I tore the house apart yesterday looking for my heart-rate monitor and came up with nothing. Then I mentioned to my husband that I was looking for it, and he walked over to a drawer and emerged with it 10 seconds later. The strap anyway. I still don't know where the watch is, and neither does the amazing magical genie spouse.
I took my bike into the shop this morning and am getting an 11/27 put on. I hope that's sufficient. I really had no basis for deciding whether that would be easy enough or if I would need a third chainring, so I went with the simplest and cheapest option. At any rate, it will help. I was counting my pedal strokes per minute last time I climbed the Molt hill, and I got as low as 35. If this keeps me above 60 or so, I'll be delighted.
While I was tearing the house apart, I found an empty little datebook that will be perfect for planning out my training weeks. I have Week 1 filled in and it looks pretty easy, so I went ahead and planned on three yoga classes. It's ridiculous how many variables go into planning a week: weather forecast, gym schedule, workload predictions, kids' schedules, spacing out the easier days evenly, and—yes, I admit shamefacedly—putting my long run on "Project Runway" night. You didn't expect me to sacrifice for this goal, did you?