Hurricane

Having lived in louisiana most of my life hurricanes are a fact of life. Having lived in Baton Rouge during that time, hurricanes used to mean a few days off of school, a few hours without electricity and listening to older generations talk about the big ones like Betsy and Camille. 

I was in high school when Andrew came through and things at my house were mild. We sat around the house, read books and watched it rain steadily for numerous days. We even had a slumber party at my grandmother's house at some point as she was the first person to have her electricity restored. 

Fall of '02 brought another big storm bearing down on Louisiana but I was in Texas at the time and far removed from the situation as long as I knew my family was ok. It was a pretty ferocious storm. Stories from the menfolk in the clan tell how the hunting camp was moved back off its piers about 50 yards into the marsh and how they had to roll it back in place, how the landscape had completely rearranged itself and small ponds were now big lakes and what was once water was now land, not to mention that the duck hunting went south permanently. 

In 05, my fiance and I moved back to LA and were looking at houses, planning our wedding and focusing on starting our new life here. The day of our "Engagement Announcement" party Hurricane Katrina was the topic of discussion. Several family members stayed too late at the party and as a result were in traffic for hours on their way home to Houston. None of us had a clue what was in store. Even as we were in the midst of the storm, with all communication out with the exception of radio, we were clueless as to what was happening one hour south in New Orleans. 

Three years have passed without incident and we now have Gustav bearing down on us. The horror of Katrina and Rita coupled with the fact that we are now homeowners with property to lose, makes me realize how naive I was about hurricanes. This is the first time I've been truly afraid and the first time I've done storm preparations. With giant trees on all sides of our home, I've already assimilated the insurance papers and house documents to take to a safe place as well as the backup hard drive for my computer. I'm hoping and praying this old house can live through another hurricane. 

What happens when you cross a three day holiday weekend, with LSU's first home game of the season, which is also the first home game since LSU won National Championship, with the incoming of a hurricane?

CHAOS - pure and simple. 

Athletic heroism

Amazing feats of athletic ability have never failed to captivate our attention causing a sense of wonderment. We've marveled at Michael Jordan's dominance on the basketball court, were dumbfounded by Bo Jackson's ability to excel at two sports, were taken-aback when Tiger Woods revolutionized the game of golf and cheered when the Manning brothers won back-2-back Super Bowls, making it a family affair. In short we love winners, and we idolize champions. Yet something that underlies the idol worship of super-human athletes, at least for some, is a mandatory approval of personal behavior both on and off the field. Our most revered athletes are often our most beloved because in addition to their unmatched talent, they also display good sportsmanship both on and off the playing field. 

Michael Phelps is now among that crowd and while his 8th gold medal sealed the deal for him, in the hearts of many fans, he was worthy of the above mentioned crowd with or without the record-breaking gold medal. The media cast an international spotlight on Phelps in both the 04 and 08 olympics when they set the bar at 8 gold medals and the dethroning of Mark Spitz. And Phelps met the challenge head-on in 04 and while failing to meet the mark, was impressive across the board in both his races and his sportsmanship. In 08, he rose to the occasion, taking our breaths away with some crushing wins as well as the closest calls ever witnessed, proving himself a superb athlete and a respectable hero. He isn't cocky, he doesn't run his mouth and he respects not only his teammates but also his competitors. He also represents a sport that is still under the radar but from what I've seen is a very tough yet supportive sport. Each race tests your personal endurance, speed, and metal toughness. While you are racing your competitors in the lanes next to you, you're also racing yourself. What never ceases to amaze me is the way after each race the winners and losers congratulate each other. While being overjoyed by their own wins or crushed by their loses they never fail to reach over a lane or two and share words of support that demonstrates the level of respect they hold for the sport as well as for one another. In my mind that makes the sport and those who excel at it all the more rewarding and worthy of our respect. Watching Michael Phelps win 8 gold medals and show his exuberance for each win without prancing around or trash-talking, never forgetting to congratulate his teammates, continuously giving credit to his coach and his mother, makes him an ideal super-hero. 

