04.27.2010 | 1:49 pm
A Note from Fatty: I have an article at active.com posted today, wherein I dispense Very Useful Advice to my triathalete brethren and sistren. Read it here.
You may or may not be aware, but the St. George Ironman is now a mere four days away. Which is lucky for me, because this means I still have plenty of time to start training.
I am, naturally, kidding when I say that. I take the noble sport of Ironmanning very seriously, and intend to finish sometime before midnight on Saturday (i.e., the final cutoff time) if I am not killed by the weather.
Yes, the weather is currently a major concern. And tomorrow, I will talk about why.
But today, I want to talk about the swim portion of the event and how I arrived at my current level of confidence in finishing under the cutoff time.
The Setup to the Setup
When The Runner and I first got our Aqua Sphere Wetsuits, we went to the local rec center and swam 2.5 miles. It took about 90 minutes. I talked about that here.
What I did not talk about was that while I was really tired and overheated, The Runner was beyond overheated. She was dehydrated and miserable. She made clear, in no uncertain terms, that she would never swim in a heated pool in her wetsuit again.
As a supportive and understanding person, I nodded sympathetically. But I didn’t really get what the big deal was.
The Setup
Then, a couple weeks ago, we did our last big training day — 2.4 mile swim, 70 mile bike ride, 12 mile run — and were shocked to find that our swim time was close to two hours. Very close to the cutoff time.
And that scared us.
Looking for any possible reason why we might be so much slower, I recommended we do the swim again in the pool the next week, this time in wetsuits.
The Runner — remembering how much fun she had in a warm indoor pool wearing an insulated wetsuit — countered with a different idea: how about if I wore a wetsuit, and she wore a swimsuit, and we’d see who was faster, and by how much.
Why, I thought, that’s a fantastic idea!
The Swim
So, last week, we went to the rec center, again, planning to do our 40 laps, again. As I sat on the bench by the pool, a universal truth occurred to me: there is no way to look cool wearing a wetsuit in an indoor pool.
Fortunately this does not trouble me, because I don’t look cool, ever. So the wetsuit just makes me look uncool in a different way.
We began our swim, and the difference in our speeds was in fact startling.
Ordinarily, The Runner is a faster swimmer than I am: about 7% faster, I think. When I have the wetsuit on, though, I was lapping her every seven laps. Without trying any harder. In fact, I’d say I was not putting as much effort into swimming as I usually do.
However, I was not having fun. No fun at all.
I was overheating, and fast. In fact, I’ve never felt so hot. And that heat, compounded with the close feeling of the wetsuit, started to freak me out. All I could think about was the heat, and the constricted feeling, and this crazy overwhelming need to get out of the wetsuit, pronto.
And so — about 20 laps into the supposed 40-lap swim — I reached my limit. I couldn’t take any more. I climbed out of the pool. I climbed out of the wetsuit.
I’m an endurance guy. I pride myself on being able to put up with stuff — no matter what it is — until I reach the finish line. But here I was, sitting at the edge of the pool, drinking water and wondering what had just happened.
The Swim, Part II
After sitting for a couple minutes, I climbed back into the pool — this time in just my swimsuit — and tried to restart.
And that felt weird.
I was so used to the feeling of my legs automatically floating that to now have them back to their normal “dredging the river” position felt very strange and slow and awkward.
So I went back to sitting at the pool.
After a few more minutes — when The Runner hit her 30-lap mark — I climbed back in the pool and did the last ten laps. Trying to salvage my pride.
Afterward
“Now I totally get what happened to you the first time we swam in wetsuits,” I told The Runner afterward.
The Runner nodded, sympathetically.
So what does this mean? Well, I think this Experiment yields two very important results:
- It really is much, mush faster to swim in a wetsuit.
- It’s a good thing the swim portion of the Ironman is not in a warm, indoor pool.
And in fact, considering the water at the reservoir for this weekend’s Ironman is currently 58 degrees, I don’t think that overheating is going to be a problem.
In fact, I think I’ll be pretty grateful for that insulation.
Comments (41)
04.26.2010 | 1:01 am
Today, I have a story to tell about riding the White Rim last weekend. It is quite a story, featuring a mylar balloon, a brutal serial killer, explosive diarrhea, and a whimsical plush novelty daisy toy affixed to my handlebars.
