Motivation deflation

Lobsterman is tomorrow.  I am completely unprepared.  And I don't care.

I have a few posts that I owe you:  a bachelorette party post and a wedding post.  But right now, I'm exhausted.  My motivation to do just about anything, save looking at wedding photos, is zero.

The wedding was amazing and joyous.  It was so much more than I ever could have hoped for.  But it was also just incredibly draining.  Planning the wedding felt like death by a thousand cuts.  My brain seems to be protesting organizing anything at this point.  We took a few days off after the wedding, but I feel like I could have used a few more.  Motivating myself feels like pushing on a deflated balloon:  I just bulge out to the sides, but very little movement actually occurs.

Which brings us to Lobsterman.  It's my last olympic distance race of the season.  I signed up for it thinking that there was a good chance I wouldn't want to race the weekend after my wedding.  But as I was riding high on the post-wedding, good feelings, I decided I should go for it.  I had originally thought that I might be able to post a new PR tomorrow.  Lobsterman was the site of my PR from last year.  And damn it, if I still don't want to shave those 10 seconds off my time to get down to sub-2:35.  But I fear that, at present, I lack the ferocity necessary to go out hard and red line the run.  Hell, I don't even have stretchy laces in my running shoes at the moment.

Thus, the plan for tomorrow is to just go out and have fun.  I love racing.  There's no pressure on this one.

I leave you with one of my favorite picts from the wedding.  I have no idea what Paul said that was so funny, but I just love how happy we are.  That's how it felt the whole day.

If blogs were people, I'd be getting ready for kindergarden

Happy blogiversary to Shelby Apples!  Today is FIVE years from my very first post, as I readied to ship off to Australia.

I started this blog originally to about being a stranger in a strange land, but as Australia became less foreign and triathlon became a bigger part of my life, the focus has shifted.

As I've been preparing for this post, it's been fun to look back at the milestones from these last 5 years.

Duathlon in Port Douglas

1.  I competed in my first duathlon, just a month after arriving in Oz.  It was such an unusual pastime I just titled it "Duathlon"

2.  I battled roaches in Cairns.

3.  I hiked to the top of the Pyramid with good friends.

4.  I took cooking lessons in Bangkok.

5.  I had a very good first date.

6.  I got hit by a car and totalled my bike...

7.  ... but I still competed in my very first olympic-distance triathlon just three weeks later.

8.  I cycled the from Adelaide to Melbourne along the Great Ocean Road.

8.  I had a very good second date, which resulted in a boyfriend.

Loz and me atop the pyramid

9.  I ran my first half marathon.

10.  I raced in my first half ironman.

11.  I moved back to the US for love with the aforementioned boyfriend.

12.  From there my adventures became less jetset.  No longer traveling to exotic climbs on a regular basis (Vermont doesn't count), I looked for speed at races and inventive healthy food options at home.

13.  I won my age group for the first and, so far, only time.

14.  I qualified for and raced at the Triathlon National Championship.

Cooking with Andrea in Bangkok

15.    I got engaged!

Looking back, I am humbled by how incredibly fortunate I have been, getting to experience all these new places, meet new people, and take on new challenges.

Blogging itself has been a wonderful experience:  it's the most dedicated to a journal that I've ever been.  It serves as a history of race strategies and recipes.  Where we go from here, only time will tell.  Here's to five more years of adventures!

1st place at the Duxbury Sprint

Paul and me at the Sydney Opera House on our second date.

Rebranding

I've come to the conclusion that it's time to rename the blog.  The URL will stay the same, but, honestly, The Trouble with Living in Sin never quite fit.

When I started the blog back in  2007, I was moving to Australia, and I wanted to write a travel blog.  A few weeks before my departure, I was perusing a handy book of Australianisms, reading them aloud and laughing at their ridiculousness.

"''Chuffed!'  It means happy.  'Knackered' means tired.  'Seppo' means American.  'She'll be apples' means 'Everything is going to be all right.'"

"Shelby apples?" my friend asked.

"No, 'She'll be apples.'  Although, I sorta like the sound of that 'Shelby Apples.'  A misunderstanding of Australian culture, but meaning everything will be ok.  I think I'll name my blog Shelby Apples."

