Cool Dream

So I woke up yesterday having scored a touchdown in my sleep. This is not a metaphor.

There I was, playing for an NFL team - I do not know which one (my only angst) - and then there I am, on third and goal, the go-to running back, holding the football, running to the end zone, looking for my lane... when suddenly it is all open in front of me - only one defender stands in the way - he's not much taller than me - he's the one who looks like a deer in the headlights, I'm the one who knows what is going on... I run into the end zone, untouched, scoring the touchdown (no spin moves needed, and hardly a leap, zig or zag)...

And then I woke up. What a great dream. The only sad part was that I woke up before I had a chance to do my touchdown celebration. I would have liked to have seen how that looked. Oh, and I was a little perplexed that I didn't know which team I was playing for. I believe it was the home team though - our uniforms were white, as I recall.

In my awake state, I remembered an earlier part of the dream. It was still the NFL, but it was a scrimmage rather than a game. I scored a touchdown as running back during the scrimmage too, but at the time I thought they were probably just letting me score because I'm a girl and it didn't count and they were just trying to be nice.

But then in the game - it was a real game (dreamland real) and I scored again. This time, nobody was trying to be nice. This one counted.

It wasn't the first time I'd dreamed that I was a player in the NFL. There was one other time - I was a running back in that dream too - for the Philadelphia Eagles (I love the Eagles) - but that time, there was no touchdown - it was in the middle of the field - there was a much better defense - I was barely able to go forward - I needed to use my spin move - which I executed flawlessly, by the way - until that dream, I didn't even know that I had a spin move!

What was different about yesterday's dream was that I didn't know which team I was on - which team had drafted me. In past NFL dreams, it's always been the Eagles. Besides the dream as a player, I've dreamed once that I was the walk-on coordinator (clipboard and all), once that I was a confidante to the coach (Ray Rhodes at the time), once that I was a spectator during preseason training camp and sat with Bo Jackson as we talked over the Eagles' prospects for the year (he seemed like such a nice man).

It does surprise me that I keep playing the position of running back in these dreams. I'm more of a defense person - love, love watching corner backs play - such athleticism. It's how I usually practice law too - on the defense - criminal defense is where I got my start in the law - my first plaintiff case, I was almost confused - I had to initiate everything! The lawsuit, the discovery requests... And in soccer, I almost always play defense. So you'd think in dreamland, my subconscious would have me play defense. I guess my subconscious has other things in mind.

I do love football. Of course I love many sports - heck, I wrote a novel about baseball! - but football ends up being my go-to sport, for some reason. Baseball too, at times. At least I can play baseball (in softball form). And baseball is more often a metaphor to me - a metaphor for life - how there is no deadline, and how whatever happens is up to the teams. If nobody makes a move, the game will go on for infinity. If nobody scores, then nobody wins - or loses - or wins, though. And isn't that key? In my baseball novel (Until the End of the Ninth, about the Spokane Indians' minor league team in 1946 that dies in a bus crash midway through the season), there is a section that talks about baseball's structure. It is in the context of the Indians having beaten the team from Victoria, B.C., on May 16, 1946 (40 days before the bus crash) by tying up the game in the 9th inning and finally winning in the 12th:

It took a lot, to beat Victoria like that. More than perseverance, more than hope - faith too, and maybe a commitment to the mundane. Always a commitment to the mundane. Playing day in, day out, game after game, pitch after pitch - and then, in a moment's silence, when all seems statically standstill, someone does something to change the flow, or create it.

And isn't that the way life can be?

Maybe I'll dream about baseball tonight.

The Eagles

I can't help it. I love the Philadelphia Eagles.

It's a love-hate relationship, really. And one-sided, I'll bet. (Do they really care what I think?)

But it must come out on the side of love, since I am willing to break my current silence on this blog and post something.

It helps that they won yesterday. Yes, in their season opener, after fits and starts and after really showing the world just how young their offensive line is... they won. Egads, and it looks from the score that they won big, doesn't it? 31-13, against the Rams in St. Louis. Looks solid, don't you think? But it came only after awhile.

My sister called at the beginning of the third quarter. I had to walk away from the television, so distracted I was by the ineffective Eagle play. I complained to her that I had forgotten how much stress there was in enjoying an Eagles' football game.

Michael Vick is definitely amazing. He did have that one fumble - you need to watch your back, man! (and assume that nobody else is, right now)... But it was a blip on an otherwise strong radar screen. You can tell he's not just the man of yesteryear but the strong(er) man of today - he does watch those game films now, doesn't he?

