• Shamrock’n Half Marathon 2011 report

    One-word summary: Wow.

    Three-word summary: How’d that happen?!

    One-sentence teaser: I did not expect a PR (personal record) at Sunday’s Shamrock’n Half Marathon in Sacramento, because I’d only been back from a serious injury for three months — but I shattered it and broke another barrier I hadn’t even considered.

    Full recap (not guaranteed to be typo-free, because I’m in a hurry to get it posted before I lose momentum): I signed up for this race on a bit of a lark, because I was coming back from four months of stress fracture, and I wanted a goal. I’d looked at several half-marathons in March, and Katie talked me into running this one. I ran it last year to a 1:51:42 PR and liked it, so I signed up. Plus, I’d get to hang out with Katie.

    Katie and me before the race.

    Coming back from injury took a while, but I did two double-digit trail runs (10 and 13 miles) in January, which gave me softer trails and crazy hill workouts. My running buddy was working on some gait issues at the advice of the physical therapist, and it turned out that it was the same advice I’d been given previously. So we ran together and focused on gait (when we weren’t distracted by ridiculous conversations and almost running into poles), which definitely seemed to help me, too. Then I moved five weeks ago to an area where I run at least some hills nearly every day. I now have gym access, so I’m trying to go there a couple times a week to use the elliptical machine, stationary bicycle and weight machines.

    In mid-February I ran a 14-miler on hills and sidewalks in mostly pouring rain. I figured the concrete would be a good test of my leg, and it held up. The following weekend I ran a 12-miler that was the fastest double-digit training run of my life (8:53 pace). I was floored. Last weekend a group of us ran 14 miles in San Francisco over the Golden Gate bridge (a post I’d planned to write already…), and the 10:21 average pace was perfect because it didn’t beat me up for today’s race.

    Saturday morning I woke without an alarm at 6:30 after seven hours of sleep, a good thing. I ran a few miles, cleaned my house, got mad at iTunes, and finally headed to Katie’s sister-in-law’s house, which is much closer to the race. She had spaghetti, salad, garlic bread and a glass of great red wine waiting for me. Katie and I didn’t get to sleep until what was 11:30 p.m. because of Daylight Savings Time. I woke up at 12:30 for no good reason. I got back to sleep, then woke up to a nightmare at 3:30. Finally we got up at 4:30.

    We had to get to the race early because traffic backs up on the freeway and parking is limited. I picked up my race packet and then we sat in the car for a while.
    Eventually it was time to shed extra clothing and head to the start. We were in the first wave, though I was merely planning to break 2 hours, maybe hit 1:55. Katie, though, was hoping for 1:30 (though two of us were convinced she would have a 1:2x time), so we parted ways as she went toward the front. I got behind the 1:50 pace group leader, knowing they’d be going too fast for me.

    The race began and I started my music. This was a first for me — in every race, including marathons, I have never listened to music. Until I moved, I very rarely listened to music in training, either. But I decided to try it, since I’d had a couple fast runs when Metallica came up on Pandora (internet radio, in case you don’t know the awesomeness of it). I’d put together a 2-hour play list of upbeat music, including a few Metallica songs around the times when I figured I would need a power boost.

    Mile 1: 8:38.

    Mile 2: 8:44. My legs took a little while to warm up. At first I thought this was going to be a rough race, but then things started clicking into place.

    Mile 3: 8:24. I hit the 5k point at a bit over 26 minutes. My average pace was around 8:35 or 8:37 at this point. Last year’s PR average pace was 8:32 overall, so I knew it was actually in sight, though I’d had no intentions of reaching it at all.

    Mile 4: 8:32. Took a gel.

    Mile 5: 8:26.

    Mile 6: 8:19. I reached the halfway point (6.56 miles) at 56 minutes. That meant I was on pace for a 1:52. That was only 18 seconds slower than my PR, so I decided to just go for it. If I blew up, it was just one race.

    Mile 7: 8:13. Took a gel at mile 7.5. I was also experimenting by consuming more fuel than I usually do. I battle to ward off calf cramps, so since my stomach is fine, this was another new test.

    Mile 8: 8:22.

    Mile 9: 8:10.

    Mile 10: 8:22. Took a caffeinated gel at mile 10.5, knowing it would kick in just in time to power me through the fatigue.

