I can always tell when March is in full swing because the same thoughts start popping in my head. Of course, when I first think these thoughts – I forget they are repeats. Then later something or someone will remind me that I said the same thing last year.
So here’s a few – now documented in cyberspace so that next year I can try an entirely new level of laziness where I don’t even have to expend the energy needed to think these things – instead I can just reference a year old blog.
Ide One:
Ide really like to stop sneezing.
March is the time (at least here in North Cackalacky) when the weather starts having violent mood swings. One day it’s cold and rainy. The next day it’s sunny and rocketing into the 70+ degree zone. The next day it’s in the 60’s but so windy you spend the evening traipsing around the neighborhood on a search for items missing from the back porch.
I call this flip-flop weather. Because I can dig out my flip-flops from the bottom of the shoe bin and dust them off AND because Mother Nature flip-flops so often I want to offer her a cocktail to calm her down.
Of course, with the sporadic warm, sunny perfect days – many of us run to our windows and doors and throw them open, letting the stuffy winter air work its way out of the house to be replaced with fresh, new almost-Spring air.
We have a limited timeframe here where we can let the outside in. Before too long, we’ll have to switch the AC on in order to keep our furniture from melting in the heat and humidity.
But like clockwork this means I start sneezing on a regular basis. If I’m really feeling like a go-getter, I also get runny eyes, a headache and a constant need to clear the daily pollen count out of my throat.
None of this motivates me to retreat and shut the windows and doors – for some reason the plus of fresh air wafting through my house outweighs the fact that the breeze is blowing dirty tissues of the coffee table.
Ide Two:
Ide really like to be able to walk across the room without my joints creaking or cracking and without my muscles begging me to sit back down.
March’s arrival means the start of the Spring Tennis Leagues. At the end of every Fall tennis season, I tell myself that I’ll practice through the winter. My group has open practices every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday – so the opportunities are there. But then it starts taking me so long to suit up for practice (long johns, sweats, gloves, hat, neck warmer, two pairs of socks, etc) that my motivation level drops in proportion to the number of layers I’m donning.
And then I start throwing out numbers. Like, okay, I’m not going to play if it’s below 30 degrees. Which I eventually bump up to 35 degrees. Then 40. And soon the whole winter season is shot because I’ve convinced myself that it’s probably not good to play when it’s cold and dark. Or if there is holiday shopping to be done. Or if I might do house projects. Or on days that end in ‘y’.
Before I know it, we are heading into March and signing up for leagues and putting together match schedules.
This is quickly followed by a lot of mornings laced with Advil and double doses of caffeine. And a missing ability to jump out of my chair and do anything quickly because it takes at least twenty steps for my sore legs to respond to any type of direction.
Ide Three:
Ide really like to figure how to beat this whole March Madness thing.
Just yesterday, my pool picks sent out a reverberating *kerplunk* with a large upset (thanks Morehead) and several missed picks (that’s for you PSU, St. John’s… and just about every other team I picked. Really I should blame Charles Barkley. I believed you, dude, when you talked of upsets).
I wondered at some point if anyone in the history of March Madness has ever gone 0 for 32 or if I would be the first.
I can’t tell you how many different modes of picking I’ve done over the years, just hoping to stumble upon something that works. Cutest Mascot? Fail. Alphabetical? Fail. Winning Percentage? Fail. Uniform Color? Fail. Location in relation to the Mason-Dixon Line? Actually, I haven’t tried that – but it does give me an idea for next year. Just doing whatever Sir Charles says? Fail.
Besides the fact that Morehead State beat Louisville, who I had going for a few more rounds…just after the Pool deadline, the biggest rat of all, Coach K, announced that Kyrie Irving was going to be back in the lineup. Nice timing. I suppose you sent a top secret email out much earlier in the day to all your Dookies so you didn’t hurt their Pool chances.
{If you haven’t got a dirty mind, just skip this part. Yeah, so my friend puts on his Facebook that he can’t say ‘Morehead State’ without laughing. Especially since their mascot is the Trojan. It only took me two hours to figure out why that was funny. And then someone suggested it’d be funny if Morehead played Ball State. And then someone else suggested they place Oregon (the Beavers). So, now I can’t say Morehead State without laughing either. Oh – there’s an idea. Dirtiest Team Name.}
Ide Four:
Ide like to stay young at heart forever.
Obviously that always comes up in March since it’s birthday month. T-Minus a week. Really need to dig out that “Things to do in my Thirties” list and get crack-a-lackin.
Hopefully when I do find it, it will say things like: Buy House. Check. Travel like crazy. Check. Raise a lot of money for some good causes. Check. Get to know Raleigh so well you forget you haven’t lived here forever. Check. Make new friends but keep the old. Check. Total one car. Get smaller boobs. Get Lasik. Check, check, check.