Nearly as satisfying as the Eagles' win was the Cowboys' loss. Oh, say it is not so, poor Tony Romo - say that you did not just fumble on the one yard line... I apologize to all Cowboy fans for taking delight in your lament. But let's be honest - you'd return the favor in a second, wouldn't you? Ah, what it means to be division rivals....

Commercial break is now over. I am now removing the battery from the scrivener part of my brain and returning you to your previously-scheduled silence. Why? you may ask. Well, let's hope not. But it's important to be realistic too. Too much practice of law (as I now am doing) gets in the way of creative juices. My brain is too focused on information that is not fit for print, if only because of its confidential nature...

Baseball

Well, I've been sick this past week, with a cold that kept me down but not away from the television (well, maybe it kept me exactly in front of the television, now that I think about it, since I was not really feeling well enough for much else). Am still not 100 percent...

If ever there was a week to be sick, however, it was this past one - with a lot of excellent baseball to watch. In the end, it's the Texas Rangers and the San Francisco Giants that are going on to the World Series.

I was sort of rooting for Philadelphia... no matter. The Yankees lost. And to the Rangers, no less - a competitor with the Mariners, but the major league team with whom the Spokane Indians are affiliated, so - fun.

It's great to watch Ian Kinsler in particular on the Rangers team, as he played here in 2003, which is the year that I started writing the baseball novel that I have ("Until the End of the Ninth," based on the true story of the 1946 Spokane Indians team). I remember watching him play in Spokane that year, and remember that 2003 team fondly. They won the league title that year. It's pretty exciting to imagine that the kid playing Single A ball here in Spokane in 2003 has been able to go on and play in the ACLS, and is part of a team that is going on to play in the World Series. And he's been playing well, too - having clutch hits at just the right time.

Congratulations to both teams. It should be a fun World Series. I can hardly wait for Wednesday.

Protocall

Soccer season has begun for the Grand Masters League, of which I am a member. (Grand Masters = Old People...) Our first game was yesterday. We did well. We tied twice - right at the beginning of the game when it was 0-0 (;-)), and then sometime in the second half, when it was 3-3. And while we ultimately lost, we played with heart, and with - well, I can't actually call it "intensity," but with - well, a lot of effort for a bunch of - ahem - Grand Masters.

At one point, one of my players was fighting to get to the ball before it went out of bounds. He came so close... the other team's defender blocked the view of the referee - we only get one, no linesman, very rudimentary - and the ref let the play continue without a whistle for the ball going out of bounds. I had the angle that actually showed the ball go out of bounds - just barely, but it did.

Hence the title of this entry. What is the protocol - proto"call," - in recreational sports for such a situation? For as I watched the play continue and did nothing to interrupt it, I realized that such a protocol exists.

If it had been me chasing the ball, and I had realized the ball had gone out of bounds, I more likely than not would have presumed a whistle from the referee and given the ball over to the other team. This is because: (a) the ref was probably getting ready to blow the whistle anyway; (b) these games are really hard on the ref, because he (or she) can't see every play on the field with just one of their kind; and (c) why generate bad karma?

In this case, however, it was not me chasing the ball - it was my teammate. So I didn't say anything. This is because: (a) my teammate may not have realized the ball went out of bounds, so it wasn't a matter of principle and/or karma; (b) the other team failed to protest the play - other than make a few protest sounds, not enough to get the attention of either my teammate or the ref, so anything I said would just distract from the game, and not add to it; and (c) it simply wasn't my "call" to make.

As I watched the play, and realized what I was doing - and not doing - and the decades of sport experience that went behind my in-the-moment decisions, I realized that I love soccer. I love playing it, I love being with my team, I love hanging out with my team afterwards, at whatever bar we decide to fraternize. It's just a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Speaking of bars...

When I got to where we were going after the game - The "Rock," I think it's called - it used to be "Bottoms Up," but that ownership went out of business - I parked next to a car with a gekko on the side. Yes, it was a Geico business vehicle. I didn't realize people took their business cars to bars. It seemed like an odd sight, right there at The Rock, so I took a photo of it. And sat there, listening the final beats of "Desperately Wanting" blasting on the radio. "I remember running through the wet grass... And falling a step behind.. Both of us never tiring.. Desperately wanting..."

Baseball Days

So last Saturday, I spent selling baseball novels again - this time, it was at a Spokane Indians game. The Indians had a five-game series at home against the Eugene Emeralds. They split it, 3-2. They lost the last game of the series, and the second one. We were at the second one. I wondered (until the fifth game, when I saw the headline the next morning) whether they would end up losing only one game - the game when I was there. People become known as jinxes, in such scenarios! But no such (bad) luck. Instead, just good baseball.
We sold over 10 books - about 13 total. The book's been out long enough that a number of people came by to tell me they had the book, enjoyed it, and wanted to let me know. That was a particularly nice way of finding out.