It’s a good story. All of the above elements feature fairly prominently into that story. And the story is true. To entice you into reading the story, I offer the following photograph of the aforementioned daisy, attached to my aforementioned handlebars:
However, you probably noticed that “explosive diarrhea” is one of the elements in this story, and I assure you it is not a trivial element.
Nosirree.
So, consider this fair warning. If you do not want to read a story featuring — in frank and somewhat repulsive detail — explosive diarrhea, you should skip today’s post and perhaps instead watch a video I made last year while riding the White Rim Trail. It’s a good video, and does not mention explosive diarrhea, nor any other biological disasters.
But it also does not contain a whimsical plush novelty daisy toy.
So you’ll have to weigh the pros and cons yourself, then make up your own mind. I’m not going to do your thinking for you.
And now: on with the story.
The Setup
Kenny’s RAWROD ride has grown to be something larger than a group ride. It’s an important annual event, and a lot of people show up. Enough, in fact, that it’s difficult to tell, when regrouping, when the entire group has gotten back together.
To solve this problem, Kenny had an ingenious idea: a snail necklace. Whoever was the last person in the group would have to wear a specially-constructed necklace, featuring a snail shell. If (and when) that person passed another person, s/he would hand the necklace off to the new slowest person.
Thus, when the person with the snail shell arrived at a regroup spot, we’d all know that the entire group was back together.
It’s a clever idea.
Friday afternoon, I got a phone call from Kenny, as he was driving toward Moab. “I forgot to bring the Snail Shell Necklace,” Kenny said. “Can you put something together?”
“Sure,” I said, though I was not sure at all. “As long as nobody minds that the “last rider” totem will no longer be a snail shell necklace, but will instead be something I purchase at a grocery store on the way out of town.”
Kenny agreed to this.
So, as The Runner and I bought groceries for the next day’s ride, we bought a mylar balloon, filled with helium. We figured that this, fastened to a seatpost, would be an excellent way to indicate last placemanship.
A Cry for Help
The Runner and I arrived at the campground, ate lots of brats, sat around the campfire, and generally enjoyed the RAWROD-eve atmosphere. As the night darkened and people started heading off toward their tents — what with a 6:30am start and all — The Runner and I headed to The Bikemobile; we were going back into town to stay in a hotel.
Why a hotel instead of camping? For the following excellent reasons:
- I don’t like camping.
We started driving down the dark, quiet dirt road back toward Moab. The cloudy sky obscured the half moon, making it so we could see little or nothing except what was lit by the headlights.
Then, suddenly, The Runner screamed in terror, jumping and grabbing my arm.
I looked ahead, then to the sides for her source of fright.
Nothing.
Then I checked the rear view mirror . . . and there was a head, rising slowly and ominously from the backseat, in exactly the way Jason would, if Jason decided to move to Moab and start mountain biking between killing sprees.
I jumped, intaking a (very manly) yelp.
Turns out it was the balloon.
It would be a while before our heart rates returned to normal.
A Farewell to a Serial Killer Balloon
We continued our drive toward Moab. As would not be unexpected from a couple of people who had just eaten their respective weight in bratwurst and spicy brown mustard, we had the occasional need to fart.
Excuse me, that came out wrong. I meant to say that I (and I alone) had the occasional need to fart.
As a courteous and loving husband, I would roll down the windows whenever this important biological function made itself known to me.
At one such time, as I rolled down the windows, the balloon started getting sucked outside. The Runner made a truly heroic grab and actually snagged the ribbon tied to the balloon.
The balloon, however, would not be denied. Snapping the ribbon, it shot outside.
Presumably, it is still at large, sneaking up and terrifying innocent people.
Meanwhile, we now needed to get a new “Last Rider in the Group” talisman. At 10:30 on a Friday night. Luckily, the daisy you see in the photo at the beginning of this story happened to be the first thing The Runner saw as we entered the City Market in Moab.
Perfect.
A Brush With Fame
The conditions for RAWROD were really about as perfect as they could be. By 8:00am, it was pleasantly warm — but not hot — and would stay that way for the rest of the day.
The Runner’s son, IT Guy, drove the first 30 miles in his truck, toting everyone’s water and food. Then he wanted a turn on his bike, so the Runner and I took a turn driving; this worked out perfect; since the Runner and I would be doing the Ironman one week from that day, we weren’t interested in biking the full 100 miles.
