The goal of sports training is to apply stress to the body and elicit supercompensation—a refilling of the well of energy, as it were, but with the well getting fuller than it was before. It's like pruning a fruit tree so that it grows back more productive. You stress, rest, and become stronger.

Ad Hoc

We are in California, spending a few days in Napa before heading up to Lake Tahoe for Wes's sister's wedding. Tuesday was a very busy day, with the flight out; navigating SFO; a delicious late lunch at the Sausalito Taco Shop; a precipitous drive up to and down from Muir Woods; a hike through the park there, which was filled with Europeans, apparently taking advantage of the dollar's weakness; and finally the drive to Napa, during which the rental car GPS and I disagreed vehemently several times yet finally learned to get along, prompting a family discussion about the importance of admitting when you are wrong. The last few minutes of the drive were enhanced by listening to my brother, John Hamilton, host the 6:00 news live on KPFA.

Walking home from school, Lily asked me if I knew what a triangular prism looked like.

I didn't make it to Gears and Cheers last year (although I do my best to reenact the combination every weekend) but I hope to enjoy the ride this year. For more on the 25- and 40-mile ride options (or nonriding option!), look here on ActiveZach.

We enjoyed a family vacation to New York City—Vivi's first time on a plane—last weekend. The girls enjoyed the uptown sights (some cell-phone pictures here), and Wes and I had a great meal at Aix, a Provencal-influenced restaurant with Chapel Hill ties. The short list—only four items sold—at Una Pizza Napoletana (pizza with sauce, pizza without sauce; pizza with cheese, pizza without cheese) thawed my usual choice paralysis. The girls' favorite thing, apart from the Central Park Zoo: riding in a taxi (Viv) and a "service car" (car service, Lily), sans child seats or even seatbelts. Taking a cue from triathlon body marking, we wrote our cell numbers and the address of our apartment on the girls' arms using a Sharpie!

With Lily at her grandparents' on spring break, we told Vivi we'd take her out to a fancy restaurant. We had a picture-perfect evening at Provence, dining al fresco and enjoying a great meal. After some initial hesitation because they didn't have their shells on (as she's accustomed to), Vivi even enjoyed the escargots. The maître d' was impressed.

After a long weekend of eating (not one, but TWO Thanksgiving meals) and food-related tension (vegans vs. carnivores: the showdown), I cooked a basic pot roast last night. While looking up the recipe, I noticed a simple recipe for lush, puddingy hot chocolate, like they make in Europe, the kind characters in eighteenth-century novels enjoy. So when the girls started their nightly litany ("Cam I have something to dessert?" —Vivi; "Did I eat enough for, you know, D-E-S-S-E-R-T?" —Lily), I capitulated.

Holy cup of chocolate. We drink a lot of hot chocolate, but words can't describe how good this was. Simple, simple: cream, chocolate, a little sugar, and a marshmallow toasted on the burner. Together: whoa. The girls ran through every superlative they could think of. Wes scarfed it down, grunted, and fell into a chocolate coma on the couch. I just kept shaking my head as I scraped my tiny mug clean.

It's the perfect illustration of the epigraph for this blog. Talking about the hot chocolate makes it even better.

If you want to experience it yourself, it's worth buying the whole cookbook, Sarah Foster's Fresh Every Day. The pot roast wasn't bad, either.

The girls and I got amazing gourmet cupcakes from Bittycakes at the Farmer's Market. Such a treat, sweet, light, and individual-portion-sized, they were packaged separately in Chinese take-out boxes, which greatly enhanced the girls' experience as they carried their packages home. The baker's Web site shows a brilliant approach to eating them: the cupcake sandwich.

You Are a Plain Ole Cup of Joe

But don't think plain - instead think, uncomplicated You're a low maintenance kind of girl... who can hang with the guys Down to earth, easy going, and fun! Yup, that's you: the friend everyone invites. And you're dependable too. Both for a laugh and a sympathetic ear.

Huh. I do drink my coffee black. But I don't consider myself low maintenance! Thought I'd get the same answer as Pica: double espresso.

Vivi's coming down with a cold and had a crummy day. Hot chocolate to the rescue!