And no – I haven’t even started a list for the next decade. Nor will I. I don’t mind the pressure (in fact, if you know me at all you know there’s nothing I like more than an nice organized list. Well, I actually might like spreadsheets more). But sometimes I think when you do put together a list of goals – you focus a bit too much on that and then forget to be proud of the things you’ve done that aren’t on the goal list.
So, there’s your lesson for the day – some of your best achievements may be totally accidental. Just ask my folks…
Ide Five:
Ide like to teach the world to sing. In perfect harmony.
That’s not really on my March Ide list. But for some reason it popped into my head about nine paragraphs ago. And now it’s stuck on a loop, in my head. And now it’ll probably be stuck in yours.
You’re welcome.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
15 Days and Counting
Yesterday I bought myself the first, and I hope last, birthday present for myself. It was new spark plugs for the Cruiser. And a tune-up.
The countdown continues. Granted, most of the world is counting the days to the BIG wedding over in London (note to self: ask boss if I can work from home that day). But for the rest of the world - it's the countdown to my birthday. We are now t-minus two-ish weeks. I'm not sure when the Today show will be around doing its opening segment from my living room - but I probably should get to cleaning before too long.
Yesterday, I had my monthly call with my Health Coach today. My company has offered up free health coaches to anyone who wants to better themselves. I am huge fan of dedicated time during which I get to talk strictly about me - especially when I don't have to pay for it, so obviously I signed up.
So since November, when I was first assigned my coach, I've had a monthly check-in to make sure I was still exercising (yes), still trying to eat right (yes...not so much trying to drink right though - good thing they never ask) and still making goals for myself (yes, and sometimes I keep them).
There really is a point to this, I swear.
One of the security questions you go through to talk the health coaches is your birth date. Yesterday, when my health coach realized exactly what birthday was quickly approaching, he said, "Hey, any birthday that you're still alive for is a good one."
Well, yes, I suppose that is pretty accurate. Thanks, Chris - no wonder you get paid the big bucks.
But it did make me think - exactly how long will I keep up this exercise regiment? Or the watching what I eat routine? Do I get to stop ever? Can it be when I'm 40? Please?
Because I'm sure not turning into a size six at any great speed.
Which I did point out to my health coach. To which he responded, "Well, why do you do it then?"
Trick question Chris! I'm not paying you to make me think about why I want to eat right and work out and try to stay in some sort of shape! You're only supposed to praise me and tell me how fantastic it is that a lady bordering on Cougartown is so active and pseudo-concerned about her health!
Oh, right, I'm not paying you at all.
After hemming and hawing I finally decided it's because it makes me feel good to make a go at taking care of myself. And that because I've been doing some form of exercise my whole life, it feels too weird not to at least do something. Mind you, there are many a days when 'something' ends up being vacuuming. There are also days when 'something' ends up thinking about what I could do (file that under 'it's the thought that counts').
Here's my general schedule (I say general because when I don't follow this routine, I still think I did):
Three times a week I go to the gym at lunch. It's right around the corner from my office. Going there saves me a whole lot of money because if I didn't have that, I'd be on a regular rotation of Target-Ulta-Old Navy-Macys-Homegoods.
Three times a week I play tennis. Mostly doubles, sometimes singles. I definitely should play more singles. I used to play a LOT of singles. But then I realized how much easier it was to have someone on the same side of the net with you to blame for any missed balls.
Now you'd think with all that, I'd be so tiny I'd have to shop in the waif's department. No, not really.
So clearly the only reason I hit the gym so regularly is because I work with a bunch of lunatics and need some mental outlet that doesn't involve picking up my computer and launching it down the emergency exit stairs.
But I didn't want to tell that to my health coach in case he recommended a meeting with a different kind of coach.
My brother just started getting fit. Like a month ago. He stopped eating carbs and started going to the gym. I have no doubt he's lost fifty pounds or so. Jerk.
(Sometimes when I'm writing my blog I realize I've gotten lost in the middle. This just happened. I thought about starting over....but then realized that no matter where I go with this, you'll still think I'm less crazy that Chuck Sheen)
Maybe there is no real reason for me to work out so much. I'm not training for the Olympics. I'm only pretending I'm going to do a 5k someday. Adidas has yet to offer me a sponsorship for my tennis prowess. My washboard stomach remains hidden under God knows what.
Except that it makes me feel good.
Winner.
Okay, well, that wasn't exactly my idea of a 'Hey - you're birthday's pretty soon, so why not treat yourself' gift. But in order to make myself feel better about the sudden downturn in my bank account, that's what I'm telling myself.
I don't know what gene it is that I have that makes me, um, thrifty (oh wait, yes I do, it's from the Mose side). Except that I pour money into savings 'just in case' - and then when 'just in case' arrives I have to twist my own arms to use it. So now instead of being cheered by the thought of NOT having my check engine light flashing me anytime I hop in the car, I'm feeling glum and annoyed.
I, too, would like a tune-up. Takers? No?
Yesterday, I had my monthly call with my Health Coach today. My company has offered up free health coaches to anyone who wants to better themselves. I am huge fan of dedicated time during which I get to talk strictly about me - especially when I don't have to pay for it, so obviously I signed up.