The Runner drove, I relaxed, amazed at how much easier it is to do the White Rim when you’re not pedaling.
Then a cyclist rode by, going fast. “How’s it going?” he said, as he went by.
Strangely, I knew the voice, and the face.
“I’m pretty sure that Tyson from Survivor just went by,” I told The Runner. Later, others would confirm it. So there you have it: Tyson is polite to strangers and is fast on his bike.
Foreshadowing at Hardscrabble
After The IT Guy took back his truck, The Runner and I got back to riding. We both marveled at the perfection of the day, how good the trail conditions were, and how much better one feels on the final third of a mountain biking century if one skips the middle third of it.
I felt strong enough, in fact, that when we got to Hardscrabble hill — one of the iconic climbs of the course — I rode nearly the entire thing, only needing to put my foot down at one point. Of course, this left me very hot and thirsty, so I refueled with an unwise number of caffeinated beverages.
“This,” I thought to myself, as I polished off my third caffeinated drink, “is unwise.”
But my tolerance for caffeine is high, and I was thirsty; I wasn’t really concerned.
I should have been concerned.
Urgency Becomes Emergency
The Runner and I pedaled along at an easy pace; our objective wasn’t to finish this 100-mile ride fast, it was to finish it comfortably and not tired. Thus, we were riding toward the back of the group, though not usually at the very back.
But I was starting to feel a little bit upset in my stomach.
We stopped to pee at one of the trailside latrines. I considered taking a little bit of extra time and pooping, but it’s just such a hassle when biking with bibshorts on.
So we kept going.
I was starting to not feel so great at all.
We rode through one of the very few (this year) sections of deep sand. I lost power and fell over. Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal. In fact, falling in deep soft sand is kind of awesome, because it just doesn’t hurt at all.
But as I lifted my bike back to upright, I felt something shift, and I knew that I was a bomb.
And the fuse was lit.
At an optimistic guess, I would say it was a seven-minute fuse.
“Do you remember,” I asked The Runner, casually, “whether there are any outhouses coming up?”
“No, we’ve gone by the last one,” she said.
Christmas Miracle
I tried to picture a reality in which I would not be pooping within the next three minutes. But I couldn’t imagine such a reality. As it turns out, it’s much harder to use The Secret when you have an urgent need to take a crap.
So I began to try to think of what materials I had on hand and look around for a place where I could take care of the business that an excess of caffeine had made into urgent business.
But I could tell that what I needed to do would require toilet paper. Lots and lots of toilet paper.
“Do you have lots and lots of toilet paper?” I asked The Runner.
“No, but I do have one Action Wipe,” said The Runner, helpfully.
I squirmed. This next fifteen minutes or so, I could see, was going to be a remarkably nasty episode in my life.
I looked around, more desperately, for a place to conceal myself and dig a whole. A large hole.
And then we turned a corner.
There was an outhouse. The most beautifully well-located outhouse in the entire universe.
“I’ll see you in a while,” I said to The Runner, as I broke into a sprint.
A Little Time Alone
By now you have of course figured out that I was the lucky owner of the explosive diarrhea mentioned at the beginning of this story. Which means I don’t need to go into a lot of detail except to say that if the outhouse had been another fifty feet away, this story might have had a rather horrible section where I tried to cleverly describe how I managed to clean my shorts well enough to put back on.
Instead, I get to say that I have never been so grateful for a stinky, hot, tiny room with a seat that leads to a hole in the ground.
Sadly, my business was such that it did not end quickly. Also, thanks to the vents in the outhouse, I could hear The Runner as she talked to people as they rode by:
“Go on ahead, we’re going to be here for a while.”
“Fatty’s got diarrhea, don’t wait for us.”
“Yeah, too much caffeine, he just barely made it here.”
As she talked, I stood up at least three times, thinking I was done.
And, at least three times, I quickly sat back down again. I was not done.
“Hey, are you really the last rider?” I finally heard her say. “You’d better give me that daisy.”
She continued, “No, not for me. For the guy inside.”
I began to contemplate: how would I know, for sure, when I could leave this toilet? It seemed like it would be never.
Finally, eventually, shakily, I stood up and felt like this time I really could step outside.
Kindly, The Runner had already affixed the daisy to my handlebar for me.
