New #35: March in a Parade

I was never in band, or beauty pageants, or a side show circuses. Therefore, there's never been much of an opportunity for me to be in a parade. So when my work (the Loveland Reporter-Herald) asked if any employees would like to accompany its float, I picked up that proverbial baton and joined the march.

The annual parade is part of Loveland's Corn Roast Festival, a relic of the small town the city once was, as well as a tribute to its favorite vegetable. And it all kicks off with the morning march through downtown.

The Reporter-Herald is in the parade every year, driving our turn-of-the-century fire truck along the route. This year, for the paper's 130th birthday, they decided to dress up the truck for the party, complete with streamers, balloon and festive frill. There were even pointy party hats for all participants. So it was a bit gaudy, but isn't that what parades are all about?

The marching band had nothing on Tom and his vuvuzela.

After waiting for the march to start (and practicing our vuvuzelas), it was time to start moving. Right away we were greeted by thousand of people waving and smiling. Every face seemed genuinely happy to see us. That, or maybe they just wanted some free loot. We were handing out newspapers, as well as paper fans, which apparently came in pretty handy that hot morning. In fact, some fans of the free fan became frenzied, literally chasing after me if I missed giving them one. One particularly obnoxious woman went so far as to grab five right out of my hand. I know our fan was pretty cool, but have you heard of a piece of paper? It works just as well.



Yet even fan mania added to the fun of being in the parade. It was definitely something knew to walk through thousands of people with cameras and waving hands pointed my way. Sometimes I'd even hear my named called from the crowd. I know. I am quite the celebrity.


The whole parade took only about a half-hour of marching before we reached the end. I got home before 10:30 that morning, right around the time I'd usually be waking up on a Saturday. I may not have gotten to sleep in that weekend, but I think marching through a cheering crowd is a pretty awesome way to start the day.

New #34: Run a 5K

I was a little overambitious when it came to this new. Maybe not when I committed to it, but definitely during the actual race. Uggg. It was the Valley 5000 - a local 5K that raises money for a Loveland nonprofits. I've never been a runner or jogger (or even much of a walker), but I enlisted in the event while still training for my first sprint triathlon. That was during a time of roaring athletic ambitions and ravenous work outs. I could totally handle a measly 5K. Maybe then. But after the triathlon I took a few days break from working out ... which eventually amounted to a month of idle laziness. By the time I'd dusted off my running shoes, I was out of shape, which was pretty apparent during the race.

Sarah and Jessica before the race.

Luckily, I did have a friend to share in my misery. Jessica, who did the triathlon with me, had also signed up for the 5K ... and also stopped training after the first race. On the day of the Valley 5000, we lined up with the crowd of about 500, all the while dreading how much the run was going to suck. And suck it did - starting with the monstrous mountain we had to scale.

Seriously, who maps a mountain into a 5K? No one actually wants to be running up that thing. It was a pretty significant grade, too, and lasted literally about half a mile. I. hated. it. But Jess and I kept running and running and running, until finally we were able to jog down the other side.

Our goal was to keep jogging the entire race, but at the half-mile mark we decided to take a little itty bitty walking break. So maybe it lasted a bit longer than we'd originally planned, but I was thankful for the rest. However, my serenity was soon interrupted when the hagglers started storming by - the first being a man at least 75 years old. Yeah. The guy was literally a hunchback. Not even joking. As he shuffled by, he turns around and said something along the lines of "You gonna walk the whole thing? I thought you were supposed to run in this race." Nice.

Next came the guy who was supposed to be walking - a speed walker. With arms pumping (but always one foot left on the ground), he waddled by and said some cute comment, too. What is up with these people? My only goal throughout the rest of the event was to beat these men, them and the 7-year-old who would walk in front of me until I caught up to him, then obnoxiously sprint ahead.

Sadly, by the time I reached the finish line, the speed walker and child were already done. But I was happy to know I'd defeated the hunchback. Maybe it's a little misguided to celebrate a victory over someone half-a-century older than me, but it's all about the little things in life :)

New #33: Become a Hostess

This new is definitely a sign of the times. Belts are tightening, cash is strapped, cliches are rampant and times are tough. So with big dreams and a tiny bank account, I decided I needed a second job to help make my life a little easier and my goals a bit more attainable. And I wanted this second job (which is actually a sixth job, if you count my work with eBay, secret shopping, freelancing and plasma donation in addition to my work at the newspaper) to be easy. My sister recommended I try hostessing at a restaurant. While I wouldn't call it totally easy, it is definitely manageable and a nice change of pace.