So since November, when I was first assigned my coach, I've had a monthly check-in to make sure I was still exercising (yes), still trying to eat right (yes...not so much trying to drink right though - good thing they never ask) and still making goals for myself (yes, and sometimes I keep them).
There really is a point to this, I swear.
One of the security questions you go through to talk the health coaches is your birth date. Yesterday, when my health coach realized exactly what birthday was quickly approaching, he said, "Hey, any birthday that you're still alive for is a good one."
Well, yes, I suppose that is pretty accurate. Thanks, Chris - no wonder you get paid the big bucks.
But it did make me think - exactly how long will I keep up this exercise regiment? Or the watching what I eat routine? Do I get to stop ever? Can it be when I'm 40? Please?
Because I'm sure not turning into a size six at any great speed.
Which I did point out to my health coach. To which he responded, "Well, why do you do it then?"
Trick question Chris! I'm not paying you to make me think about why I want to eat right and work out and try to stay in some sort of shape! You're only supposed to praise me and tell me how fantastic it is that a lady bordering on Cougartown is so active and pseudo-concerned about her health!
Oh, right, I'm not paying you at all.
After hemming and hawing I finally decided it's because it makes me feel good to make a go at taking care of myself. And that because I've been doing some form of exercise my whole life, it feels too weird not to at least do something. Mind you, there are many a days when 'something' ends up being vacuuming. There are also days when 'something' ends up thinking about what I could do (file that under 'it's the thought that counts').
Here's my general schedule (I say general because when I don't follow this routine, I still think I did):
Three times a week I go to the gym at lunch. It's right around the corner from my office. Going there saves me a whole lot of money because if I didn't have that, I'd be on a regular rotation of Target-Ulta-Old Navy-Macys-Homegoods.
Three times a week I play tennis. Mostly doubles, sometimes singles. I definitely should play more singles. I used to play a LOT of singles. But then I realized how much easier it was to have someone on the same side of the net with you to blame for any missed balls.
Now you'd think with all that, I'd be so tiny I'd have to shop in the waif's department. No, not really.
So clearly the only reason I hit the gym so regularly is because I work with a bunch of lunatics and need some mental outlet that doesn't involve picking up my computer and launching it down the emergency exit stairs.
But I didn't want to tell that to my health coach in case he recommended a meeting with a different kind of coach.
My brother just started getting fit. Like a month ago. He stopped eating carbs and started going to the gym. I have no doubt he's lost fifty pounds or so. Jerk.
(Sometimes when I'm writing my blog I realize I've gotten lost in the middle. This just happened. I thought about starting over....but then realized that no matter where I go with this, you'll still think I'm less crazy that Chuck Sheen)
Maybe there is no real reason for me to work out so much. I'm not training for the Olympics. I'm only pretending I'm going to do a 5k someday. Adidas has yet to offer me a sponsorship for my tennis prowess. My washboard stomach remains hidden under God knows what.
Except that it makes me feel good. About myself.
About my life.
About going back to work after an hour of pushing the limits (or of watching my stories while walking on the treadmill).
It gives my mind time to decompress.
Or time to think through some things.
It makes me feel productive because I can hear my teeny muscles chirping "We're still here! We're still here!"
Plus you never know when you're going to get chased.
Can I imagine myself keeping it up for another decade to the big 5-0? Actually, no. But I'm not going to worry about that right now.
Right now - I'm going to stay content with what I got.
I may not be the size six I clearly deserve to be, but at least I still got skills.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Exit Ahead for Mid-Life Crisis
So, this is the month. The dreaded month.
In just a few weeks, I'll be forty.
I really am going back and forth on how I feel about this.
40 (forty) is the natural number following 39 and preceding 41.
There were a hell of a lot of times in my twenties, for example, where I really didn't think I would make it to 40. My life was too messy and a time that far into the future seemed impossible.
And now, almost there.
Notwithstanding being related to the word "four" (4), 40 is spelled "forty", and not "fourty".
I mean, I'm glad I've made it this far. And I wear most of my battle scars with pride - both the physical and emotional ones. They are testaments to being a fighter even when the last thing I wanted to do was to pick myself up and keep going. Also they are a testament to just about anyone in my family who has given me a kick in the ass as needed (always followed by a hug, of course).
The letters of the word "forty" are in alphabetical order; this is the only number that has this linguistic property in English.
On the other hand, there are certainly a lot of things I'd always assumed I'd have done by forty. Even up to about six months ago, I felt like there was still time to accomplish some things.
Forty is the caliber of the bullet in the .40 S&W handgun cartridge
For sure I thought I'd have been married by now. I think that's the killer one - how'd I get this far without getting hitched? Yeah, I was doing stuff. Yeah, I was living. But then somewhere in there I let that one get away from me. When one of my best buds got hitched last summer, months before her 40th, I thought...okay, I still got time. But I'm going to have to have a love-at-first-sight-fly-to-Vegas experience in the next few weeks to beat the mark. Takers? I'm kind of leaning towards guys with beards these days. FYI.