The game was going well - or so it sounded (as I sat outside the first base entrance, relegated to my table) - until I came back in the crowd. That's when the Emeralds went on a scoring streak. (Oops. Maybe I should have stayed out by my table, even in the dark.)

There were fireworks again (as there were two weeks ago). This time, the Indians didn't sit and watch. Perhaps it mattered whether they won or lost. Maybe this past Saturday, after the loss, the team wasn't in the mood to watch celebratory fireworks.
But before I went into the stadium to watch the game - around the third inning or so - a bi-plane, like a World War I style plane, flew over. At the American Legion World Series, that happened on both nights that I was there (Sunday and Tuesday). So - three times in a week. Nice. Someone, it seems, is flying high.

In fact, it could have been this very biplane -

photo credit: Ryan Pemberton - posted (with detailed information) by Tom Harnish, found here

Oklahoma Outlaws

The Outlaws stole the win last night, in the American Legion World Series finale.

And when I say "stole," I mean it in the most positive of terms. Those kids stole every base out there, including home. They played scrappy, and they won two games against the up-until-then undefeated Eden Prairie, MN team. They deserved the title, in the end.

And when I say "stole home," I don't mean from just an errant throw to second or something. One player decided to steal home on just a regular pitch. It took everyone by surprise - including the pitcher and catcher for Eden Prairie. And he made it! Safe. Amazing. And then another Outlaw who had just gotten a walk, and was acting like he was settling into first base, just took off and landed on second instead. Apparently the ball had still been in play, and the pitcher had not yet settled into the mound...

And for as miserable as a game that it turned out to be for Minnesota - set of games, actually - they did have some highlights. There was one throw to home where the catcher had to leap for the ball but was able to defend the plate anyway and tagged out the Outlaw running home. And then there was the eighth inning. There was one out, with Outlaw runners on first and third. The first base runner went to steal second, and the catcher threw the ball and got him tagged out. And the second base man immediately threw the ball to home - anticipating, by now, the third base runner's intention to steal home in that circumstance - and somehow the catcher tagged out that runner as well. So it was a double play, and the inning was over. Eden Prairie had finally figured out Oklahoma's methods. It was too late in the game to make a difference for the final score. But it had to have been nice for the Minnesota kids to have that play.

As I've written in recent posts, the American Legion World Series was in Spokane for the first time in its 85 years. I went out to the ballpark on Sunday and Tuesday for book signings, with net proceeds going to the Legion's World Series efforts. We raised a total of $300 from 39 book sales for the Legion (which is all proceeds except the wholesale cost of the book to me). So it was a nice roundup. And people from all over the country purchased the book, which is nice. A few umpires too! I told them to watch for the book's scenes with umpires. There are a couple fun ones.

There was another flyover last night of a World War I era plane. It wasn't announced, or expected. We all looked to the sky when it happened. People softly clapped, too. A surprise, but a nice one. And perfect, for a Legion event.

For as much as the games last night were not seriously in question, the skill of the players was something to watch - from both teams. Attitude, too, was admirable (for the most part). (I did see a couple jabs between players. But these are kids. They're learning too.)

Perhaps attitude is always improved on the field if you have to say a Sportsman Code before every game. This is the one that the Legion has - that they read to the players before each game - and that they had each team captain read to each of their teams, in front of everyone, before the first game last night:

I will
keep the rules
keep faith with my teammates
keep my temper
keep myself fit
keep a stout heart in defeat
keep my pride under in victory
keep a sound soul, a clean mind, and a healthy body

Words to live by. In fact, perhaps we all should say this Code every morning, the moment we wake up.

Next up: book signing at the Indians' game this coming Saturday. Fireworks night!

American Legion Baseball

Well, that was exciting!

In yesterday's blog, I talked about how I was going to a book signing yesterday out at the Spokane Indians' baseball field, which is currently being used for the American Legion's 85th World Series. I was looking forward to it - my novel "Until The End Of The Ninth" is about the 1946 Spokane Indians team that died in a bus crash midway through the season. Eight of the nine who died had served in World War II in some capacity. I'm sure they also played American Legion ball, or would have wanted to play it. So signing books at the Legion's World Series - the first time it has ever come to Spokane - seemed like just the right thing to do.