Last week I set out on a mission to give my resume to all the nice restaurants in town. Not only would this be a better work environment, but I figured they'd pay more, too. After hitting up four joints, my last stop was one I'd debated even going for: a Japanese steakhouse. Right away I was whisked inside by an Asian with a thick accent. About 15 minutes later, I walked out with a job. Coming home that night, Ben was definitely surprised. "Only you could go out in the middle of a recession and come back less than two hours later with a job." What can I say? I guess it was meant to be.

I ended up getting one other job offer but decided to stick with the steakhouse. It's literally right across the street from my house. Plus all the employees are really fun and easy going. The owners, however, are not. During my initial interview, I was asked a few times "If a customer yells at you, will you cry?" and "Will you cry if I yell at you?" I said no, wondering why they were so curious about my emotional stability. It was during my first shift I found out why they emphasized this point so much. One waiter told me that within his first few months of working there, he's seen the owner break down three girls and one guy into tears. This is also the same boss who doesn't really bother to learn women's names, and instead calls everyone Holly. Yup.

But so far, I've had a few shift and haven't had any problems with the management. Actually, the job is pretty laid back. My first few hours of each shift are spent answering the phone, joking around with the waiters and waitresses, and eating dinner (did I mention they feed us?). It really only gets crazy for little 5 minute spurts at 6, 6:30 and 7. The rest of the time I'm hanging out. Even when it is busy I'm dealing with customers, which I actually enjoy.

At the end of each night my feet hurt a bit and I smell like meat, but I have a few extra bucks in my account. The job, which is fairly fun in itself, is a small price to pay for some financial freedom.

New #32: Deliver a Baby

So what did you do last night? Watched a movie? That's nice. Me? I helped bring a life into the world. You know, helped one of my best friends deliver her baby.

That's pretty much how my morning conversation went at work one day last week.

Yes, it was as crazy as it sounds. Yes, it was pretty gross at time. But no, I'm not traumatized. And yes, I'm very happy it was something I got to experience.

Even during the planning stages, the whole scenario was pretty far-fetched, like something that would never really happen. Amy - who's been my college roommate, bridesmaid and bestie for years - was about eight months pregnant when she asked me her just-in-case question. Her husband Charlie was going out of town on business three weeks before she was due. If for some unimaginable reason she went into labor while he was gone, would I please help her in his place? I was definitely honored by the request, which I took more as a kind gesture or formality than something I would actually have to do. Charlie was only going to be gone three days, after all.

Soon his trip arrived, and by the the third day I was certain I was in the clear. No baby duty for Sarah. Then, at about 6 p.m., I got the call. It was Amy, and it was time. Ahhh! I grabbed my camera (like any good husband would), jumped in the car and sped across town. Amy was surprisingly calm for someone in labor, which helped calm me down. She assured me Charlie was already on the plane coming home. Perfect! I'd just get her settled into the hospital, maybe feed her some ice chips and rub her feet, before Charlie would burst through the door and take it from there. Maybe I'd see the baby after it was born the next day. How wrong I was.

As soon as we got Amy into her room things really started to pick up. When she was screaming in pain a few minutes later, I knew my neatly wrapped plan was out the window. Sure enough, just before 9 p.m. Amy's feet were up in the stirrups, and I was holding her leg with a front row seat at the delivery show.

Here's where I won't go into details. Anyone who's been through a delivery knows what to expect -- and anyone who hasn't doesn't need to know what really goes on. Trust me. I will say, there was a lot of pushing, yelling, encouraging words, blood and squirting. Yeah.

While the scene was somewhat, well, horrific, it was all worth it the first time that little baby took a breath and let out a cry. It's amazing how the atmosphere of the room could suddenly shift from one of pain and worry to one of such complete joy. After we realized his gender (a little boy), everyone in the room was crying -- except baby Jack, who was already calmly settled into his new world.