    Mile 11: 8:24. I was still doing pretty well at the math, and I was watching the overall average pace on my watch. It was around 8:25 at this point, so I knew that things were going well. However, my watch was measuring about 0.1 miles longer than the mile markers, so I figured I didn’t have much of a lead on my PR.

    Mile 12:8:08. Metallica song came on partway through this mile — perfect timing.

    Mile 13: 7:38. I didn’t see this mile split at the time, so I’m amazed when I see it now. I was definitely getting worn out and my lungs were burning. But I knew I was going to beat my PR, and I had begun wondering if I would somehow break 1:50.

    Last 0.1 (or 0.23 on my watch): 6:57 pace. I caught the 1:50 pace group leader at the very end, as we ran onto the baseball field where the race ends. He looked back, saw me giving it everything in my entire being, and said, “Come on, you’ve got this!” I felt my legs surge a bit faster at his words and he said, “You’re going to break 1:50, you can do it.”

    I powered through the finish line and was truly exhausted. I don’t remember seeing anyone except the smiling lady who gave me my medal. My watch said 1:50:03, but I knew I hadn’t pressed the stop button right at the finish line. After wandering around deliriously and stopping to talk to a couple cops I knew, and going the wrong direction from the front gate, I reached Katie.

    That girl had not only broken 1:30 — she’d run a 1:27:54 for a whopping average pace of 6:43. She was fourth female overall, and she won an award for second in our age division. She was 13 seconds away from third and first places, respectively. If that’s not badass, I don’t know what is. Oh, and she’d done it on two nights of about four hours of sleep each, running 16 miles yesterday, and running over 100 miles a week.

    I waited impatiently to see the official race results, and finally saw them. I’d run a 1:49:59 (average pace of 8:24). One second had made all the difference of breaking that 1:50 barrier. I owe that pace leader for giving me that last bit of encouragement that I needed. Looking back, I probably wouldn’t have cut it so close if I hadn’t lost about 10 seconds for a train to pass — seriously, that happened — and if I hadn’t walked through two water stops so I’d actually consume the water rather than spilling it all over myself.

    Needless to say, I’m ecstatic. I was 39th out of 588 women in the 30-34 age group (top 6.6%), and 578th out of 4,654 total finishers (top 12.4%). Also, I ran the first half in 56 minutes and the second half in 54 minutes, which means I negative split it — always a great way to finish a race.

    The race was great, we crossed several bridges, with beautiful views, and the weather was perfect with a start temperature of 48 degrees and clouds the whole time.

    The one really awful part, though, was trying to get out of the parking lot. We’d followed repeatedly emailed instructions to arrive early to avoid parking problems, and for that we were rewarded with being stuck at the back of the parking lot. The people who’d gotten there at the last minute were the first ones allowed out of the one single-lane exit. So Katie, the fourth female finisher of the entire race, was waiting AN HOUR in the parking lot before we called her sister-in-law to drive 20 minutes and get us. By the time she got there, we still wouldn’t have gotten out of the parking lot.

    Lucky number 7, for the 7th year the race has been held. See? Everything except the parking was great.

    We finally made it back to Katie’s sister-in-law’s house, where she had glorious hot coffee ready. She made us waffles and served us fruit, and I think I was starting to see an angelic halo over her head.

    As I type this 10 hours after the race ended, my legs feel fine. I’ll see how they are in the morning, but for now I think I can continue forward with my plan of increasing the mileage. That’s a massive relief, since I’ve been using running as a mental outlet to retain my sanity — though at the same time this solo running stuff makes me lonely.


  • Real vs. fake happiness

    A new study has concluded that when people fake a smile, their mood worsens.

    This intrigues me, because I’m generally a pretty happy/optimistic person and I always thought that if you smile and make the best out of things, your mood will improve. Until a few months ago, that is.

    As most of you know, I basically turned my life upside down last summer. I ended just about everything, in some sort of mid-life crisis, went on a two-week roadtrip, and began making changes. (I’m hopefully too young for it to be mid-life, but if it is, that’s all the more reason to take the plunge — time’s running out!) Most people thought I’d gone nuts, and I was often among them. I treaded water for a while, alternating between thoughts of, “I’m freeee!” and, “Oh my god, what is going to become of me?”

    I still don’t really know what is going to become of me, but I’ve moved, I’ve gotten a new job, and I’m trying to figure out how to reach a couple other lifelong goals. The move has had its pangs, because I’m further away from friends and I’m feeling a little alone.