Forty is the number of years of marriage to the ruby wedding anniversary.
And to follow that up, I thought I'd definitely have at least one kid by now. Instead of continuing to be the coolest babysitter in the southeast. Granted I was never keen on the whole popping a watermelon out my my hooha, that sounds like it might leave a mark. And while I appreciate all the 'just adopt' suggestions, unless they start coming with donations...well, that's kind of not a financial option. Plus I still have that whole 'babies get up early' thing to be afraid of.
Forty is the number of weeks for an average term of pregnancy, counting from the woman’s last cycle.
I was pretty sure that by the time I was forty I'd have an actual career - rather than just a job. But I'm actually not convinced that this is a bad thing. Yes, I could be president of this company or that company or at least on the fast track to the top...but who needs that kind of pressure? I imagine with a career I'd have so much less time for my friends, tennis, pets and family. So I feel pretty good about making a paycheck to pay for my fun. However...a bigger paycheck for more fun would not be turned down. Unless it requires wearing pantyhose.
Forty is the customary number of hours in a regular workweek in some Western countries. The song, "40 Hour Week (For a Livin')" by Alabama (as well as their album, 40-Hour Week), takes its name from the standard workweek length.
On the other hand, I've done a lot over in the last decade that I never could have predicted in my twenties. If you'd asked me ten years ago whether I'd ever travel outside the country, I'd have told you to lay off the drugs. There was no way you'd ever catch this gal on a plane for that long. Or willingly in places where I could get lost without the ability to speak the language. But now I have a long list of countries visited and cultures loved. And I'd hop on a plane tomorrow to just about anywhere in the name of adventure.
Forty is the code for direct dial international phone calls to Romania
This year I'm taking spring break to Burbank, California. I'd never have done that ten years ago. But, hey, you meet someone with a house in Burbank who offers up a bed and an open invitation - you take them up on it.
Interstate 40 is a freeway that runs from California to North Carolina
I do have my own, self-bought townhouse, which I am super proud of. At least that's what I tell myself when I'm sending the check each month. Sure, I always thought my 'first house' would be purchased with Prince William or the like. But I did it myself and I have power tools and can change out lights and saw stuff and paint stuff and unclog toilets and I think that's pretty dang impressive. I mean, if William's more into the Kate type, who am I to judge?
WD-40 is a spray lubricant. 40 is also the number of hours it's probably going to take to paint my kitchen before my 40th birthday party guests arrive.
I never have to fight anyone for the covers. Well any human - there's still the dog and cat to contend with, but they really don't mean to hog the whole bed. I can watch whatever I want on tv, eat when I want, be lazy when I want, get up and go when I want. There is something to be said for life on your own.
Forty winks means a short sleep
Let's face it. Forty is everywhere. I can't hide from it. I can't ignore it. It's a coming.
"40" is a 1983 song by U2 from their album War. Which I saw them sing in concert.
The radio program Rick Dees' Weekly Top 40. Rick Dees started out at 680 WPTF - where I worked many years after - but I did get to meet him there at a reunion.
$40 a Day is the title of the Food Network show. Who spends $40 a day on food? Or does that include cocktails?
Red Dye #40 is the name of the food additive, commonly known as Red 40. This is also know as Red Bull for Kids. In my experience. If you don't believe me, load someone else's kid up with red Kool-Aid. Trust me, if you give it to your own kid, you'll be sorry in eight hours when they are still bouncing off various walls.
40 is the number of thieves in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, from Thousand and One Nights (both the numbers 40 and 1001 are more likely to mean "many" than to indicate a specific number). Wait, what? Does this insinuate I am many years old?
40 percent alcohol by volume is what many distilled alcoholic beverages contain (such as vodka). To quote Charlie Sheen, "Winner!"
UB40 is a form for those claiming unemployment benefits in the United Kingdom. The band UB40 was named after this form. Well, right. Now I feel old.
The M40 is a United States military gas mask. I'm almost 40. And I still think farting is funny. I'm assuming this isn't affecting my single hood in anyway,.
I guess it's just inevitable. It's around the corner.
I may as well dive into it, right?
And continue telling people I'm 27.
I really am going back and forth on how I feel about this.
40 (forty) is the natural number following 39 and preceding 41.
There were a hell of a lot of times in my twenties, for example, where I really didn't think I would make it to 40. My life was too messy and a time that far into the future seemed impossible.
And now, almost there.
Notwithstanding being related to the word "four" (4), 40 is spelled "forty", and not "fourty".
I mean, I'm glad I've made it this far. And I wear most of my battle scars with pride - both the physical and emotional ones. They are testaments to being a fighter even when the last thing I wanted to do was to pick myself up and keep going. Also they are a testament to just about anyone in my family who has given me a kick in the ass as needed (always followed by a hug, of course).