And thus, Shelby Apples was born.

One side note:  I don't think I ever heard any actual Australians use the phrase over the two years I lived there.

Then, I moved back.  Shelby Apples didn't feel like it fit anymore.  Paul and I had just moved in together, and discovered that neither of us owned the essentials like cutlery.  I was griping that the trouble with living in sin was that there's no registry, and a coworker commented that The Trouble with Living in Sin would make a great blog.  I thought that I'd be blogging more about my adventures with Paul, so the name would fit.

Obviously, that's not what's happened.  The blog is clearly triathlon focused.  So, baring any fantastic suggestions from my loyal readers (Paul is pushing for Team Riegle, but I'm not sure that fits), I'm going back to Shelby Apples.  It's a good story.

But, there's another reason why it can't be called The Trouble with Living in Sin.  Cause my days of living in sin are numbered.  On December 31, 2011, Paul proposed to me, and after some prompting (my head kept saying yes, but my mouth was stunned), I accepted. 2012 is going to be an amazing year.

They can't all be good rides

First, Saturday, I took on another Brick of Doom. That's right: 2.5 mi run, 30 mi bike, 2.5 mi run, 30 mi bike, 2 mi run. Phew. 4.5 hours later, it was done. Special thanks to Jeff from BPC for taking this on after 6 weeks off the bike.

Then on Sunday, Paul and I joined a few other triathletes for our first ride together since the Prouty. Not our most successful ride:

1. We couldn't find the key to one of the bike racks to lock the bike on.
2. We couldn't find the key to unlock Paul's bike from the bike rack.
3. The local bike shop wasn't open to try to get a spare key from.
4. Paul took his first (and second) tumble while being clipped in (had to happen some time).
5. Paul's back wheel was not true and was rubbing on his brake.
6. Paul's waterbottle cage was loose and rattling.
   
7. Our 28 mile loop was actually 34. And I missed a turn and took us an additional half mile.
   
8. Paul was out of water and ready to be done at 25 miles.

But we made it. The next ride can only get better from here, right?

Doing what we came for

Yesterday was the Prouty Charity Ride up in New Hampshire. It was Paul's first charity ride. It was also his first ride of the season. In fact, it was his first ride over 10 miles (35!). And it was my second race in New Hampshire in the pouring rain. (Does not bode well for Timberman)

Paul is not a cyclist. Despite his dedication to the Tour de France coverage, he's more of a team sport guy. The non-binary nature of the sport (no single winner/loser) doesn't appeal. On the contrary, that's actually the thing that has drawn me into triathlon. Each race is determined by me: there's no team to support me; no one to let down. If I go a little faster than last time, then that's a victory. If I ride a little further, that's a new challenge to have vanquished.

It's tough to keep perspective when the rest of our team rode 100 miles (after a night a pretty serious drinking [after we went to bed] nonetheless). But I don't think that should overshadow Paul's accomplishment.

This week Paul had been joking that he would only do 10 miles of the race. At 10 miles in, I asked if he wanted to do the 20 mile course, but Paul says no. We're doing what we came here to do.

So, I'm pretty excited for Paul's longest ride ever. We held a pace of almost 16 mph, took on a few serious hills and didn't even stop at the 3rd (and final) rest stop. The last hill, by and far the worst, was one that he thought he might have to walk up, but he didn't. He made it. When we passed through the finish line, he first laid his bike on the ground, then laid himself on the ground next to it and said that hill might have been the hardest thing he had ever done, EVER.

Now that's something to be proud of.

Fourth of July

It's actually been 4 years since I've been in the US for a Fourth of July. Hard to believe, but last year I was in Mexico for Toby and Brooke's wedding (yay!) and the two years before that were in Australia. I can't even remember what I did for my last American Fourth.

This year a friend of mine invited us to her Beacon Hill apartment to watch the fireworks from her balcony. But before all this, Paul and I went to watch the Pops rehearsal on the 3rd out on the Esplanade. It's not entirely fair to call it a "rehearsal" when thousands of people show up, and they do a full run-through with no stopping. We got there an hour early, and they had already filled the oval in front of the hatch shell. But we found a nice spot near storrow that still had views of the big screens and great sound. We brought a picnic and a crossword and just all in all had a great time. Here we are:

Awesome. So we were well-prepped for the actual Fourth festivities. We made the mistake of picking up beer near our house to bring to the party, necessitating lugging it from our house, to the T, off the T up Beacon Hill, passing 4 or 5 liquor stores on the way. Ok, seriously, we will not make this mistake again.

