathon by heading over the Verranzano Narrows bridge into Brooklyn - are moments like this. Sure, you can ride next to the I-90 bridge on a bike path, but it’s so not the same thing. It was early enough that the sky was still colorful from the sunrise but we weren’t blinded by it despite the fact that we were heading east. Sure, the tunnel right before the bridge was a claustrophobic nightmare for me, but the view of the lake? Totally made up for it.
Once we got onto Mercer Island the crowd thinned out to a point where I was comfortable. There were still a number of people ahead of or next to or behind me at any given point, but it wasn’t so crowded that I was afraid I couldn’t navigate safely. We rode around the island counter-clockwise, which was a new experience for me. Every other time I’ve ridden or run around it, it’s been in the clockwise direction. I’ve long hypothesized that the counter-clockwise direction would be far more challenging and it gives me no pleasure to tell you that I was right. Travelling around the island clockwise, you have moderate climbs and big descents. Going the other way? Big climbs and moderate descents. It was around this point that I started pondering taking a shorter route, since I wasn’t entirely sure my legs were going to handle another 90 miles of that sort of thing. The 70 mile route suddenly seemed much more reasonable.
I was feeling pretty good when we pulled into the first rest stop at mile 14. I made use of the facilities and helped myself to a PB&J sandwich and a piece of banana. The way the announcer had worded things at the start I was afraid that the rest stops would be all bars and gels. I had some food with me, but not enough to get through the entire day - more of a backup in case I needed something in between stops or if I just didn’t want what they had to offer. I was beyond relieved to see that they were providing real food as well. In fact, at that first stop, there was nary a bar or gel in sight! (To me, the ability to eat real food during long ride is one thing that biking most certainly has over running.)
I headed back out and the awesome downhill into the stop was now a big ol’ uphill. Ugh. Who planned this? I noticed that the crowd had thinned out considerably, but I wasn’t completely alone so it was OK. We headed east off the island and continued into Belleuve. Most of this stretch was roads that I’d ridden before at one time or another, so there wasn’t any big surprises here. Well, there was the giant downhill that ended in a very sharp turn (ack! eek! braaaaaaakes!), but that was it for surprises. We looped around a bit and then headed south along Lake Washington. Somewhere around mile 25 we hit the second rest stop which, once again, was at the bottom of a short but steep hill. Getting in was great, but getting out? I wasn’t going to think about that yet.
This rest stop was in full party mode. They had a band playing, they had gummi bears and cookies and trail mix, and it was busy. I refilled my water and Gatorade bottles and grabbed some bears while I studied the elevation map for the course. By this point I had decided that I wasn’t going to do more than 70 miles, but I was doubting even that. Hills that were barely bumps on the 70 mile course had felt far, far bigger than I looked and I doubted my ability to get up the Big Huge Climb that the 70 mile route featured. I also doubted my ability to get down that hill. I’d driven it a couple of weeks before and knew that there was a pretty impressive corner at the bottom which: yikes. I flip-flopped back and forth and finally decided to just man-up and do the 70 miler. It probably wouldn’t kill me. I texted The Boy to let him know I’d be done earlier than originally planned and headed out.
I headed up the hill out of the rest stop and continued down along the lake and realized that I was completely and totally alone. Occasionally I’d see someone ahead or someone would pass me, but for the most part I was by myself. This is probably the thing I dislike most about doing bike rides - I’m not fast enough to keep up with most of the faster riders on the hills, but I’m faster than the slower riders on the downhills and flats which puts me into a weird no-mans land where I end up mostly alone on these things. Not a fan. The “small” hills were feeling harder than I would have liked and the idea of being out there basically alone for the next 4 hours was completely unappealing. When the turn-off for the 45 mile route came? I took it.
And I was glad I did. The ride was still challening and had some pretty good (if not excessively long) climbs. When I hit the next rest stop, I texted The Boy to let him know of my change of plans and even earlier anticipated finish time. I made my way around the bottom of the lake through Renton against headwinds that were just strong enough to be annoying and, once again, pretty much completely alone. It got cloudy and windy about 10 miles from the finish, but before I’d gotten back to downtown the sun came back out and the wind died down.
