Sharks 2013 season comes to an end

Today, after work, I picked up my fellow Sharks-fan-friend, Leroy and we headed to Provo.  We ate at a sushi place, called Wild Ginger, then headed to my house to watch the Sharks vs Kings, game 7.  The series was tied at 3-3, but the seventh game was in LA.

The Sharks played well, especially in the third period.  In the end, they lost, 2-1.  LA was the stronger team and it broke our hearts (our hearts, as collective San Jose fans).

It’s been a good season.  It started off weird with the lockout, but finally became a salvageable season, which I think most NHL fans came to enjoy.

Took the Sharks flag down out of the window.  Time to move on with life.

Goodbye Chico, Hello Otay!

On Friday, I managed to get a day off, because of some crazy long shifts that I had this week. Toward the end of the day, Wendy suggested that maybe I should try to buy a truck before she left town (which turned out to be the next day).

We drove down to Brent Brown (almost typed “Brent Burns”, because today my beloved Sharks lost their last game of the season) and drove around the lot a bit. But then, something amazing happened…

Let me back up just a bit. I (and we) have been to Brent Brown Toyota of Orem, many many times. I have driven through their lots and looked at everything they have, from Tacomas, to FJs, to Tundras. I have been shown every color, every year, and I have endured some very obnoxious salesmen. I have grown accustomed to driving onto the lot, then watching men and boys surround me like a piñata. I have grown to not trust car lot salesmen. I know- weird, huh?

But on Friday, I was approached by a young man, who seemed to enjoy his job, but wasn’t too excited to push us away with tacky promises or slight of hand. He just spoke plainly and was more than happy to discuss pros/cons of the vehicles on his lot. I trusted him.

I spotted my Tacoma, which was amazing. I’ve been looking for a black or white, longbed truck. This one was black and finally was not a sold vehicle. It was mine for the taking. So I got them going on appraising my old Tacoma, Chico.

In the end, things went well. Closing was no big deal. They gave me 5k for Chico. I hardly got a deal on the new truck, but that was no surprise. It’s hard to swing a deal on a Tacoma. It’s just how it is.

But now I have a brand new, 2013 Tacoma, black, long bed, Bluetooth vehicle, which I bought with 24 miles on it. It’s my first brand new vehicle. I hope it’s as good to me as Chico was, which I traded with 238+ thousand miles on it.

Here’s to good days with my new Truck, Otay!


This is “Otay”, which was build in “Otay Mesa, California.”

Turning the ship around

This weekend, I had the opportunity to spend time with my family in Saint George, Utah. It’s a great place to visit and possibly better place to live.  It has warm temperatures (ok, it can get brutally hot) and winters aren’t so frostbitey (please add this word to your dictionary if it’s not jiving with your compter’s spellcheck- it’s awesome.)

Coincidentally, the inaugural Ironman half distance was on Saturday.  As soon as I found out, I was immediately jealous.  Jealous of the participant’s new shirts, bragging rights- pain, even.  When you love to race (or at least “complete”) physical endurance races, sometimes, if you’re like me, you feel like you should be in all of them.

Throughout the day, as my family drove around St. George, we noticed people struggling on bikes and running on foot, in the heat of the day.  A few times I told Wendy, I’m glad I’m not doing that, which actually means “I sooooo wish I was doing that”.  She knows this, by now.

At the end of the day, we managed to find a table at Outback Steakhouse, among all of the hardbodied and chiseled athletes.  I kept thinking, “Hey, I do what you do, but you guys look TOTALLY different than I do”.

Then I realized:

“You will never look like, feel like, have as much success as these people, because you aren’t sacrificing the same things they are.”

BAM.  There it is.  It’s time for action.  Here are some of the thoughts that I’ve had, since that moment in Outback, as I gorged on a 12 oz steak while accepting several refills of Dr. Pepper:

1.  It’s been a while since I’ve been able to lift my knee to my chest (or at least be able to tie my shoes by lifting my leg, rather than crouching down to it.

2.  I can’t sprint (or at least run an 8 MPM) for one mile, anymore.

3.  I drink at LEAST 6 12 oz cans of DP a day (some days, many more.)

4.  My teeth are going to fall out.

5.  I weigh 30 pounds too much.

6.  Races are much more enjoyable when you can actually compete with yourself.  When you are just completing them, it’s not nearly as satisfying as shattering a PR.  (Note to Brett C:  A PR is a “personal record”.

7.  When I sing, I need to breathe more (gasping, maybe?)

8.  I can’t talk while I run, anymore.

9.  At this rate diabetes is probably making its way into my future.

10.  I don’t look like a runner.  I miss looking like a runner.

11.  Nowadays, I subconsciously walk around with my stomach partially pulled in.  That means I think I’m fat.

So it’s time.  It begins…