The letters of the word "forty" are in alphabetical order; this is the only number that has this linguistic property in English.
On the other hand, there are certainly a lot of things I'd always assumed I'd have done by forty. Even up to about six months ago, I felt like there was still time to accomplish some things.
Forty is the caliber of the bullet in the .40 S&W handgun cartridge
For sure I thought I'd have been married by now. I think that's the killer one - how'd I get this far without getting hitched? Yeah, I was doing stuff. Yeah, I was living. But then somewhere in there I let that one get away from me. When one of my best buds got hitched last summer, months before her 40th, I thought...okay, I still got time. But I'm going to have to have a love-at-first-sight-fly-to-Vegas experience in the next few weeks to beat the mark. Takers? I'm kind of leaning towards guys with beards these days. FYI.
Forty is the number of years of marriage to the ruby wedding anniversary.
And to follow that up, I thought I'd definitely have at least one kid by now. Instead of continuing to be the coolest babysitter in the southeast. Granted I was never keen on the whole popping a watermelon out my my hooha, that sounds like it might leave a mark. And while I appreciate all the 'just adopt' suggestions, unless they start coming with donations...well, that's kind of not a financial option. Plus I still have that whole 'babies get up early' thing to be afraid of.
Forty is the number of weeks for an average term of pregnancy, counting from the woman’s last cycle.
I was pretty sure that by the time I was forty I'd have an actual career - rather than just a job. But I'm actually not convinced that this is a bad thing. Yes, I could be president of this company or that company or at least on the fast track to the top...but who needs that kind of pressure? I imagine with a career I'd have so much less time for my friends, tennis, pets and family. So I feel pretty good about making a paycheck to pay for my fun. However...a bigger paycheck for more fun would not be turned down. Unless it requires wearing pantyhose.
Forty is the customary number of hours in a regular workweek in some Western countries. The song, "40 Hour Week (For a Livin')" by Alabama (as well as their album, 40-Hour Week), takes its name from the standard workweek length.
On the other hand, I've done a lot over in the last decade that I never could have predicted in my twenties. If you'd asked me ten years ago whether I'd ever travel outside the country, I'd have told you to lay off the drugs. There was no way you'd ever catch this gal on a plane for that long. Or willingly in places where I could get lost without the ability to speak the language. But now I have a long list of countries visited and cultures loved. And I'd hop on a plane tomorrow to just about anywhere in the name of adventure.
Forty is the code for direct dial international phone calls to Romania
This year I'm taking spring break to Burbank, California. I'd never have done that ten years ago. But, hey, you meet someone with a house in Burbank who offers up a bed and an open invitation - you take them up on it.
Interstate 40 is a freeway that runs from California to North Carolina
I do have my own, self-bought townhouse, which I am super proud of. At least that's what I tell myself when I'm sending the check each month. Sure, I always thought my 'first house' would be purchased with Prince William or the like. But I did it myself and I have power tools and can change out lights and saw stuff and paint stuff and unclog toilets and I think that's pretty dang impressive. I mean, if William's more into the Kate type, who am I to judge?
WD-40 is a spray lubricant. 40 is also the number of hours it's probably going to take to paint my kitchen before my 40th birthday party guests arrive.
I never have to fight anyone for the covers. Well any human - there's still the dog and cat to contend with, but they really don't mean to hog the whole bed. I can watch whatever I want on tv, eat when I want, be lazy when I want, get up and go when I want. There is something to be said for life on your own.
Forty winks means a short sleep
Let's face it. Forty is everywhere. I can't hide from it. I can't ignore it. It's a coming.
"40" is a 1983 song by U2 from their album War. Which I saw them sing in concert.
The radio program Rick Dees' Weekly Top 40. Rick Dees started out at 680 WPTF - where I worked many years after - but I did get to meet him there at a reunion.
$40 a Day is the title of the Food Network show. Who spends $40 a day on food? Or does that include cocktails?
Red Dye #40 is the name of the food additive, commonly known as Red 40. This is also know as Red Bull for Kids. In my experience. If you don't believe me, load someone else's kid up with red Kool-Aid. Trust me, if you give it to your own kid, you'll be sorry in eight hours when they are still bouncing off various walls.
40 is the number of thieves in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, from Thousand and One Nights (both the numbers 40 and 1001 are more likely to mean "many" than to indicate a specific number). Wait, what? Does this insinuate I am many years old?
40 percent alcohol by volume is what many distilled alcoholic beverages contain (such as vodka). To quote Charlie Sheen, "Winner!"
UB40 is a form for those claiming unemployment benefits in the United Kingdom. The band UB40 was named after this form. Well, right. Now I feel old.
The M40 is a United States military gas mask. I'm almost 40. And I still think farting is funny. I'm assuming this isn't affecting my single hood in anyway,.
I guess it's just inevitable. It's around the corner.
I may as well dive into it, right?
And continue telling people I'm 27.
Friday, February 25, 2011
I'm a great runner. If it's away from my problems.