It was a great party, met new people, enjoyed some amazing homemade pizza (why does my crust never come out like that?). And watched the pops on TV, including the patriotic sing-along. Which Paul and I dominated with "to the oceans, white with FOAM!" Yes, that is what was missing from my Fourths these last 4 years. Some one to belt out American songs whose words are burned into my memory from years of chorus.

Then finally the fireworks:
Not a bad view from the balcony, and those weren't even the big ones.

The only real hiccup in the whole performance was trying to get back home. Estimates were that there were over 800,000 people on the Boston side for the fireworks (only 600,000 people actually live in the city of Boston), so getting home was a bit of a nightmare. We walked to Charles/MGH, to find it overrun with people, then crossed the bridge to Kendall - also overrun, continued walking towards Central and finally caught a cab home.

But we did get to experience the surreal feeling of walking down the middle of a busy Boston street that was closed to traffic. Here we are, in the street:

Patriot Race Report: Learning the hard way

A little over a year ago, I took on my first half ironman. It was a challenge unlike other tris I have done. This year, I returned to the distance at the Patriot to try to learn from the difficulties last year and have a solid race. Well, I finished, and I learned more about this distance, but I don't think I can say I had a solid race. I finished in 6:08 - 18 minutes slower than last year. But I did come 8th in my age group (out of 26), so that's not too shabby. Still I wasn't out there to podium, I was out to master the distance, and once again, the half got the best of me. Here's what I learned.

Exiting T1

With temperatures in the upper-80s, I knew I'd need to take on more fluids. I'd even planned on stopping to pee, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. I have 2 water bottle cages on my bike, a front one with my sustained energy and a back one with just water. I usually only use my back cage to refill my front one in training, so when I went for my water 2 miles in, I dropped it. Crap. Well there's a water stop at mile 15, I'll just have to make it there. Bad plan. I should have stopped and picked up the bottle. Instead, I was without water for the first 50 minutes of the bike. I kept drinking my sustained energy, but it just wasn't doing it.

Then, of course, when I did finally get to the water stop, the water bottle didn't fit in my cage cause my bike is so tiny. Bad planning. I jammed it in on a diagonal. I wasn't going to go without water for the next 15 miles. I focused on drinking ever mile, to try to get the fluid back into me.

Finishing lap 1

When I got to the next water stop at 30 miles, I still had half of the water bottle and half of my fuel, so I decided I was good, I didn't exchange bottles. Again, bad plan. I ran out of all fluids at around mile 38, still ~7 miles to the next water stop. At this point I start developing a dehydration headache. Ugh. More water at mile 45, but it was too late.

On my way out of the run, stuffing my bike gloves into a pocket

I got into T2, put on shoes and ran to make a portapotty stop. By this point I had had 3 bottles of liquid, but only a thin stream of gu-like pee came out. Dang, my reflection in the mirror revealed swollen lips. Seriously dehydrated. I tried to remedy with some heed at the first mile water stop. But by the time I got to mile 2, I felt worse. I sat down, drank water, heed, had electrolyte pills, a gu. The volunteers offered to give me a ride back to transition. No way. If I'm gonna quit it's gonna be at mile 3. I start walking. After a few yards, I get up to jogging. At mile 3 I start the routine that will take me through the remainder of the day: splash myself with a cup of water, drink a cup of heed, walk a few yards and get to jogging. By mile 5, I actually felt good. More gu, more electrolyte pills and I was even banging out 9 minute miles there for a bit. Mile 10 didn't feel so good, but I made it. Total run time was 2:21.

Ok, so there are the lessons: pick up the bottle you dropped, practice with the exact mechanisms you will use on race day, don't rely on race provisions, explore other water options (bottle on the bars? camelback?).