I gave some thought to skipping the last rest stop (it was only 6 miles from the end of the ride), but I wanted to use the facilities and figured my butt would appreciate the break from the bike seat. I headed back out for the last few miles of the ride, and this was where I became intensely thankful that I’d opted for the shorter route, because hitting this after 5 hours of riding would have been far, far more disheartening than hitting it after 3 hours. I saw a big hill up ahead and the yellow jacket of a rider working their way up it and thought, “All righty - that’s where we’re going.” Sure enough, the route took us right up the hill. It wasn’t terribly tall, but it was steep. Steep enough to take me from a cruising speed of 14-15 mph down to 5 mph. I made it to the top, we rounded a corner…. and there was another identically short but steep climb ahead. Seriously? Fine.
Then there was another turn and another chunk of hill, followed by one last turn and what I hoped to every diety I could think of would be the last of the climbing because ENOUGH already. I’d made it up so far without stopping, but the last little bit was steeper than the rest and I needed a break, so I stepped off the bike before I fell off. I tried to work my way up to getting back on the bike to ride up the last of the hill, but I just couldn’t do it, so I walked. Happily, that was, indeed, the last of it. Unhappily, it started our trek back towards downtown and featured a traffic light every 2 blocks. There were some rolling ups and downs, but having to stop every 200 feet was far more annoying than the terrain because it was impossible to get into a groove or feel like you were making any progress. I fully understand why they weren’t able to close the roads down (you can’t close that many city streets for a 6-hour long trickle of cyclists), but I don’t understand why they routed us right through the middle of downtown. It just made those last few miles seem endless. We won’t even talk about the sharp turn at the bottom of the big-ass-gigantic downhill.
After what seemed like forever, I finally made my way back to the Seattle Center and crossed the finish line. I checked my bike and picked up my bag and changed into a fresh set of non-sweaty clothes. Ahhhhh. The post-race food was awesome - our choice of a burger or a slice of pizza with a Chipotle taco. I chose the pizza/taco option because, dude, free Chipotle! It was delicious and totally hit the spot. I’d called The Boy before picking up my gear, so I could eat and relax while he made his way downtown to pick me up. It was a bright sunny day so I sat out on the grass and listened to the bands playing until I got the call that said he was parked around the corner waiting for me.
I finished the ride in 3 and a half hours or so - I have no idea because I haven’t gone back to check the bike computer, mostly because I don’t care. I was just glad to be done with the ride and I didn’t really want to think about it because I felt like I’d pansied out by only doing the 45 mile loop. Whatever. It was done, and I didn’t have to get back on the bike again all summer if I didn’t feel like it. I was mostly just relieved that it was over.
However, in the days since the ride I realized something: I may have felt like I took the easy way out by only riding for 45 miles, but for a lot of people (including a lot of people that I know)? Riding 45 miles of hills is anything but easy. It may not have been the challenge I set out to complete, but I still spent over 3 hours on my bike, dragging it up and down the Seattle terrain. It’s certainly nothing to sneeze at, and I have yet to talk to anyone who was disappointed in the fact that I rode 45 miles instead of 100. Not everyone can just go out and ride 45 miles on a Sunday, and instead of worrying about the fact that I didn’t do the full 100, I should celebrate and be thankful for the fact that I was able to do 45.
It’s a perspective that’s easy to lose when you start doing these kinds of endurance events. When you’re surrounded by people that eat 100 mile bike rides and 20 mile runs for breakfast, it’s hard to remember that being able to ride 45 miles is an accomplishment. Being able to ride 45 miles and think nothing of it? Is definitely something to be proud of.
Something else to be proud of is the way my friends and family came out in force to support my fundraising efforts. I was required to raise $250. I figured I’d reach a bit and set a goal of $500. The final grand total? Over $1000 donated to the Lance Armstrong Foundation to help support cancer suffers and survivors and research to find a cure. Awesome work, guys.