I went. It was great. Great baseball, great people. Great plays. In one play, the second base man from Roseburg, Oregon bare-handed a grounder and then flipped the ball behind his back to his shortstop (since he didn't have an angle to first), who caught it and threw to first, just in time - well, just in time to make it a tie at first, so the runner was safe, by my oh my (as they say in the announcing world) - what a play. Everyone stood, including everyone from both benches, and gave him a standing ovation.

(Can I just say here, I think bare-handed it? I heard someone say that's what he did. It was spectacular, that much I know for sure.)

There were other highlights too. Great baseball! And there was a fly-over, before the start of the second game, of double-winged planes - like the ones used in World War I. There were four altogether, flying in unison. I thought of the 1946 baseball men - from World War II, not I - and thought what it would have meant to them, to have the World Series here, to have this flyover - a reminder of days gone by...

I sat right behind home plate, with a little table and a box of books, intensely in the sun, turning bright red, and people wandered past me with nary a look (or with an odd look, like "why's this woman in the way?" or "shouldn't she have some sunblock on?") and I thought, well at least I get to watch good baseball.

But then I sold a book. Hurray! To a man from Sandpoint, for his son who plays Legion ball.

And then the events organizer and I came up with the great idea of having the PA guy make an announcement over the loudspeaker, that I was there with the book and all. "Terrific book," he said during the announcement. (I didn't even give him that note!)

And that's when we sold 27 more. There was even a line. Very exciting.

All net proceeds are going to the Legion, so it was nice to be able to raise some money for the group. I'm going back on Tuesday for sure - which is the final game, the World Series finale - and maybe tonight (am going to try...).

I've heard much through the years about American Legion baseball. As I understand it, the organization gives kids a chance to play organized ball at increasingly skilled levels. As the linked article states, most major leaguers played American Legion ball at some point. And then they gather every year for a World Series, facing double elimination during the tournament itself. Here's a link to the main page of the American Legion, which is a veterans service organization.

What I loved yesterday was how they started each game with the American Legion creed - about health, and strength, and staying strong in defeat, and humble in victory... I can't find a copy of it on the Internet. Will try to write it down at the next game.

The two teams I'm rooting for - well, I root for all of them, and can't stand to see any of these kids lose - but if I have to choose two teams right now, they are the Roseburg, Oregon kids and the Minnesota team. Roseburg because it's the local team, Minnesota because I've been talking to all the Minnesota families (for some reason). And Minnesota brings me fond memories of the Duluth Dukes - the other minor league team that lost players in a bus crash, two years after the Indians' crash, in 1948. (Two bus crashes in two years, and then nothing more. Thank goodness.) I did a book signing at the stadium in Duluth back a couple years ago. Nice people.

So I hope to be out there at Avista Stadium tonight. And I definitely will be at the stadium for the game on Tuesday evening - or games, if there's more than one because of the double elimination system. I will be there from start to finish tomorrow evening for sure. And maybe tonight, I'll get a chance to sneak in for the game between - gasp - Oregon and Minnesota...

Fun Game!

Well, I did it - I finally went to my first Indians' baseball game of the season last night. It was such a blast. How in the heck did I delay going? They're always so much fun. The team is owned by the Brett brothers (including George of KC fame), and they have, for years, done a stellar job at the park with mixing fun, in-between-inning events with the beauty of the game itself.

Last night was no different. There's always something to watch. For instance, there is the new edition of Recycle Man. He runs through the stands towards the end of the game, collecting things to recycle. Here's his profile. Notice under school: "OF COURSE!" And favorite activities: Cleaning Up and Indians Baseball. Funny. Oh, and here's the photo I took of him - chased him down, in fact, to get it:


He couldn't make his normal heroic pose, because his hands were full of recyclable items - but maybe that's the most heroic pose of them all, since recycling is what makes him a hero in the first place.

And then, beyond Recycle Man and the like, the Indians won! 8-1. That was the great thing.

It was a fairly quiet game through the fourth inning - no scoring, almost no hits - and then Yakima, the visiting team, scored a run. A sense of panic rippled through the crowd. But for me, it was a good sign. "Now they'll have a fire lit under them," I told my friend Greg (who was there at the game with me). And by the first batter at their next at-bat, the Indians went on a scoring streak. Really, all they needed was something to fight for.

You knew things were going the way of the Tribe when the third base runner scored the third run for no apparent reason. I asked a guy sitting to my left - twice, because the first time I didn't understand his answer - if he saw what happened. His explanation was that the third base man had overthrown the pitcher. Oh. (I should have known he didn't know what he was talking about, since his reaction to my questions was to move to the other side of his wife, apparently so I no longer would be able to "interrogate" him!)