Despite all this, there were some really good moments of the race yesterday too. I had the 4th fastest swim in my age group. I averaged 18.8 for the first half of the bike and 18.4 overall, giving me the 6th fastest bike in my age group. Once I got the hydration back in control, my run actually felt pretty good. I'm really proud of finishing the race. And finally, (and most importantly) my knee felt fine. Even a day later it's feeling ok. This was probably due to my absolutely amazing pit crew, Paul, who was ready for me with ice and saran wrap immediately after the race.

This morning I woke up still 4 pounds shy of my regular weight, so I've still got some work to do getting hydrated. But I'm now considering signing up for Pumpkinman. One more meeting with the half distance to tackle it.

The trouble with the trouble with living in sin

Obviously, it's been a while. Posting to Shelby Apples was way easier than this blog because (1) I had all those funny Aussies to remark upon and (2) cause there are real troubles with living in sin that I don't want to post about. But I do miss blogging, even if it's only for myself. So, I've decided to redouble my efforts and focus on the aspects of attempting domesticity.

This week, Paul and I attempt to be crafty.

Paul's playing on a local volleyball team, and the tournament they were playing in this week required that every member of the team wear a numbered jersey. Numbers need to be at least 4" on the front and 6" on the back. It's Friday afternoon, and the tournament was Saturday morning. All of the other guys on the team had some old shirt that met the requirements, but not Paul. So, we decided we'd just make one.

First to Target to find a dry-fit shirt. I had my own doubts about attempting to iron on iron-on numbers to this type of shirt, but couldn't argue with not wanting to play in a cotton t. Then to Michaels, a store that pretty much epitomizes everything that we are not, from the rows of silk flowers to the carts of scrapbook stuff: Everything is ornate, and most of it already resembles junk. They have iron-on numbers, but the largest ones are 5". They have an empty rack of 8" numbers.

Plan A isn't working out so well. We ask a very unhelpful shopboy (and who can blame him really, he works at Michaels) if there are any other numbers. No love. We call another Michaels to see if they have 8" numbers in stock. Nope. Hmm.

Plan B: let's paint them on. There's an array of paints here next to the iron-on letters, and after sifting through about a dozen rows of bottles we find some non-puffy, non-glittery white spray paint. It claims to be a screen printer in a bottle. Brilliant. We can do this. Of course it's the only can of white they have. So we grab a yellow can too for good measure. Now to find a stencil.

Of course those don't come in greater than 3" numbers. No matter, we can make stencils, just need to print out the number and an exacto. A helpful shopboy suggests we get some thicker paper from the scrapbooking aisle to make the stencil. OK. We're good: paint, exacto, paper, stencil spray adhesive. We optimistically head home to start in on our project.

We choose a font, get the size right, go to print and only the front number prints. Now we're out of toner. Plan C: free hand the stencil. So glad we chose number '1'. We test out the paint on a piece of cardboard, it sprays. We're good. We spray the shirt and the paint manages to both dribble onto the t shirt and spray our dining table. Quick clean up, and we try again (this time with the whole t-shirt haloed with trashbags. It's still dribbly. In the end, we use paper towels to spread the paint around. It looks pretty haphazard. But it will do.

Paul was allowed to play in his homemade jersey. For the next tournament, they'll have their professionally printed jerseys, so this was both the maiden voyage and farewell to the homemade jersey. And hopefully, our last foray into craftiness for a long time.

The beginning

In preparation for Paul's big 3-0, we're getting fit. Paul's going a bit more hardcore than I am, but I think we're both excited to get into "the best shape of our lives."

To start this journey we, like any good nerds, needed a good quantitative baseline. After some thorough internet research, Paul made appointments at the Bod Pod. Tucked away, in the one of the largest sports clubs I've ever seen in Weymouth, MA (about 30 minutes drive without traffic, an hour the day we went - Thanks, Country Music Festival!), was the space-age looking device:
Using some combination of air pressure and Jetsonian design, the Bod Pod determines your precise body fat. The whole process took about 2 minutes after the traffic and using the phrase "bod pod" about 30 different times in the gym itself ("Excuse me, we have an appointment for the bod pod," "are you here for the bod pod," "which way to the bod pod?"). We stripped down to bathing suits, and sat still in the egg-shaped machine. Then it printed out our results.