Afterward
As we rode, the daisy looked up at me. Smilingly, encouragingly. And I, considering the disaster that could have been, smiled back. I climbed Horsethief, feeling light as a feather, and twice as relieved. (How relieved is a feather, you ask? Easy: half as relieved as I was.)
I guarantee you, had my stomach begun rumbling, I was ready to turn around and head back to that outhouse. But I made it to the finish line without needing to stop again. Last, but with my shorts unsoiled. The daisy proudly displayed.
Victory is sometimes measured in curious ways.
Comments (73)
04.23.2010 | 8:53 am
A Note from Fatty: I know I promised to talk about the wetsuit vs. no wetsuit experiment today, but my mind’s on Moab.
Tomorrow is Kenny’s annual Ride Around White Rim in One Day (RAWROD) group ride.
It is easily one of the top rides of the year. A largeish group of people, riding around the White Rim, at an easy pace.
If it’s even possible to ride 100 miles of rocks, and sand, and bumpy slickrock, at an easy pace.
The thing is, though, my favorite part is always the night before — when we gather around the fire, talk, and eat brats.
Traditionally, Kenny and I split the brats prep into two parts: it’s my job to prep the brats for grilling by boiling them in a beer, onion, and Worcestershire concoction of my own devising. It’s his job to grill the brats and put them on a slice of his homemade bread.
The thing is, the ride’s become pretty popular. So where my little Coleman stove used to be up to the task of boiling enough brats for the group, last year I just couldn’t keep up.
So this year, I’m doing a little early prep:
Yep, that’s 120 Colosimo brats, boiling in three big pots containing 30 cans of PBR, along with an onion and about a half cup of Worcestershire sauce in each pot.
Once they’ve boiled for 45 minutes or so, I’ll pour the whole mess into a couple ice chests, along with a bag of ice.
So when it’s time for brats, we’ll just throw them on the grill over the campfire.
As I sit here — I’m typing in the kitchen, watching the pots so they don’t boil over — the smell of boiling beer and bratwurst is taking over the house. It is, I am confident, the most glorious smell in the world.
Tomorrow, we do the first epic ride of the season.
Tonight, we eat.
Comments (53)
04.22.2010 | 11:32 am
One week from today, The Runner and I are heading to Saint George, Utah, to begin the Ironman check-in and pre-race meetings and interviews with the press (as a hall-of-fame blogger, my racing exploits are of very high interest to the press. Also, it’s actually me that’s the hall-of-fame blogger. My racing exploits are not a hall-of-fame blogger, and I regret implying that they are).
So it’s a good thing that I’ve really been training super hard for this event. Like, I’ve gone swimming and running a few times and everything.
Between now and after the race (on May 1), you’re going to need to plan on most of my posts being about the Ironman. My preparation for it. The workouts I’ve done for it. Gratuitous mentions of the cool free schwag that’s come my way because of it. My increasing concern about whether I’ll be able to fit into the wetsuit on race day.
Here, for example, is what The Runner and I did for a workout a couple of Saturdays ago.
The Plan
My attitude about trying an Ironman swings from wildly optimistic to paralyzing terror on a moment-to-moment basis. On one hand:
- I have a lot of endurance experience, and a natural ability to tough out hard efforts for a long time. I’ve done Leadville a buncha times. I’ve done 24 Hours of Moab. I’ve done the Kokopelli Trail Race. I’ve Done the Brian Head Epic 100 several times. Which is to say, I know what it feels like to be in an all-day race, and how to confront the demons as they arise.
- 112 miles on a bike — the longest part of the Ironman — is not a big deal to me. Providing the wind is not my enemy that day.
- I’ve run a couple marathons, and I’ve run the Ironman course after riding the Ironman course. I think my lungs and legs are good for it.
- I have no objective other than to finish.
On the other hand:
- I am terrified of the swim. I don’t really know if I’ll make the cutoff.
- I have done exactly one triathlon in my life: an Xterra event, as a joke, about ten years ago. Some people might claim that this is not enough triathlon experience.
- While I can do each of the events individually, I have no idea what will happen when I try to do them together.
It was with this final bullet point in mind that a couple weeks ago The Runner and I decided we’d try to answer a question: what would happen if we tried to do a big swim, ride, and run in one day?
So we came up with a plan:
- Start the morning at the Orem, UT Rec Center, which has a big pool. Swim 2.5 miles.