After watching Phelps and his teammates capture gold last night, the gold that permanently put Phelps name in the history books, the Olympic broadcast re-aired the men's 100 meter sprint finals. While the shear speed was mind-blowing what was even more mind-blowing was the display of ego on display even during warm-ups. While I admire the speed with which these men run, their love of themselves and obvious high levels of confidence fail to register in the athletic hero category. Not an ounce of humility on the track. The winning runner who set a new world-record and crushed the competition, was celebrating even before he crossed the finish line. After such a sportsman-like finish in the water cube, this display of ego-maniacism on the track was disheartening and proved that sheer athleticism does not a hero make. 

The Girl with 2 Last Names

Recently I've taken up triathlons as a hobby. While said activities are much more than a hobby as you have to be in excellent shape to compete in one, I still like to refer to them as a hobby, an after work activity if you will. Thus far I've done 3 races with a few more in the works. At the first triathlon, which took place very early on a Sunday morning after a full day of wake boarding, I faired well and placed third in my age group. I was elated and quite surprised, thinking this hobby is going well so far - much better than scrap booking. 

As they announced my name during the awards, they got the first name right then bungled the last names, they said one, then another with an "um - uh" in between. As I arrived at the center of the group to receive my medal, the announcer asked what my last name was. I replied, "its Macha Hebert". He said, "you have two last names?" I said, "yes I have two last names." He then announced into the microphone my full name and finished by saying, "this girl has two last names." There was a lot of commotion in the crowd, some cheered, some leered and many just laughed. I walked out of the center of attention as quickly as possible. 

So about a month goes by and its the morning of my second race. I'm very nervous as there is an open-water swim involved as well as the pressure to finish in good standings. I walk up to the registration table and tell the lady my name and she looks up, smiles and says, "I remember you from the previous race. You're the girl with two last names." 

And thus in the small triathlon circuit of South Louisiana, I became "The Girl With Two Last Names."  

If only super human powers came with such a moniker.

Boating

We want a boat..

We don't want a boat...

We want a boat...

We don't want a boat...

We want a boat...

We bought a boat...

After years of back and forth on the buying a boat issue, we finally made the leap today. We found a used wakeboard boat we thought was perfect for our needs, tested it out, both driving and riding, liked it, and did the deal. While the purchase feels someone indulgent it rounds out our toybox of fun and places the control of when, where and how often we have fun in our hands. Its a good day. 

Overcoming Spandex

Those people who say looking good is the most important thing, never wore spandex. Yes, Spandex, the preferred article of clothing for serious athletes and super heros alike. The act of wearing it as well as being subjected to other people parading around in it is enough to make anyone cringe and unless you're wearing a cape or near a gym, wearing it is typically unacceptable. Its more akin to body paint than actual clothing; yet, is very common among the physically active and surprisingly necessary in some situations. Today I took a very liberating step in my relationship with spandex - I went for a run in it. We're not talking a stylish spandex top. We're talking, butt squeezing, thigh constricting, tummy tucking shorts. And we're talking a 3-mile run through a well traveled neighborhood. We're talking strange looks, catcalls, and a very scary shadow chasing me. While there's a bit of a backside 'bounce' in my stride, and a slight circulation issue, I actually felt comfortable - comfortable enough to finish the run with an impressive time and then walk the dog. I think the trick to pulling off spandex is to own it. You know you look silly in it, you might as well embrace it and make the most of a bad situation. Afterall if its good enough for superheros and crazy cyclists, its good enough for me.

 

Half way down

 That is how far Bermuda or walking shorts extend down one's leg. They seem to be fairly trendy these days and are a cross between pants which makes ones legs sweat profusely and short shorts which infringe a bit on one's dignity.  While walking shorts are nothing new and have been worn by generations of women - they are new to me in that I've never really attempted to pull of this look, and own several pairs of short shorts. However, since temperatures, like my age, seem to be on a steady incline I decide its time to trade down literally for a nice pair of walking shorts. With high hopes I pick up roughly 15 different types, try them all on with disappointing results all the way around; yet, there is one plaid pair I'm thinking is doable. So I buy them, take them home and try them on again just to be sure before I detag. Much to my dismay, as I look in the mirror I realize I'm one bad haircut away from batting for the other team. The only thing that is going to be walking is the shorts back to the store.