Both of us were in the "moderately lean" category. My body fat percentage was 23.1%. My weight 122lbs. I'm now very curious as to what my stats were when I first returned to the US. I certainly haven't been training or eating as well as I was in oz. I was a little surprised that I weighed so little, as I feel like I've put on more weight, but my weight in oz was consistently 122lbs.

My body fat percentage goals aren't as clear as Paul's. I'd like to get into the "lean" category which is 18-22%. I think being at 20% or so would be nice, but I don't really have much reason for that other than just seems like a nice round number.

My real goals are for the Olympic distance race in September and the half marathon in October. I'd love to do a Mooloolaba time at the Lobsterman, and a sub 1:50 in the half mara. I've engaged an Aussie friend of mine to help me write up a program. I'll be doing less cardio than I did in oz, and more weights, so it will be interesting to see how my performance fairs.

We're going back to the Bod Pod in 6 weeks and again in 12 to mark our progress. For now, it's just the beginning

And we're back...

... With new fonts, new colors and a new title.

I'm no longer living in oz, so it seemed the right time to rebrand. Instead I'm living in... Boston. But more importantly, I'm living with Paul. Our new place is right in Davis Square in Somerville in a turn of the century school house. We adore it.

Also, I'm a year older now. So we celebrated last weekend with a lovely dinner party. Here is the slide show demonstrating both my new age and my new apartment:


Hopefully, I'll have more triathlons to report in the coming weeks and new adventures in Boston.

Highlights of the tour 'Up Above'

So if I'm down under, does that make the US 'Up Above'? I think it does.

I'm back in Brissie from 2.5 weeks back in the states. By the numbers:

18 hours flight out
27 hours flight back (there's no direct US -> Bris flight as there was on the way out)
8 flights total
22 kilos of luggage
$45 in checked luggage fees
3 hours by train
1 night at the 9s
1 ride
2 swims
3 runs
Many bottles of fine American micro-brews (good show, Portland)
2.5 lbs gained (mostly in steak)
11 discs of BSG watched

I had a wonderful time. Here are the highlights:

• Cycling around Houston with Paul's step-dad. John was an avid cyclist for years, but hasn't gotten a chance to ride much of late. We rode along the wide boulevards into the city, and out to a large park. It was perfect weather, didn't even require a jacket in December.
  
• Playing boggle with Paul's sister and cousins (and getting thoroughly beat, even though I came up with the word "eleven")
• Getting triathlon sunnies in the "asian fit" frames cause I'm so asian, seriously though they're the first pair of wrap around style sunglasses that don't bounce around
  
• Finding and being convinced by Paul to purchase a New Year's Eve dress that got heaps of compliments on the night. Thank you, Paul, and Betsey Johnson.
  
• Making pysanka eggs with my mom and Paul. My mom has been decorating eggs in the Ukranian batique styel for years. Paul got to try his hand on his first egg, which given that it didn't crack was a huge success. I got to try my mom's electric kistka, very cool.
  
• Hanging out with my mom's housemate Cindy. Hi, Cindy.
  
• Poking fun at the incredibly practical footwear in Portland. Maybe some one told the cocktail waitresses that they'd be behind a bar, but I doubt it. Some one was getting ready for work and thought, "yeah, you know what, I'm going to wear my orthopaedic sandals with knee highs with my little cocktail dress"
  
• Listening to jazz music in the VIP lounge at the Crystal Ballroom in Portland (the drink lines were less of a highlight, but overall a successful party)
  
• Going swimming with Paul in South Bend (and trying to calculate how many laps of a 25 yard pool I needed to swim to cover 1K, while swimming it)
• Watching ISU win their 14th game in an undefeated season (not making the list is watching them take the stats to 14-1 in the next game)
• Going to the ND basketball game, getting $6 student tickets, sitting on the floor in the fourth row, and then spotting ourselves in the ESPN coverage of the game the next day
• Spending at least one full day in jammies watching Battlestar Galactica

New Year's 2008

Wet

I arrived in South Bend late Friday night after my flight from Chicago was canceled, and Paul generously drove the 3.5 hours each way (woulda been 2 if it weren't for Friday night traffic) to come pick up my sorry ass and drive me back to the Eastern Daylight Timezone.