I just realized I should write about my running career. Because clearly, it's not going last long, so I should use it to fill up some blog space while I can.
Here's the deal.
I always wanted to be a runner. Not like a track star or hurdler or whatever. I just wanted to be one of those people who could throw on a pair of sneakers, go out and run a few miles and then come back looking all refreshed and exercised. The idea of only needing a pair of sneakers and a boob bounce house to get a full workout is just appealing to me. Like, if I were going on a trip, I could just throw some sneakers in my bag and know that I'd be able to work out everyday.
The glitch in this pipe dream? I hate running.
So every year for as long as I've been going to gyms - I've run a mile in January, just to say I can, and then move on to my usual machines like the Elliptical, Bike, Stair Climber, etc..
Now, don't get me wrong - I have no problem breaking a dang good sweat and feeling the pain that comes with a good workout. I love it - that exhausted wave of accomplishment. It's not that I'm lazy or afraid of pit stains.
It's just that many of the times I've tried running I've gotten really confused as to why the Clydesdales were following me down the street. Only to realize the noise I was hearing was, um, me.
So, every January, I put in a mile and call it a year.
Last year - I actually thought I'd gotten a permanent pass to running. I'd jacked up my hip pretty good and had to take six months off of just about everything. When I was getting back into tennis and the gym, I decided to run a bit. The next day my hip hurt like ass. So I just KNEW I had a free pass FOREVER! Except I discovered a few months ago that it was actually the lunges I'd done on that same day that made my hip hurt.
This year, I thought, why not? Why not do something totally stupid? And using my magic phone, I downloaded the C25K app. Know what that is?
Couch 2 5k.
Supposedly, this magic app is going to take me from my most favorite spot in the world (the couch) to being able to run in a 5k (hell). I have no idea why I thought this was a good idea - except, I love apps and the whole program only takes 9 weeks or so, and I figured, "Yeah, I got 9 weeks."
It guides you super slowly towards finding your 'inner runner' with lots of walking and a few quick jogs thrown in. I finally got it, I thought, if I run really tiny amounts of time, I don't hate it as much. A minute here, a minute there...totally feasible.
Then the jogs started to increase and the walks started to decrease. Suspicious.
Today when I looked at the schedule, it said I was supposed to run for 20 minutes straight.
Which makes today the first day that I ignored the scheduled activity and went to the next one which seemed easier.
The real hiccup actually came Wednesday.
For five weeks, C25K has given me a weekly workout - you do the same combo of walking/running three days during a week. The next week it moves to a little more running and then a little more the next week, etc.
Sunday, it was the first workout of Week 5 - three five minutes runs. I managed.
Wednesday was the second workout of Week 5. Should have been exactly the same. Except as I'm on the treadmill I notice my app timer says 8:00min. Hello?
As I was tripping over my feet and hyperventilating trying to figure out how I could have possibly skipped ahead to an 8 minute week, I realized I was still on Week 5. Workout 2.
C25K had bamboozled me.
And now I was running slow enough to be considered backwards as I got my breath, wits and feet back in order.
I won't fall for that again. Today, before I even went to the gym, I checked the daily workout - hence the discovery of the 20 minutes run. That I skipped.
Instead opting for run five minutes, walk three, run eight, walk three and run five which in reality turns out to be more than 20 minutes of 'doing' yet didn't send me over any sweat soaked ledges.
Some highlights of my short running career:
* Week 3, Day 2 ~ forgot underwear and had to go commando. Didn't mind it.
* Week 4, Day 1 ~ as I was running I felt something on the back of my leg. It was a knee high that had static clung to the inside of my running shorts and was now working its way out.
* Week 5, Day 1 ~ after doubling up on Bounce sheets should not have been surprised to find one on the towel I was using to wipe the sweat from my brow.
* Realizing (after reading about running) that I are not supposed to be panting like an elephant in heat. And being happy that I could lower the speed at which I was running.
* Forbidding myself from studying other runners to see if their form looks good in an effort to imitate them.
* Crossing the mile mark.
* Crossing the mile and a half mark.
* Crossing the two mile mark.
* Crossing the two and a half mile mark. Today.
I really do want to make it to three miles. Just not sure if it will ever be in one whole shot.
Everyone talks about getting in some zone where they don't even notice how long they've been going. I have that zone. Except it only appears at nap time. Or bars.
So, stay tuned. The next update you see may be about actually running a 5k. The more likely event will be a list of excuses as to why it's okay NOT to be a runner. Which I can then follow up with reason it's okay that I'm still single.
Here's the deal.
I always wanted to be a runner. Not like a track star or hurdler or whatever. I just wanted to be one of those people who could throw on a pair of sneakers, go out and run a few miles and then come back looking all refreshed and exercised. The idea of only needing a pair of sneakers and a boob bounce house to get a full workout is just appealing to me. Like, if I were going on a trip, I could just throw some sneakers in my bag and know that I'd be able to work out everyday.
The glitch in this pipe dream? I hate running.