So this is what really happened. Apparently Yakima's pitcher asked for a time out, and the ump didn't allow it. So then the pitcher wanted a new baseball, and threw the one he had towards the Indians' dugout. Unfortunately for Yakima, that was still a live ball. So then the pitcher ran to chase it down (which dang ball is it, anyway??) and the runner ran on home while the pitcher was otherwise occupied.

Loved how they wrote it up in the newspaper today -

The capper for Spokane during a charmed night came during the fifth inning, when the Indians scored their third run and most people at Avista Stadium had no idea why....

Two walks, one passed ball, one wild pitch and one error later, Spokane led 2-1 and Santiago Chirino stood at third base.

That’s when confusion took over.

Wilson called for a timeout, but home-plate umpire John Silva didn’t grant it. Wilson then wanted a new baseball and threw the other one toward the Indians’ dugout. What he – and many fans – didn’t realize was that the ball was live.

“I looked away to say something to (Chirino),” said Indians manager Tim Hulett, who serves as the club’s third-base coach, “and the next thing I hear was somebody yelling, ‘Go get it!’ ”

Chirino scored as Wilson chased down the ball...

I thought of my friend Charlie last night (as I ran into other people I know) - who sat in the same seats for years, at these Indians game. He passed away a few short weeks ago. It was the only moment of sadness last night, thinking of how I couldn't wander down to Charlie's seat to say hello.

Getting the tickets in the first place had been a bit challenging. Turns out, Saturday night was fireworks night - one of those popular nights where the games sell out. When I came for tickets on Wednesday, the only ones left were waaaay out in left or right field. Sigh. After asking a variety of questions to make sure there were no other choices, I said, "Well, I did write the book." The guy helping me said, "You did?" I nodded. "You know." I said. "'Until the End of the Ninth.' The novel on the 1946 team." He smiled and nodded - he knew the book. "So...." I said, glancing at his ticket-generating computer, "are there any good tickets available now?" He dutifully looked at the computer again, and shook his head no. Well, I knew he was telling the truth the first time - but it didn't hurt to ask! In the end, I got tickets a couple days later in relatively decent seats because they freed up (from a group that ended up not using the entirety of their blocked-out seats). By then, of course, the guys in the ticket office knew I was the author (since I'd talked about it before). One thing led to another and, by the time I had left with my tickets, I had also left behind a signed copy of the book. Hey, if ever a group of people should have a free copy of my baseball novel, it's the guys running the Spokane Indians' ticket office.

After the game, there were fireworks. Spectacular! so much fun. They did a countdown on the scoreboard, down to "0", and then lights went out, and all was black for an instant before the fireworks began. As the show progressed, we noticed the Indians' team sitting on the grass in the dark, right outside their dugout. There they were, the team that had won the night, that deserved a moment of sparkle... As they sat, almost glowing in their stark white uniforms, intently yet casually watching the sky, I thought - they love the game. Just like the 1946 guys, just like any of the men that have played before them. They are playing for the love of the game, and as a team, and in this moment, they can rest. Everyone deserves a moment of rest.

I tried to take a picture of them, sitting there. But it didn't turn out. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe there was something there that just couldn't be captured on film.

Loving Baseball

People ask me a lot if I love baseball - pronounce it, often, that I must love baseball - say that anyone who wrote a book on baseball would have to love it. My answer is usually awkward. Well yes, I say, I do enjoy the sport... which sounds like I'm making something up...

Football? Unhesitatingly yes, I love football. Baseball? Well, yes but...

I don't actually love a particular baseball team, or even the game itself - not in a consistent, methodical way. It's the moments in baseball that I love. The heart of a moment. Not of every single moment, perhaps, but the moments themselves. The ones we remember. Can remember.

I missed a moment last night - a moment that is breaking the hearts of Detroit Tigers fans - a team that I loved a couple years ago when they were the underdog favorites to win the World Series (but didn't).

The moment last night - there was a game, and a pitcher - Armando Galarraga - a near-perfect game, in fact - when suddenly the 27th out was called safe at first and a moment in time crashed upon the rocks. So now there's a lot of talk about how to fix the tragedy - every sportswriter in the country has an opinion - it just may be that instant replay in baseball will change for the better because of last night - the umpire who made the wrong call has been in tears, so bad he feels... there may be a way to fix it...