All this was to ensure that we could go to the football game on Saturday. Paul had looted the Notre Dame bookstore in search of a t shirt that was cool enough for me, and had seven (yes, seven!) shirts for me to choose from. He also had Notre Dame emblazoned ponchos for each of us as it was supposed to rain all day.

First thing Saturday morning, we drove through the rain to the airport to pick up my luggage which had arrived late the previous night, then met up with a few of his friends for breakfast. Homemade bacon egg and cheese sandwiches to be precise. I had forgotten how good American bacon is. Australian bacon is closer to what the British serve. It's floppy and greasy, not crispy and stripey like they do it back here. It was a good base for the next 16 or so hours.

About 15 people had gathered for breakfast and we were all riding over to the tailgate in the back of a truck. However, with the rain pouring, Paul and I opted to sit in the cab. Which was a wise move considering all the water that got tossed back on to the lot of them. At the tailgate, there were two tents where we all milled around. It's tough to start drinking at 10am, but sometimes, you've just gotta do what you've gotta do. Nothing was going to make us much drier. About an hour or so into the tailgate it stopped raining, the clouds parted, and it actually became a really nice, if a little muggy, day. And then the people came out, if it had been crowded under the tents in the rain before it was nothing compared to the throngs of graduate students that are drawn out with the sunshine and some cheap beer.

Next, it's game time, we trudge through the parking lot and up to the gate. I have one of Paul's friend's student IDs and her ticket. I don't look too much like Margot, but no one seems to take any notice. Game starts at 4 or so, and after a good morning of drinking some people are hanging better than others. Ushers are aggressive in pulling any one out who seems to be stumbling. Our seats are pretty much just in the end zone and one section up. There are benches, but no one is sitting, every one stands on the bench the entire game.

First touchdown goes to ND. The crowd goes wild. All across the stadium, fans are picking up a friend in a push up position and tossing them in the air once for each point. Seven push ups for the first touchdown, fourteen for the second, twenty-one for the third before Michigan serves up a single point. Brilliant. ND is known as a good football school, but recently, they've sucked. The fans are diehards, but the team just hasn't come to the games. So a shut out game thus far is making people crazy. Michigan did score ten points in the first half, but I think we all went into halftime feeling pretty positive about the Irish.

Then the clouds rolled back through, and a fine sprinkle appeared. Throughout the crowd was the movement of jackets and ponchos being donned. Unfortunately, we had tucked our safely away in some one's car at the tailgate. We had no ponchos. By the time ND had scored another touchdown we were drenched. And the rain just didn't let up. At one point there was a veritable waterfall flowing down the stairs. It was probably a good thing for the Irish since it meant that every thing was slippery: the ball, the lawn, the linebackers. Both teams each scored another touchdown, but when the clock ran out the score was 35 to 17 ND. The first game Paul has been to that they won. I think I deserve a little credit on this one.

Maybe it's living in Queensland, but hanging out in soaking denim and a tshirt just gets cold after a few hours. We followed the crowd after the game, through the mud and rain to a bar. Ordered some extra large beers and a grilled cheese sandwich, and tried to warm up in Paul's roommate's enormous and thoroughly soaked coat. It did the job mostly. But nothing warms you up more than getting your boogy on. The bar itself was a throw back to good old fraternity basements, with a mix of beer, mud and I-don't-wanna-know that works its way between the toes when you're dancing in flip flops.

At midnight or so, we left to head home without really thinking about how we might get home. Something we probably should have thought of before venturing out, once again, into the pouring rain. The bar is about a 30 minute walk from Paul's house, which we started. About 10 minutes into the walk a kindly cab driver in a minivan stopped for us. When we opened the door we discovered he already had a fair. In fact, he had two. There were 4 people in the cab. We crawled into the back next to the girl who claimed she didn't mind sitting next to sopping wet people. We dropped her and her friend off at the bar we'd just come from, then drove to the other side of town to drop off the other two people (one of which could not believe how old we were! Paul likes to impress people by telling them I'm almost thirty. I hope this will wear off when he turns 29 in November). We offered to pick up the tab on the two kids getting out immediately before us. Then we picked up another pair of people on the way to Paul's who in turn offered to pick up our tab. What a charitable place!