    Through all the changes and the uncertainty, I had one form of confirmation that I hadn’t gone completely nuts. People told me, “You look happier.” At first I thought nothing of it, because a vacation always refreshes the soul. But as weeks and then months passed, I kept hearing that same message from different people: “You’re happier.”

    I never thought of myself as being truly unhappy. Sure, the moments of unhappiness were much more frequent, but they’d gradually snuck up on me. Now I look back and I see myself in that study — I was faking the smiles and thinking everything would be fine. The truth is, I was dying inside.

    A friend of mine came across a quote recently by George Eliot: “It’s never too late to be who you might have been.” It’s also never too late to find a way to genuinely smile. It’s good for the soul.


  • High iron

    Apparently I need to stop eating bolts for breakfast and canned spinach (cans included) for lunch: My iron levels are high.

    I got this surprising news because I had a bunch of blood tests done in order to get a lower health insurance rate. Though I don’t really like being stabbed with a needle, and I did NOT like fasting for 12 hours and driving 75 minutes yesterday morning without coffee, I was really interested in seeing the results — especially if my increased potassium intake would have any bearing on the test.

    But the potassium result, while proving my theory correct, was actually not the most interesting one. As I scrolled down the list of results today, only one had a big red stop sign symbol in the “alert” column: My iron levels are definitely too high. I hadn’t noticed anything too out of the ordinary in my body, but symptoms of high iron include fatigue, weakness and joint pain. Joint pain! That’s the last thing a runner needs! Especially a runner who has had knee, ankle and foot issues. Shortness of breath is another possible symptom, and I was certainly out of breath on a run this weekend (though the elevation gain may have been a factor). Oh yeah, and it can eventually cause heart failure.

    So I racked my brain and did some Googling and tweeting (Twitter people are so helpful!) in an attempt to figure out what had caused this iron issue. I don’t eat much red meat, spinach, fruit juice or other foods that have a lot of iron. I don’t cook on cast iron pans. I don’t actually eat tin cans for lunch. I considered the glucosamine/chondroitin/msm that I take to make my knee happy, but I ruled that out after a couple responses on Twitter.

    And I considered the multi-vitamin I take, because I know I don’t get enough nutrients in my diet. I’d figured a name brand like Women’s One-A-Day would be a sure-fire way to get what I needed. Well, I’ve been taking 18mg of iron — or 100 percent of my daily needs — every day for years. I have half a bottle of the vitamins left, but I’m throwing them out immediately. The test results show that I probably do need the multi-vitamin in some areas, but if something could be affecting my joints, there is no way I’m going to keep taking it.

    If anyone has other thoughts on this, I’d love to hear them. Meanwhile, I’ll make a concerted effort to do a couple blog post updates about the status of my running injury recovery, my upcoming move, and a couple “race” reports. I make no promises, though, because the next few weeks are going to be quite busy.


  • Merry Christmas, Portland

    Greetings from Portland! (That’s the city up there in the picture at the top of the blog, though it’s a bit rainier this time around.)

    I’m having lots of fun, though I just got here Christmas morning. Christmas dinner with great people was followed by the most ridiculously awesome game of Catch Phrase.

    Today I dragged my sleep-deprived self to a six-hour run that included Artic-like wind gusts, pelting rain, cold temperatures, and an occasional break in the clouds just to long enough to give us false hope. From 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. I was an ice cube while volunteering as a total of 69 runners — and one marathoning dog — ran a 0.95-mile loop around a park. Then I ran 6.2 miles. While it was my personal worst time in a 10k “race,” it was my longest run since Aug. 8, so I’m considering it a win. My stress fractured leg was fine, and my cranky tendon loved the non-flat course. (I’m told it was pretty flat by Portland standards. It was hilly by California Crappy Central Valley standards.)

    The run was for Operation Jack, the autism charity I mentioned here before. The turnout was great, the organizers were awesome, and I’m glad people braved the weather, ran and donated. Here’s a picture at the end with Deb B.:

    Smiles and medals: runners' staples.

  • Dehydration

    Did you know that the body needs water? I did. But apparently I forgot. Yes, folks, this marathon runner forgot to hydrate. I went about 20 hours without drinking water! Fortunately I caught my dehydration in time and there were no mishaps. I don’t remember driving 55 miles home today, though.