But then last night, there was another moment as well (thanks to Mike Lupica for spelling it out here). It was the moment that the pitcher turned to the ump who made the wrong call and - smiled at him. It was an awkward smile, followed by a pulling of the cap and a return to the mound, to finish a game that ought to have been finished already. But that smile - that grace, to react with a smile and not a shout - was a moment in time that makes baseball something else - reminds me that baseball is a game of moments, of opportunities to play above and beyond just the mechanics of the game.

All sports, I think, carry the opportunity for such moments. But baseball? Somehow, baseball has the opportunity to be full of them. And so yes, I love baseball - not every game, not a particular team... but there are moments in baseball that sparkle with magic. And I love to watch the game just in case one of those moments appears.

Exciting Game!

So I went to watch the Gonzaga women's basketball game last night with my friends whose niece is on the team. What a great game! So exciting. A nail biter. They seriously played an amazing game. One of their stalwart players was having an off night, but another player just stepped up instead. She ultimately got Player of the Game, she played so well - and scored the final jump shot that took them ahead and kept them there. We just jumped up and shouted at all the excitement. My throat is sore this a.m. This Gonzaga team has what great teams have - that kind of heart and teamwork that makes the difference in the close games.

And now on to the Sweet 16, for the first time ever. Congratulations, Gonzaga!

The Silver Lining

Well, both my college basketball teams lost - Gonzaga and Maryland. At least Maryland made it a contest. Sigh.

But there is a silver lining (besides all the wonderful basketball there was! so much fun to watch all the games). On Saturday night, the Gonzaga women's team won their game against UNC, in spectacular form. You can tell that they have been playing as a team for awhile. They just gelled. The niece of some friends of mine plays on the team, so I have followed them over the past couple years, and always look for her name in the paper. My gosh, they were good on Saturday! They play tonight again. I'll be watching...

Perfect World

Don't jostle it...

The Zags won. And so did University of Maryland (my law school alma mater). Maryland is actually playing in Spokane, though I didn't go see the game in person. Sigh. And the Zags - Gonzaga Bulldogs, for anyone who's confused - did try to lose. They went way up in the first half, waned a bit down the stretch in the second, then played really really smartly (word?) and ended up with a solid win.

So I'm basking in the outcomes today. And loving the two coaches, who have both been at their programs for decades and who both seem to approach the game in an overarching, student-comes-first way. (That would be Mark Few and Gary Williams.)

Tomorrow will be the next set of games. And anything can happen. Today, though - today is a day to enjoy outcomes, and the memories of games well played.

Skating Away

I had the unexpected opportunity to go see the Championship Ladies Short Program last night, at the Spokane Arena. (Spokane is hosting the 2010 ice skating championships. Two spots for the women's Olympic team will be decided based on these outcomes.) I don't think I've ever seen a skating competition before - not that I remember, anyway. So it was a special treat to go - especially since I had watched the practice session the day before and so had a sense of who would be skating, and how they were doing.

The big question: how was Sasha Cohen going to perform? She is Oksana Baiul-like, only American - and stronger, perhaps. (You remember Oksana Baiul - that elegant, fragile Ukranian skater from 1994 who took the wind out of the sails of the Nancy Kerrigan-Tonya Harding drama, and who has had her ups and downs since then...) When Sasha Cohen skated during the practice session Wednesday, you could see her command. There is just something different about her. Now, the question was: could she perform?

She could. She landed it all, last night. The crowd literally erupted, we were all so excited. She was excited too, her face flushed, not just from skating but from the success of it all.

And her first number from the judges - nearly 40 points - she was going to run away with it!

Until the second number. And then the deflation, for the entire crowd. Some boos, even. The composite landed her in second place, in spite of her brilliant skate. She missed first place by less than half a point, and is separated from third by about the same margin. So it's up in the air, what will happen on Saturday, during the finale free skate (long program).

I don't want to take away from the other leaders - I loved their skating too - but it felt like it should have been Sasha's night. No matter. One thing will lead to another. Another day, another score. Let's see what Saturday brings.

Hangover Boot Camp

Well, you really can learn something new every day. For instance, I found out today that I do not want to drink alcohol the night before a boot camp session anymore.

It all started out innocently enough - I went over to a friend's house last night for a nice spaghetti dinner, a little wine, some Golden Globe watching (Meryl Streep's speech was just wonderful)... We opened a bottle of white wine right up front. It was good. Then we moved on to red, to match the dinner. And, well - let's just say that, with all my recent exercising, my BMI (Body - or should I say Beth? - Mass Index) has - um - changed, and I no longer have a good sense of how much wine I can drink and still stay relatively sober. And let's just say, too, that what I do know for sure is that it's a lot less than it used to be.