- After the swim, go out to my truck, change into riding clothes, and bike over to Racer’s Cycle Service in Provo, where we’d join up with Kenny and Heather for a ride around West Mountain and then back to The Runner’s son’s (The IT Guy) house in Orem. Total ride distance would be about 90 miles.
- At the IT Guy’s house, change into running clothes, then run up to the water tower road (three miles, 800 feet of climbing), back to the house for more CarboRocket and Clif Bloks, and then repeat. 12 miles, 1600 feet of climbing. That’s a lot of climbing for a run, but the Ironman running course has a lot of climbing, too.
Basically, we’d be doing a hodgepodge, self-supported, two-thirds more-or-less Ironman.
With really long transitions and one of the most delicious rest stops I have ever had in my life. More on that in a minute.
The Swim
The more I swim, the more I hate it. Really. I just hate it. As soon as this Ironman is done, I am going to have a little ceremony wherein I set fire to my Speedo.
Why do I hate it? Because I am awful at it, and I am slow, and I don’t enjoy the isolation, and I am not willing to put the effort into becoming good.
That said, I would hate swimming about five times more if it weren’t for my H2O Audio Interval setup, which lets me listen to my iPod Shuffle while I swim. It’s worked flawlessly for every one of my swims. I love it. The Runner loves hers, too, especially now that I’ve adjusted her playlist to reflect her taste in music instead of mine (“I swear,” she once said, “You have put every single Greenday and Social Distortion song ever made on my iPod.” It was difficult to refute that statement, since it was in fact true.).
Anyway. We did the math and figured 40 laps made 2.5 miles in the pool, so we did it, taking care to go easy, since it was just the first workout in a loooong day of workouts.
By the halfway mark, The Runner had lapped me, as expected.
And that’s when I discovered something truly awesome.
You know how when you’re on a bike and you get right behind them that riding’s a lot easier? Well, that drafting effect holds true in swimming as well.
Except, like five times as much.
So I tucked in and basically coasted the second half of the swim. Listening to Greenday and Social D. Letting my wife do all the work.
It was downright pleasant.
For me.
The bad news came at the end of the swim: 1:50. In the pool. Considering the extra time the Ironman swim will take because it’s crowded and in open water, we were both worried.
“We’ll be faster in our wetsuits, you’ll see,” I reassured The Runner.
She wasn’t so sure, so we devised a test to find out whether we are actually faster swimming in wetsuits. And that will be the subject of my post tomorrow.
The Ride
Our transition to the ride part of our DIY Tri was what I’d like to call “leisurely.” I ate a sandwich as I got our bikes ready. (Yes, The Runner is perfectly capable of getting her own bike ready, but I did it because I was feeling chivalrous, and also a little guilty for being a non-contributing drafter for more than a mile of swimming.)
We cruised — nice and easy, just trying to get our legs to remember the cycling motion — over to Racers, where we ditched our jackets and met up with Kenny and Heather. They professed admiration that we had already been swimming for two hours, and suddenly I started loving the idea of multi-sport.
Not the races, mind you. I loved that I didn’t have to make excuses for being slow on a ride, because nobody expects you to be fast if you’ve already done a workout.
The four of us headed out, and right away, The Runner started pushing the pace.
Now before I go on, I think I need to clear up a misconception about The Runner. I don’t call her “The Runner” because running is all she’s good at. The fact is, The Runner has raced and finished the Leadville 100 MTB race five times (with #6 coming up in a few months). She’s very strong on a bike. So why do I call her “The Runner?” Because she runs, that’s why.
Anyway, my point is: The Runner is also a strong rider, and has been for years.
And my other point is, on the flats in particular, she’s fast.
I did my best to stay with her, riding behind and occasionally alongside her as she pulled the entire group for more than an hour.
Finally, I said, “Um, you’re killing us back here.”
She replied, “You’re the one pushing the pace.” Which was sweet of her, really.
In the interest of factuality, however, I cleared things up once and for all by hollering behind me, “Is there any question at all about who is trying to tear the legs off this group?”
Kenny and Heather laughed.
As we approached Payson, I started dreaming of Joe’s. Joe’s is a tiny little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop where you can get a drink and a bagel sandwich. And when you’ve been on your bike for 55 miles, I assert that a turkey-swiss-avocado bagel sandwich is the best-tasting thing in the world.