    While nearly all of the blame falls on me because I’m the only one who can actually hydrate myself, a small part of it falls on the folks who put on the California International Marathon yesterday. I’m sorry, but there is NO excuse to not supply volunteers with some water, especially when they’re working 4+ hour shifts.

    The marathon volunteering will be a separate post (probably not until Wednesday), and I had a lot of really great experiences. This post, however, is about water. Or lack thereof.

    Saturday night I had my last drink of water around 10 p.m. I lost track of time and went to sleep very late, so when I woke up around 4:20 the next morning I was barely functioning. I had over an hour of driving to do in the dark, so I took two travel cups in the car, which means I drank about 24 ounces of coffee. It’s not clear whether coffee causes dehydration, since it’s made with water, but I didn’t have any plain water.

    I was standing, lifting, carrying, pulling, moving around, yelling, cheering, and hugging runners for hours. I had no food or drink. Around 1 p.m., when I was done volunteering but was out on the marathon course to cheer some more, an ROTC cadet offered me a protein bar. Since I hadn’t eaten in about 13 hours, I was extremely grateful. Those bars are not exactly filled with fluid, though.

    Then I went shopping, because I had a coupon to use. I really did not want to go shopping, but it was expiring soon and I’d paid for it. It took me forever, and then traffic going home was a bit slower than expected, due to rain. I got home around 4:30, drank about 6 ounces of water, hopped in the shower, got ready to leave, and headed to a local brewery for my running buddies’ marathon celebration.

    Of course I ordered a beer, but I asked for water right away — which took a long time to arrive. I didn’t drink all of the water. I was beyond tired when I got home, and I had a little more water before crashing into bed. I awoke this morning with a splitting headache. I had a hunch it was a water issue, so I forced down about half a glass before showering and hurrying off to work. I was eating toast and drinking coffee in the car, and my stomach got mad — which never, ever happens to me.

    Then I got to work, got out of the car, and felt woozy. Within 20 minutes things had continued downhill. I found myself dimming my office lights because they were too bright, and I started worrying that it was a migraine. I found some Excedrin, and I tried to drink more water. The Excedrin finally kicked in, but I was really worried because home was a 55-mile drive away. I decided to leave while I could still drive.

    On the way home I took the advice of a friend who runs 100-milers: I stopped at McDonald’s and got fries with salt and a Coke. I apparently managed to eat them, drink the Coke, and almost finish my 24-ounce bottle of water.

    I say “apparently” because I don’t remember the drive home. I do recall finishing the book I’ve been listening to on CD. At one point I had no idea where I was and thought I’d missed my exit on Interstate 5. I got home without incident, and I have no idea what I did for the rest of the afternoon. Tonight I discovered that I’d done a load of laundry, so that was a pleasant surprise.

    Now I have consumed more water and tea (another way to get more fluids in), and the cobwebs have cleared from my head. Looking back, I estimate that I went for 20 hours with no water other than 24 ounces of coffee. I like water, I use my Brita pitcher, I run marathons — I know about hydration! And yet I had nearly all the early symptoms of dehydration.

    So, kids, drink your water. And remind me to drink water, too!


  • Blogging for fun

    I recently took a couple unplanned weeks off from this blog. I’ve gotten a bit busier lately but I had no real reason to be silent. And I’m not apologizing. I’ve blogged for years, and I’ve inevitably written the “sorry I haven’t blogged lately” posts. You won’t find those here.

    Fairly early in my childhood, I learned the power of the written word. I wrote in diaries and found that it helped me sort out life if I just wrote things out. I also discovered that I could get action if I wrote publicly and from the heart.

    Looking back, I’m still impressed at some of the responses I got from heartfelt letters. Because of one indignant letter, a whole class schedule was changed in junior high. A museum in eastern Canada sent me a huge packet of information in response to a request. A company Fed-Exed me two gallon-jars of applesauce (and a dish towel) because I complained to them. And one letter, written around the age of 13, brought a police officer to my house to apologize for his actions.

    I spent the last 10 years writing publicly for a living. Because of me, California state officials launched investigations. My words were copied and pasted and linked on countless websites. I received emails from around the world, in response to my writing. Both the FBI and Dave Barry read my writing. I strongly suspect the CIA knew about a couple things I wrote. (No, I’m not a nutty conspiracy theorist. I just happened to follow a trail that led to them, and then I wrote about it.) My writing drew praise, complaints, anger, veiled threats, smiles, resentment and tears.