So every year for as long as I've been going to gyms - I've run a mile in January, just to say I can, and then move on to my usual machines like the Elliptical, Bike, Stair Climber, etc..
Now, don't get me wrong - I have no problem breaking a dang good sweat and feeling the pain that comes with a good workout. I love it - that exhausted wave of accomplishment. It's not that I'm lazy or afraid of pit stains.
It's just that many of the times I've tried running I've gotten really confused as to why the Clydesdales were following me down the street. Only to realize the noise I was hearing was, um, me.
So, every January, I put in a mile and call it a year.
Last year - I actually thought I'd gotten a permanent pass to running. I'd jacked up my hip pretty good and had to take six months off of just about everything. When I was getting back into tennis and the gym, I decided to run a bit. The next day my hip hurt like ass. So I just KNEW I had a free pass FOREVER! Except I discovered a few months ago that it was actually the lunges I'd done on that same day that made my hip hurt.
This year, I thought, why not? Why not do something totally stupid? And using my magic phone, I downloaded the C25K app. Know what that is?
Couch 2 5k.
Supposedly, this magic app is going to take me from my most favorite spot in the world (the couch) to being able to run in a 5k (hell). I have no idea why I thought this was a good idea - except, I love apps and the whole program only takes 9 weeks or so, and I figured, "Yeah, I got 9 weeks."
It guides you super slowly towards finding your 'inner runner' with lots of walking and a few quick jogs thrown in. I finally got it, I thought, if I run really tiny amounts of time, I don't hate it as much. A minute here, a minute there...totally feasible.
Then the jogs started to increase and the walks started to decrease. Suspicious.
Today when I looked at the schedule, it said I was supposed to run for 20 minutes straight.
Which makes today the first day that I ignored the scheduled activity and went to the next one which seemed easier.
The real hiccup actually came Wednesday.
For five weeks, C25K has given me a weekly workout - you do the same combo of walking/running three days during a week. The next week it moves to a little more running and then a little more the next week, etc.
Sunday, it was the first workout of Week 5 - three five minutes runs. I managed.
Wednesday was the second workout of Week 5. Should have been exactly the same. Except as I'm on the treadmill I notice my app timer says 8:00min. Hello?
As I was tripping over my feet and hyperventilating trying to figure out how I could have possibly skipped ahead to an 8 minute week, I realized I was still on Week 5. Workout 2.
C25K had bamboozled me.
And now I was running slow enough to be considered backwards as I got my breath, wits and feet back in order.
I won't fall for that again. Today, before I even went to the gym, I checked the daily workout - hence the discovery of the 20 minutes run. That I skipped.
Instead opting for run five minutes, walk three, run eight, walk three and run five which in reality turns out to be more than 20 minutes of 'doing' yet didn't send me over any sweat soaked ledges.
Some highlights of my short running career:
* Week 3, Day 2 ~ forgot underwear and had to go commando. Didn't mind it.
* Week 4, Day 1 ~ as I was running I felt something on the back of my leg. It was a knee high that had static clung to the inside of my running shorts and was now working its way out.
* Week 5, Day 1 ~ after doubling up on Bounce sheets should not have been surprised to find one on the towel I was using to wipe the sweat from my brow.
* Realizing (after reading about running) that I are not supposed to be panting like an elephant in heat. And being happy that I could lower the speed at which I was running.
* Forbidding myself from studying other runners to see if their form looks good in an effort to imitate them.
* Crossing the mile mark.
* Crossing the mile and a half mark.
* Crossing the two mile mark.
* Crossing the two and a half mile mark. Today.
I really do want to make it to three miles. Just not sure if it will ever be in one whole shot.
Everyone talks about getting in some zone where they don't even notice how long they've been going. I have that zone. Except it only appears at nap time. Or bars.
So, stay tuned. The next update you see may be about actually running a 5k. The more likely event will be a list of excuses as to why it's okay NOT to be a runner. Which I can then follow up with reason it's okay that I'm still single.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Now THAT's a Friendship
There's no reason to share this with you - BUT - I feel you should know that 99% of the time I start blogging, I hear Doogie Howser music in my head. And then I wonder if other blog-people hear it too. Which then makes me think of "How I Met Your Mother," and how much I love Neil Patrick Harris.
Onward.
After a rather gloomy post last week, I thought some smiles may be necessary.
So, I'm totally flaking out and stealing an email from a friend...(and of course will add my own thoughts).
1. When you are sad ~ I will help you get drunk and plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad. (Right off the top, we have a favorite of mine - The Revenge Plot. Hours of time spent thinking about the bad things that could accidentally happen to someone who has done you wrong. And, in rare cases, following through on brilliant ideas. One of my best was dousing the insides of a newly-ex-boyfriend's stereo speakers with catnip. Man, he loved those speakers. Man, the cat did a job on them.)
2. When you are blue ~ I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you. (Actually, I'm not much of a 'helper' when it comes to health emergencies. I'm more likely to sidle away and hope that you pass out and forget I was even there. I will, however, do my best to find someone else to help you. And when I retell the story of what happened, I will be the star.)