We relaxed for half an hour or so, talking about maybe having the four of us race as a SS team for the 24 Hours of Moab this year. Which sounds fun, since it’s still months and months away.
Which brings up an axiom I’m working on, tentatively called The Race Axiom: The enthusiasm-to-dread ratio for a given race is inversely proportional to the chronological proximity of that race.
Can anyone find any holes in that axiom? Cuz I think it’s solid.
Anyway.
We finished eating, rode slow for a few minutes while our legs got used to turning circles again, and then The Runner pushed the pace again, ’til we lost Kenny and Heather, and finished the ride at The IT Guy’s house, where I was anxious to find out whether I’d be able to run at all after two hours of swimming and five hours of riding.
The Run
We changed into running clothes — neither of us is interested in running with a chamois (no matter how small) between our legs, and it’s not like the extra couple minutes is going to make or break us, finishing-wise.
We began the run, and I began to feel . . . well . . . good. Here’s why: it’s uphill, and that allowed me to use my lesser superpowers: putting my head down and my feet forward.
We got to the turnaround point, coasted easily back to the house, refueled, and headed up again.
At which point I stopped feeling so good. Where I ran the first time, I was now walking. Where I had slowed to a walk the first time, I now shuffled.
But I did make it to the top, and it was nice to know that most of the final three miles was downhill.
Then, with a mile to go, The Runner broke out ahead of me. Maybe she expected me to try to step it up, but I had nothing extra to give.
So she finished about a quarter mile ahead of me, turned around, and came back to finish the run with me. Her: cheerful and strong; me: toast.
As we sat, catching our breath, The Runner asked: “Do you think you could do that same run again now, if you had to?”
It was a good question. “I think so,” I said. “But I’d have to slow down, if that’s even possible.”
Degree of Confidence
So, after this big day, how do I feel about my chances with the Ironman? Not bad, actually. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that my primary concerns/questions are as follows:
- Will I finish the swim part before the cutoff time?
- Will The Runner get so bored of waiting for me at the finish line that she’ll leave and go get a shower and something to eat, figuring she has plenty of time?
- When — if — I cross the finish line, will I be lucid enough to say something clever?
Comments (49)
04.20.2010 | 7:18 am
Five years is a long time to write a blog. Seriously, a really long time. Consider all the cycling-comedy blogs you read. How many of them have been around five years? Not many.
Sometimes, in fact, I wonder if there are a finite number of funny things to say about bicycles.
I just read those first two paragraphs and realized it sounds like I’m winding up for a goodbye. I’m not. My point — which I am finally getting to right this second — is that I’ve been around long enough that I feel totally OK with occasionally talking about a few personal items, only one of which has anything to do with biking.
1. Employment
I’d been an employee of Burton Group for nearly four years when it was acquired by Gartner at the beginning of 2010. Frankly, I was pretty concerned about whether I’d get to keep my job. Gartner already has a fully-staffed and capable product management team, after all, using a much different approach than I have.
As of last Friday, however, I’ve been moved out of product management and into a brand-new position within the research team, which means I’ll be researching and writing about technology topics for a living.
In other words, I’m employed in the sweet spot of a large research company, doing something I really enjoy doing.
I’m relieved. I’m busy. I’m (relatively) secure. I’m happy.
2. Kid Stuff
When I started this blog five years ago, my oldest kid was 11; now he’s 16 (isn’t the way the math on that works out?). My twins were only 3; now they’re gangly 8-year-olds. And one of my kids has been suffering from a painful and serious illness for pretty much the entirety of that time.
That child doesn’t want to have me talk about that illness and what s/he’s going through on this blog, so I haven’t, and I won’t.
But that illness has recently reached a crisis point, and I am spending a lot of my time and energy on it. When you see a day (like yesterday) go by without a post, that’s probably why.
(Or it’s possible that I’m out on a long ride, because the weather here has suddenly gone from cold miserable Winter to fantastic beautiful Spring.)
3. I Have Been a Guest Speaker at a University
Yesterday morning, I went to a “Writing for New Media” class, and gave a guest lecture. I used PowerPoint and everything. The students were, as you’d expect, enthralled. And by “enthralled,” I of course mean “expressing mild interest or taking naps or updating their Facebook pages.”
Comments (73)
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