    Words are strong. When written from the heart, they can have one of the most powerful effects ever felt.

    When words are forced out, they lose some of that power. And that is why I make no apologies if I go silent on this blog. When I resurrected my website a couple months ago, I vowed that I would write for myself. If I had something to say, I would do so. If I didn’t feel the need or desire to write, I wouldn’t force it.

    Much of this is a repeat of my “Writing” link up there at the top of this website. But that’s OK, because I’m writing this blog post because I want to do it.


  • Job update

    Changes are underway in my life. Here are the basics:

    1. I accepted a full-time job as executive administrator at a contracting company in Livermore, Calif. (It’s the U.S. office of an international fire protection/suppression firm.) I’ve been working there part-time on a freelance-type basis, so I know what I’m getting into. Basically, it’s office and marketing work, both of which will add some variety to my resume.
    2. I’ll be moving, likely to the Pleasanton/Dublin area west of Livermore. It’s all party of the greater East Bay Area. This will hopefully be as soon as possible, because the daily commute (two hours total) wastes time and gas.
    3. My long-term goal is to eventually move to Portland, Ore. When I made some big life changes a few months ago, I said there were basically only two places I was interesting in going — first, Portland; second, the Bay Area. If I can do both, that’s even better!

    My phone number and e-mail address won’t change, and I’ll still be here, on Facebook and on Twitter. If you’re a Lodi/Sacramento friend, yes, I’ll be further away, but I’ll still come visit. Plus, you can come visit the Bay Area, and you can even leave your car at my place and hop on the BART train into San Francisco. If you’re a Bay Area friend, I would love advice on housing and general life!


  • Nerd alert: odometer and texting

    As I’ve mentioned previously, numbers sometimes leap out at me. (I think I might need a new category of posts, come to think of it.) Here are two recent ones:

    1. In the vein of my “44444” odometer post, the other day I noted that in exactly three months, I drove 5,251 miles. That’s a lot of driving. For someone who until Sept. 1 had a two-mile commute to work, that’s an astronomical amount of driving. But I covered three states during that time, so that’s pretty cool. Also, it’s time for an oil change.

    2. And, speaking of excessive, I vaguely remember the days when I was allotted 200 phone text messages a month and didn’t use them. Then I upgraded. Then a couple years ago I needed to up it a little more but my only choice was 1,500 texts a month. No way would I ever exceed that amount! Right? Well, um, uh, hm. Now take a look at last month’s total:

    Yes, folks, that has become my new definition of “normal.”


  • Officer down

    Rodney A. Foster

    In the summer of 1995, I went on a group camping trip to Medicine Lake. My mom wasn’t much of a camping fan, but I was always game, and a bunch of my youth group friends were going to be there. So when Rod and Margo Foster offered space in their camper, I was thrilled. I knew them pretty well by then, because they’d given me rides home from church choir practice, and were generally just really nice people.

    A few months later, on Nov. 17, 1995, Deputy Rodney Alan Foster was on duty as a Siskiyou County Sheriff correctional officer. The jail had a hepatitis outbreak, and the rural community didn’t have a lot of medication, so he headed for the nearest city of Redding (then a population of probably no more than 50,000), a drive of about an hour and a half.

    Around 6:15 p.m., Rod rounded a curve on Interstate 5 where a big rig truck had jack-knifed and flipped over. Rod was the first one on the scene, and he never had a chance. His county van was shoved under the big rig, and 30 more vehicles soon slammed into the wreckage.

    Today marks 15 years since Rod Foster died. I was a teenager and had never before faced human loss. I have a vague memory of my mom hanging up the phone and breaking the news that he had died, but I don’t remember how I reacted or how I felt. Somewhere I might have a diary entry about it, but as I write this, my memory doesn’t resume until the day of the funeral.

    It was held at a church in Yreka, and I remember the wood paneling and dim lighting. I remember parking, and walking in the church where law enforcement officers lined the walls. Later, we joined the funeral procession through town. As we wound through the cemetery our Ford Escort began overheating, as it always had, but we kept going. I remember the gray clouds, and the gun salute at the graveyard.

    One week later, a few miles down the freeway from the scene of Rod’s death, seven people died in another wreck. Because of the higher death toll and the even closer proximity to Thanksgiving, that story made headlines throughout the state.

