Which is Andy?

Now that the high school wrestling season is officially over, and we've had our awards banquet and everything, I have to tell on Coach Johnston. Here he is at the state tournament, wearing his ring from his glory days when Bishop Carrol won state.

They'd nearly finished the first round of wrestling, so he came to the stands to tell the wrestlers to get ready to warm up on the mats. Dave and I were sitting near the first row when I felt Coach pat the back of my head.

I turned around, wondering why he wanted my attention.
"Oh, I thought you were Suriano," he said, clearly embarassed.
This is Andy Suriano, the wrestler.

I've heard Andy is well-known around North for his long hair, and all the girls think he's cute.
But my question is, who was slighted the most?

Me, because although I had flat ironed and styled my hair that morning, it was still compared to a teenage boy's AFTER HE WAS ALL SWEATY FROM WRESTLING.

Or Andy, who was mistaken for a 42-year-old MOM.

Poor Coach Johnston. There's no graceful way out of this one.
So which is Andy?

Ski Trippin'

For all of you who have been clamoring to find out about my ski trip (that would be Tina and Janice), here's the update, with photos:
Since it was a church organized group, our fearless organizer Brenda insisted that we switch vehicles at every stop.

We had four women in each of the three vehicles, so we had plenty of room and no limit to good conversation. And when we saw a Starbucks in the Oasis truck stop, we stopped.

When we got to Boulder, we treated ourselves to Beau Joes Pizza. It was as yummy as it looks.

On Friday we were geared up to go skiing. We rode the shuttle bus for $5 from Boulder to the slopes at Eldora.

Finally we got our gear and we were ready to go! This is Sandy.

I was excited to ski, but also nervous since I hadn't been for about seven years. I wasn't sure I'd remember how to get off the lift.

Plus, I was concerned about re-injuring my knee that I'd hyperextended this past summer. On the first slope we went down (rated green), I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it. Then we did an unusually hard blue, and I about freaked out. Eventually, I got down that run, and after that everything else was easier. We all met at the lodge for a well-deserved lunch.

 We heard that one of our group, D.D., had fallen and injured her shoulder. She was in first aid until Brenda could get her back to Boulder.

After lunch, the die-hard skiers were ready to go again. (That's me on the left).

This is Stacy, who celebrated her birthday skiing down the mountain.

When the extra-diehard skiers decided to do a black run, Hannah and I took the opportunity to stand back and enjoy the view.

And this is what we saw.

Incredible. That was my favorite moment. Thanks, Hannah.
We ate at The Cheesecake Factory that night, telling ourselves that we could splurge because we'd burned off all those calories skiing. We really overused that line.
We were seated at adjoining booths, so I sent my camera over the wall for them to take pictures. Here are all of the lovely ladies.

Brenda, Patty, and Hannah

Christy, Karen (me), and Renee

Karen, Joy, and Jimi

Brenda, Heidi, Sandy, and Stacy

And here's the cheesecake I shared with Christy:

One more day of skiing for the diehards. Getting our gear on.

The weather on Saturday wasn't quite as good--a little colder, more wind.

Brenda skied with us.

We enjoyed the view. We also tried a couple of black slopes. I did the Corona and another one. Stacy's pole lesson helped give me a little more control and confidence. Thanks, Stacy!

After lunch, the snow was getting icy and the wind had picked up, so a few of us quit early. When I got to the lodge after our last run, I had a tremendous sense of relief that I'd done the whole trip without blowing out my knee. That's the not-so-fun part of being a grown-up: becoming chicken.
We had an extra-long drive back to Boulder because we got caught in the traffic for Nederland's Frozen Dead Guy Festival. It looked like an interesting little mountain town.

 I saw a few places I wanted to check out. But the bus wasn't stopping. Maybe next time.

In the evening we celebrated Stacy's birthday at the award-winning Dushanbe Tea House because they serve her favorite, Indian food.

I enjoyed the ginger peach tea.

The unique ceilings,

And the great company.

"This Kid's a Fighter," or "Bloodbath"

Just in case you think wrestlers aren't really that tough, I have to tell you what happened at the 5A-6A State Wrestling Championships this weekend. I assure you that this is a completely unbiased account, because I'm not writing about my own son. I'm talking about his opponent.

Caleb met this kid during Consolation Cross Bracketing on the second day of the tournament. We had heard that he'd broken his hand during the first round the day before. Despite that, he'd gone on to wrestle in the second round quarterfinals, where he lost. I was wondering if he would even show up that next day. A dad from his team told us he already had hand surgery scheduled for the following week. As a mom, I would certainly support saying, "That's the breaks," and bow out of the tournament.

But not this wrestler. He came to the mat, hand bandaged to his wrist. Caleb got a takedown on him, and in an effort to pin him, grabbed his broken hand just as the first round ended. The kid got up, cradling his bandaged hand with his other and grimacing. Caleb started the next round in the "down" position. As the whistle blew, he stood up and got an escape. Unfortunately for his opponent, Caleb's flying elbow connected with his nose, and bloodied it (and possibly broke it. Caleb later showed me a red mark on his tricep. "I think it's from his tooth," he said.).

The kid doubled over, wiped his nose, sat on the mat, then lay back. The refs stopped the match as his coaches and a trainer gathered around him and as the blood cleanup crew stretched on their blue gloves and got to work. We were guessing that he'd taken some blood-thinning painkillers, judging from the free-flowing mess. 

I thought, "OK, this is it. Throw in the towel. There is no way that this kid will continue."

But he came back like a senior wrestling in the last state championship of his high school career. Because he was, and it was. When Caleb took him down another time, he cried out from the pain of landing on his broken hand. As he did, the cotton that the trainers had stuffed in his nose blew out. So they stopped the match for another blood time out.

This time the kid was on bottom. As he tried to escape from Caleb, the cotton blew out again. From our seats halfway up the stands we could clearly see strings of snotty blood hanging from his nose. He swiped it with his good hand as the table workers quickly offered him the trash bucket.

Four workers were required to clean the blood spewed completely across that mat.

Caleb's coach cleaned some blood off Caleb's leg.

And they had a little time to discuss strategy.

In the third period, as Caleb was working to roll him over for a pin, the refs called an injury time out because the kid was obviously in pain. He stood up, got his breath back, and was ready to go agaain.

Altogether, the match was stopped eight times for blood or injury. Each time, I was sure Caleb's opponent would say, "Enough." He never did. And although Caleb worked hard to pin him, he never quite got the job done. The kid lasted all three excruciating rounds. Caleb won the match 10-1.

He wasn't the only winner.