Which would have been all fine and good and relatively harmless, had I not had boot camp at 6 a.m. this morning.

When I woke up at 5, I thought - hmmm. I'm feeling a bit fuzzy here. Do I really, really want to do an hour of hard workout in an hour? And I could have opted out. It's my thing, after all, and I can skip it if I want. But - sigh - I've signed up for it, you know? For three days a week, for four weeks... I should follow through with what I've started. Right?

I did warn everyone, once I got there, that I wasn't necessarily going to be all gung ho. "I've got a hangover," I said. And it didn't go too badly - a little nausea with motion things like push ups, a little dehydration (and a lot of water drinking).

But it is definitely not the wave of the future. Not my future, anyway. A new New Year's resolution - no hangovers on boot camp mornings.

Hot Yoga Weekend

Just came back from two days in Seattle. Part of the purpose? To go back to "I Love Hot Yoga," the yoga spa on Greenlake Way in Seattle that I attended last weekend. I do love hot yoga, it turns out. Don't quite know why. But I do. I'm just hoping to find something in Spokane that is even remotely close to what I have found in Seattle. It's all to do with the instructor, I know. Both classes that I attended this weekend were taught by the same instructor - Lance. The one from last Sunday. So amazing. When it's over, I'm a little foggy. I put things down and then can't find them again. I even lost my yoga mat on Friday afternoon after class - it was against one wall, but I thought I'd leaned it up on the opposite wall. Someone else had to find it for me, though it was in plain view. So something must be happening when I'm in class. Oh, and I'm sweating now, a lot. Dripping sweat. In a good way. I'll go back again, soon, I'm sure. It's something else.

Spokane Skaters Do Us Proud!

I just got back from early morning (6-8 a.m.) rehearsal for the opening ceremony for the National Skating championships, being held in Spokane the next ten days. So amazing! The whole opening ceremony is performed by our very own Spokane skaters - about 40 total (2 boys). Incredibly well choreographed, and the kids are just so earnest - and talented! I felt proud - as if I've had anything to do with this! - and just impressed overall. The skaters are from three local skating clubs - the Inland Northwest club, the Lilac City club, and the Spokane club. Clearly they've been working hard to get their moves just right. It starts out with a sprinkling and ends on a great, patriotic note. At the very end, there's this one part - a little skater plays catch up - don't want to say more - don't want to spoil it - but I had tears, every time. And this was just the rehearsal!!

It was me and mostly parents in attendance. How proud they must all be, watching their children perform like that. I went because I am doing research for an ice skater movie idea that I have. I did not realize what a treat it would be, this a.m. The only glitch was that the announcer (clearly not from Spokane) kept pronouncing the city with a long "a" - as if it were spelled "Spokaine." Like nails on a chalkboard, that. I know they kept correcting her because she would say it right every so often. I'm hoping she fixes it for the actual opening ceremony tomorrow night. You can't really come to a town, be the announcer on national television, and not know how to pronounce the name of where you are.

In the meantime, the Spokane group - skaters and actors (playing a little skit in between numbers) showed the utmost professionalism and talent.

Can't say more - I'm running out the door - but I did need to say this much. It was just so special, to see what's on the horizon. And directly from this locale.

I Love Hot Yoga!

Or so the sign told me, Saturday morning...

There I was, in Seattle, staying with friends. One of them had signed up for ten tryout sessions of hot yoga. Another friend of ours has been loving hot yoga in Spokane, so I said what the heck, I'll give it a try. It can't be worse than regular yoga. Can it?

I've always hated yoga. I know a lot of people who love it, and feel like they can disappear into it. Apparently I need more activity to disappear in to that sort of zen state. Like soccer. When I play soccer, I don't remember the game afterwards. I'm just gone, in the moment. Yoga, though - between the challenging poses and the lack of movement overall, I find I spend the time annoyed and preoccupied with my when-I-get-out-of-here to-do list.

But hot yoga is supposed to change all that. It works by pouring hot air/steam into the room where you do yoga moves with the lights dimmed. The heat is supposed to "detoxify" - their word, not mine. Sort of like a sauna.