All in all South Bend got over 10.5 inches of rain (that's 267mm) in just one day. That's more rain than the place has seen in 40 years. We were a part of history.

Longtime silence is a prime indicator of romance

Sunday, I received this email from a friend:

"What is happening in Australia? Nothing on ye olde blogue for a while, nor Facebook ... have you got a boy? Longtime silence is a prime indicator of romance, I say."

Very astute. My hiatus has been caused by a man. Way back over christmas I had a date in Boston. Well, I've just had my second date: a two week holiday in Australia covering Sydney, Cairns and Brisbane. Allow me to introduce, Paul:

We spent the first week in Sydney (at the Westin, which we can highly recommend, especially the club lounge with free breakfast, cocktails and canapes everyday) doing touristy things. We took the ferry across the harbour to the Taronga zoo, which is built into the side of the hill and has spectacular views of Sydney and some pretty cool animals as well.

Day two, we went to high tea at the Opera house (pictured above). Tea included tea, champagne cocktails, tiny sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and more sugar on one plate that one could possibly manage. It also included a short program by one of the opera's sopranos who sang one of my favorite arias, O Mio Babbino Caro (yes, the one from a Room with a View).

Day three, we nearly missed our wine country tour when we didn't change hotels (I mean really how can you change hotels when there are canapes every night). But we made it. It's a two hour drive from Sydney to the hunter valley, where we visited several small wineries, then went on a cheese tasting tour on our own. Ok, I'm going to be honest. We spent about 3 times as much on cheese as we did on wine. And we ate all of the cheese the following day. I love cheese.

Day four, we ate cheese.

We did eventually make it out to the Victoria Room in Darlinghurst for several amazing cocktails: tequila manhattan, a drink with bourbon, chambourd, and ginger beer that we couldn't get enough of, and finally a cuban blazer. Our bartender, far more the cocktail enthusiast than most, was fantastic. We were rifling through the cocktail book (not really a list) and she asked us what we liked and devised our cocktails for us. Devine.

Day five, we hit the paddington markets, then headed up to Cairns.

I was more sentimental about Cairns than I thought I might be. I believe I narrated every shop and corner we passed. And Paul was good enough to feign interest in my fun facts (couldn't really call them stories, "This chemist is new!!"). We took the skyrail up to Kuranda, mostly just to take the skyrail (Gondolas that take you from the coast over the rainforest to the tablelands). And had a fantastic Aussie BBQ on the Esplanade with Kimberley and Hamish, complete with a park ranger asking us to at least not be so blatant with our alcohol. We weren't rowdy, but we'd decided to recreate the bourbon drink from the Victoria Room, so we had many alcohol bottles out on the picnic table.

The following day we went up to Port Douglas and took a reef tour with two intro dives. It's scuba diving without any of the training! That sounds unsafe, but really, you have a guide who adjusts your buoyancy, and we never went further down than 8 or so meters. It was fantastic. Giant clams, gorgeous coral, a shark, a barracuda and nemo. The drive to PD also included a bit of narration ("the paddock with wallabies", "the turn around point for a 50K ride", "the turn around point for a 60K ride", "the furthest north I've ever cycled" - exciting stuff).

Next we drove South to Mission Beach and stayed in the rain forest for two nights at Sanctuary. Here we stayed in a tiny hut (think screened in porch) in the heart of the jungle. I took a lovely yoga class, and we watched Queensland get spanked in the state of origin game*.

Upon returning to Cairns we spent the afternoon in my favorite bar, Tides before heading down the Brisbane.

Contrary to Rowan's suggestion, I did not just import Paul to help me do household things. However, he did help me hang my curtains. In Brissie, we mostly just explored my neighborhood. It was fun just to have some one to check things out with. We tried out the jazz happy hour at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre, had dinner at Satchmos with a live band, pub crawled our way back to my house from the West End and had the world's largest tapas at Sling.

And now he's back in the states. So what does one do for a third date?

Paul in Sydney

Paul in QLD

*State of Origin is a three game rugby league series where professional players play go back and play for their home state. Only Queensland and New South Wales play rugby league, so it's always the rivalry between the two. This was the first game of the series. Game two is in several weeks.