    Rod’s death didn’t reach the headlines outside our community. But yesterday I was surprised to discover that his crash actually made news across the whole nation. One of the 17 people injured in the wreck was former Yankees player Don Larsen, who 39 years earlier had become the first and only baseball player to pitch a perfect no-hit game in a World Series, a record he still holds.

    I have long since moved away from the town, and I haven’t talked to Rod’s widow in many years. But when I recently drove down that stretch of Interstate 5, I thought of Rod. I recalled the weeks and months after the crash, when the speed limit was drastically reduced from 65 mph to 45 mph. It was later revealed that the state had used inferior materials when resurfacing the roadway. The combination of the crumbling road surface and the sharp curves was deadly.

    A couple years ago a newspaper editor wrote about driving that stretch of highway, wondering why the most sparsely populated part of California had the nicest freeway. I fired off a rather lengthy e-mail, telling him that it took multiple fatal crashes and a lawsuit by a fallen officer’s widow before the state actually fixed what had been a very badly surfaced road. I’m not a fan of frivolous lawsuits, but Rod’s family deserved the $1.5 million they were awarded – I remember how that road worsened in the summer preceding Rod’s death, and how we tried to dodge the ever-expanding potholes as the road literally crumbled. I’m glad state officials fixed the road well enough that, years later, it got the attention of a newspaper editor.

    And that is why I like to think that Rod did not die in vain. His name is one of just many at the national law enforcement memorial in Washington D.C., and he wasn’t mentioned in the articles that updated the baseball star’s status. But Rod’s death helped force the state to admit their fault and work round the clock to fix their mistake as fast as possible. Perhaps this spared other families the feelings of loss and devastation.

    Rod's name on the law enforcement memorial in Washington D.C., which I visited in 2005.

    Names are etched on the wall that goes around the whole memorial.
    It actually takes a while to travel the whole walkway. Many names are etched there.
    Rod's gravestone at Evergreen Memorial Cemetery.


  • Foursquare = free wine

    A few months ago I started using Foursquare for two reasons: I wanted to see what it was about, and I wanted to become the mayor of the jail. I met those goals within two days, since my job at the time had me at the police station every day. When I’m not annoyed at Foursquare’s GPS failures, I’m still using it for two other reasons: It’s a handy way to remember where I went, and I can get FREE STUFF!

    Seriously, FREE STUFF! As in, chips and salsa from Chili’s restaurant! I grew up learning to pinch pennies. We had one winter where we lived on potatoes and oatmeal, and I still distinctly remember being 10 years old and it was a huge splurge to buy me two sundresses that were on sale for $5 each. Now, I balance cost-cutting measures with the fact that you only live once. If I want to go out to eat, I will. If my coffeemaker dies, as it did last week, I’ll spend a few more bucks to get one that I know will make me happy.

    Anyway, a couple weeks ago I heard through Twitter that the Lodi Winegrape Commission was looking for Foursquare users to promote their First Sip wine event. So I got in touch with them, and it turned out that if I took fliers and posters to a bunch of businesses in Stockton, I could score two free tickets that would have cost $35 each. I was game, so I spent two hours and about two gallons of gas delivering the brochures. The marketing director could track me on Foursquare as I checked in at each business, which I think is a pretty cool use of Foursqure.

    This weekend was the wine event. I took my friend Deanne, and we sweet-talked her fiance into being our designated driver. Drivers got free food at each stop, so we didn’t have to beg him too hard. About 30 wineries were participating and we couldn’t get to all of them, so I Photoshopped the event map, drawing a route that included wineries that had the most promising food options. Saturday we headed out, and we met the goal of wine before noon:

    Five hours later, we’d tasted our way through Lodi. They were pouring quite generously, Lodi wine has about 14 percent alcohol, and I didn’t have enough to eat that day. So the evening became a blur… But here is the other way that Foursquare comes in handy. I did check in every place I went, so later I went back and looked: In five hours, we stopped at nine places, two of which were pouring from multiple wineries. Not bad for one day! Our last stop was at a sushi place where we got happy hour prices.

    Conclusion: Foursquare has its uses, and hey, it’s free. Also, Lodi sure has a lot of wine.

    Here are a few more pictures of the day:

    They either gave out huge wine glasses or tiny water bottles.
    Winery meets cemetery, with fall colors -- aka, a perfect trifecta in my book.

    Who parked my Lamborghini at this winery??
    Some crazy guy named Voodoo, Deanne the coolest chick ever, and me. OK, so the crazy guy was our awesome driver.