Our first venture into hot yoga land was Saturday morning. The place itself is called "I Love Hot Yoga." Apparently even this less-than-subliminal message couldn't make that sentence true for me, because I hated it. I hated it the whole time. There was nothing different about this kind of yoga! I sweated slightly, but only slightly. I watched the clock like it was an egg timer. Every three minutes, I would check to see how much closer we were to the end of the 90-minute session. Yes, I was stuck for not just 60 but 90 minutes! And then there was the yoga itself. The actual moves were pretty advanced. And there were all these hot yoga experts surrounding me - women who looked like they have loved hot yoga for a while now. Which is great for them, but made me feel like a blob. And then, while I'm stronger than most, I also am less flexible, usually. I have a very straight back, so that even if I am a little flexible, I don't look like I am. This back is prone to injuries, in fact, because of that lack of flexibility. So I had to contend with that, especially for the first half of the time, when we did all stand-up moves. So not only did I not have the pretzel flexibility, but I had to wonder if my back would go out while I did different poses. Oh, and the instructor, who was perfectly pleasant, and said "namaste" a lot - well, I just didn't believe her. If, in fact, she wished me "namaste," why in the world did she want me to feel like an unsuccessful, half-pretzel idiot?

So, I was done. Finished with hot yoga. Never to attend again.

Until my friend said, why don't we go one more time, in the morning? And, doesn't it make you feel better during the day?

Mostly she wanted the company.

But I acquiesced. I had paid for it already, since I had also bought the 10 introductory sessions, as it was cheaper than two sessions. So we went again on Sunday morning.

I looked around for our instructor. She wasn't there. Instead there was this tall, young man sitting at the front of the room. Turned out, he was our instructor. Oh great, I thought. He was so young. So flexible. This would not be a pretty picture. Even his name sounded painful. Lance.

Except that... he was so amazing. I can't even explain it. For the first time ever, I loved yoga. And I loved hot yoga! Just as they had said I would. I forgot to look at the clock. When I did look, it was 45 minutes into the session. It had felt like ten. I don't know what it is that Lance did differently, but it worked. I was even dripping sweat! Even though the workout was technically lighter than it had been the day before, and almost no standing poses. I just zoned into the experience. I disappeared, like I do when I play soccer. Well, this is why people love yoga, I thought. I finally can see it! And - I believed him. He was so centered, it centered me.

And then, as Sunday progressed, I realized that my thoughts were clear. I have pretty clear thoughts anyway. But not compared to this. It was like the hot yoga had quieted down my mind.

I'm thinking of adopting this guy and bringing him to Spokane. In the meantime, though, I'm planning my next trip to Seattle. I have eight more hot yoga sessions to spend!

Boot Camp. Ugh.

Well, I'm back at boot camp. And I complain, but I actually enjoy it. Up and at it by 6 a.m., for an hour. This time, it's taking less muscle ache to get in to the swing of it. This worries me (omg, I can't be happy?) because I'm thinking I need more pain for the gain. Right? So I believe. We also start out a little more slowly too - this, I know. Great class, good people. And sore muscles. Just not as sore as I expected.

For Who? For What? ...

... is how the Eagles played yesterday. Painful. Just painful. They stooped to conquer? I don't think so. We shall see, we shall see - when they play Dallas again on Sunday, in Dallas, when they could have had a bye. Had they just won. Not this team. Not yesterday. And that's all I have to say about it.

So Long Zumba

Our last Zumba class - a salsa aerobics class - was last Wednesday. So much fun! I highly recommend it. The teacher matters, though. We had a great one - Kathy. In the picture, she's on the left with the white boa. This was her last class teaching, as she's pregnant (it's a boy!) and can't continue at this point. Sigh. She's a really, really good instructor. Don't know why or how - but she is. She makes Zumba a lot of fun.

For that last class, one of the women brought a sweet baby blanket that she had made for Kathy, and we all signed a card, thanking Kathy for the class. The boas and scarves - we brought them on that last day as a surprise. There's a song where the movement is like toweling off. That's how Kathy instructed us, to get the hips moving by pretending to towel dry, so we surprised her that final day by bringing her that white boa and bringing boa-like things for ourselves. She was very surprised! and said she's always wanted a boa, just has never had one. Voila. And then she played the song, and there we all were, "toweling off" at the right times. Fun. Kathy has other trademark movements too - the motorcycle movement, the "washing the window" movement (which somehow got the hips moving), the "push it down" movement (exactly as it sounds).... Always a workout. Always fun.

The next Zumba class is at the end of January. I might take it again, even without Kathy teaching. I'm taking boot camp again, starting in January, in the mornings. And soccer already, through part of January, on Thursday nights. Actually, Zumba wouldn't overlap too much. So I'm thinking about it.

Here we all are with our boa-like scarves. (Well, here are some of us - we didn't think to take the photo until after some women had left.) I'm the one off to the right. In the big, bright yellow shirt. (Note to Self: do not wear oversized shirts anymore. Or, at least don't do it when there might be a photo taken. Or, at least don't have it be bright, bright yellow.)