Yeah, I Have a Problem

Once I admit it will you all leave me alone and just start dealing with your own condiment situations?

I know... I've been disgusted by the way some people eat before. Well, not really, but only because I am the strangest eater any of you have ever met.

An athlete recently, following a week in a shared condo, told a coworker that "Kelsey eats weird stuff" and I don't disagree! I'll be the first to admit that when your cooking plan centers around opening the fridge and taking out whatever you see to be put into a dish, you're generally not going to eat what most "normal" people eat.

But I do have a problem that goes beyond just normal strange eating (oxymoron, sure!)...

I have a mustard problem.

It used to be pretty basic. I like mustard on the things humans eat mustard on. Hot dogs, hamburgers, pretzels. 

Then I started using it as my only French fry dressing.

Then I started putting it into all cooked meals.

Then it all broke loose the first time I tried it on a salad instead of dressing.

And now my teams think I'm crazy. 

My coworker who is moving in this week told a group of friends at a birthday party recently "I can't tell if I like Kelsey or love her. I'd love her if she didn't have a dog or put mustard on EVERYTHING."

True, I do that.

Friends give me artsy little jars of dijon for Christmas gifts. Others gag at the thought of mustard on carrots.

But what are foods if they're not a condiment vehicle? And what would the condiment world be without mustard as the rock, nay the glue, that holds it all together?

Last weekend, the first day of 10 on the road for weddings in the Midwest, I was helping a friend finish some sweet potato fries. I loaded a fry up with some classic yellow mustard and BOOM: mustard all over my shirt AND my lap. Mustard and I may currently be on rocky ground, but I am on my way to a wedding BBQ ready to get back into the saddle, a week later and just three days from access to laundry again.

Bring it.

What Do I Really Do?

I've been catching up with old friends lately, all thanks to this epic Wedding Season I find myself a part of, and so many of them ask me what it is that I've been up to in this last whirlwind of a year. 

Sidenote: usually they first ask if I've married a Mormon or mention the many photos I've used as a facade to the true craziness of my life; there's nothing like a tranquil lake picture to throw the public off the scent of my true life, i.e. herding cats for a living.

Yes, I've traveled a fair amount and met some pretty incredible athletes and the support that surrounds them. I consider myself fortunate to be counted among that support network, even if there are days where I just feel my talents are being used to get anyone to give me an answer about anything. I've prided myself on communication before and where I am now I am THE communicator. 

I've also had opportunities to pick up new skills. In Mammoth in May, I was granted the great opportunity of being THE Airbag Master. No small feat, I was trained in the process as part of a general Airbag Team, promised that I along with at least two other coaches would have the great honor of keeping the bags at the bottom of the halfpipe full of air for the 5 hours training sessions each day. This means keeping velcro secured around the fans and using bamboo poles to push the sides up, ensuring air can enter the bag, but not too much air. That can be dangerous, too. 

After the first day it really meant just being yelled to from the top of the 'pipe, running circles around the two bags, and ultimately realizing I was the only person managing the proper and safe fill-age of the vinyl beasts. 

Beasts, I tell you. 

I woke up the third day with shoulder pain I haven't had since college swimming.

I realized by day four that my black jacket was the worst option for a dirt-covered behemoth of air. My light green pants were better-described as "grey" and my glove liners, hand washed daily, were crusty with the salt of the halfpipe.

It's no wonder that coaches avoid that duty, but lucky for them I don't know any better than to run laps around the airbags in ski boots, tying velcro tighter, opening air vents, closing air vents, holding bamboo sticks high over my head, and wondering why in the world I am the only person managing two bags, 8 vents, 8 fans, 8 corners, and the safety of some 35 athletes. 

Sucks to be awesome, I guess.