I followed Jack while he got cleaned up by the doctor and nurse, and took lots of pictures, of course. Then I followed him over to him mom, when Amy got to hold her son for the first time. Again, for anyone who's been there, I don't need to explain what that moment was like.

Amy and Jack

Charlie arrived at about 11 p.m., when he got to see his wife and baby calm, clean and happy. Amy and I think he lucked out with that one, skipping the gore and going straight to the glory.

That night, I got home in time for bed. The three hour labor fit quite nicely into my schedule. When I got to see Jack again the next day, I knew we'd always have a special connection. Just like a baby duck bonds with the first thing it sees, Jack and I are connected. He's my little duckling.

New #31: Go Camping on Our Own

No, camping in itself is not something new to me. In fact, I grew up with parents who would often take my sister and me venturing into the Great Outdoors. I continued to become one with nature during college, often tagging along with friends to their favorite spots. However, through all of this, I'd never arranged a camping trip, picked out a site or even owned my own gear. So last weekend, when Ben and I hit the open road in search of a night under the stars, it was indeed new to me.

We started the journey on a Saturday without any plans of where we were going except somewhere up the Poudre River, which is just outside of Fort Collins. There's one road winding alongside the water, and everyone said we could easily find a spot along there. I'm the kind of person who likes to make reservations, to know I'm guaranteed a place to lay my head in the dirt - but unfortunately, I called too late to make that happen. So off we went up into the mountains with nothing but a little optimism.

Lucky for us we stayed positive, because more than the first few camping sites were completely full. Finally, about an hour 1/2 up the canyon, we saw a sign for the Dutch George campground. Being a proud Dutch girl myself, I had a good feeling - and thankfully, they had one spot left that we quickly scooped up. Our site wasn't perfect. There weren't any trees for shade, and it was *sigh* and 10-foot walk to the river instead of one. But really, it was beautiful, especially compared to the malls, model homes and manicured grass of suburbia.

Ben and I put up out tent without too many problems. With differing ideas of how it should be pitched, we teetered on the edge of a fight throughout the process without ever going over the edge. The canape was another story. This wasn't one of those easy pull-it-apart-and-it's-done canopies. No, this one had about 200 tent poles and no direction. Soon, the wind started blowing and our tempers started flaring. Luckily right then a passing Harley Davidson-riding couple asked us if we needed help. Ben, trying to be manly, said no; but I overpowered him with an emphatic "yes please!". They came in on quite a scene, not only with the flimsy canape and flared angers, but right when the wind literally picked up our tent and started blowing it away into a field. They caught it just in time, and were able to help us erect some shade. Thank you, biker couple, where ever you may be! Not only did you save our campsite, but you also saved us from a weekend of marital malice.


After our campsite was in order, Ben and I could finally relax. It ended up being a great rest of the day, too, with playtime in the river, a hike up a mountain, another hike through a meadow and a few good games of paddle ball.

Beer + River = Happiness for Benny

Above: Some bright wildflowers we saw along the way.
Below: A view of the river from our campground.

On our hike through the meadow, we had to cross a stream to continue the path.

Relaxing back at home base.

Soon it was time for my favorite part of camping: cooking dinner. Being our first time roughing it on our own, Ben and I cheated and lit the campfire with one of those super flammable logs. (Maybe next time we'll try rubbing sticks together instead). With the open flame somewhat near the canape, I decided we should move it away to avoid an accident. That's when irony decided take the stage. As we were moving it, the entire canape fell right on top of the fire. Ahhh! And we couldn't even get it off right away. Thankfully, when we did get it back up, there weren't any holes, just some black charring. Phew. After all that excitement, we settled back down with our dogs. Hot dogs, that is. Cooking them with sticks over the open fire, I must say they were some of the best burnt hot dogs ever. At least we can always eat right :)

The next morning we were still full of s'mores and beer. Pair that with the 90-degree heat we woke up to - and the fact that we forgot coffee - and we decided to end our camping adventure pretty early. The trip may have been short and sweet, but it was still our first time doing it all one our own. And while we may not be mountain men quite yet, at least we know we can hold our own alongside Mother Nature.