3 When you smile ~ I will know you are thinking of something that I would probably want to be involved in. (Because a true friend knows the difference between a smile, a sinister smile, a leer, an I-just-farted grin, a fake smile, a trying-not-cry smile and the I-know-it's-not-appropriate-to-smile-and-I'm-trying-so-hard-not-to smile.)
4. When you are scared - I will rag on you about it every chance I get, until you're NOT. (The truth in that is sometimes making someone feel incredibly stupid about their worries is the best way to make them go away. I'm all for that. However, when working in reverse, please remember that I just prefer a good coddling.)
5. When you are worried - I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be, until you quit whining. (This is actually the only time EVER that a one-upper friend is useful. You know the kind - the friend who always has a more dramatic, more tragic, more worse story than your own. So much so that you eventually just start making tragedies up to see if she can do better?)
6. When you are confused ~ I will try to use only little words. (Also useful if alcohol consumption peaks)
7. When you are sick - Stay the hell away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have.
(Unless it's that 48 hour bug where you throw up a lot and lose ten pounds. Then I want it. Otherwise I'll be happy to leave drugs on your doorstep. Or toast in your mailbox.)
8. When you fall ~ I will laugh at your clumsy ass, but I'll help you up. (And apply band aids as needed - perhaps lots of them. I will definitely wait to laugh until I'm sure you're okay. Or at least until the crying has subsided. But I'll definitely sit in the ER if needed and try to pick up random doctors while you're getting swathed. Actually (and this is irrelevant) the gal who sent me this was also the one who, after her second day of work with me, got to bandage ME up. I had sprained both ankles and had blood pouring down my legs when I showed up in her new office and said, "Um...do we have a band aid?" At which time she scanned my wounds and said, "Yeah, this is going to take more than a band aid so how about you just meet me in the bathroom." Great friends ever since.)
9. This is my oath .... I pledge it to the end. 'Why?' you may ask ~ because you are my friend. (And if you are really my friend - you have seen me at my absolute worst - and you didn't run for the hills. Either you are a total sucker or a true friend. Or you know that eventually I'll pick myself up and laugh again and you are just waiting to hear it.)
Thursday, February 10, 2011
For Susan
Last night, I had just gotten word through the grapevine that Susan Lynn had died. I trudged off to dinner with friends putting it in the 'that sucks' compartment of my brain and planned to really think about it later.
So I sat down with my buddy - whom I know through tennis - and about the third sentence out of her mouth was, "...and then I found out that Susan Lynn died this morning...".
It was one of those moments where you should think, "Oh wow - she knew Susan, too?" but what comes instead is "Well, of course she knew Susan. Everybody did."
Susan Lynn was one of those rarities in Raleigh - as she was actually from Raleigh. Went to Ravenscroft. Went to St. Mary's. Was super active in the community. And then her life came to a numbing halt when she was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia last year.
The strange thing is - I've never actually met Susan. We crossed into many of the same circles - most notably our time in the Raleigh Jaycees - and shared many common friends. We just never actually met. And yet I feel like I knew her from all the stories of the last several months. But don't waste your worries on me - I'm fine - my sadness lies with the wishing that I had known Susan. Send your worries to those who did.
I was pulling hard for her - especially when her treatment in Texas started to turn. She'd gone to Texas last year to be part of a research program - hoping that would offer the magic she needed to beat this thing.
Last year, a benefit concert was thrown in her honor here in Raleigh. I went - thinking I'd just drop in. I wasn't very sure I'd even know anyone there. Instead it was like a reunion - people everywhere screeching out with excitement as they ran into friends they hadn't seen in years. Myself included.
And the circles it crossed - friends from the Jaycees, friends from tennis, friends from work, friends from former jobs. It was really amazing to see all these people that typically lived in separate areas of my life all gathered together because of one person. If you want to see someones character - look at their friends.
Of course they knew Susan Lynn. Everybody did.
And while that night energized the heck out of us - naive as we were to think that a simple fundraiser would be just the ticket to curing her disease - it didn't make the leukemia go away. So most of us moved onto other things, while sending a continuous string of positive vibes to Texas.
While I do feel bummed that Susan has passed, I am more saddened by what her family and close friends are going through. To have someone call a halt to treatment to spend their remaining days under Carolina Blue Skies - knowing what this means - must be heart breaking.
My hope is that they realize how many lives Susan did touch - sort of a pay-it-forward thing - as her energy worked its way through Raleigh. She gave us a common goal - to will her to good health. And now she's given us another - to pray for her family and friends to find strength when they probably thought they were all out.
Susan Lynn - you are missed.
A requiem mass will be held for Susan on Friday, February 11, 2010, at 2 PM at St. George's Anglican Church, located at 1210 Dixie Trail in Raleigh, NC. The family will receive friends and family immediately following the service in the parish hall.
Susan is survived by her parents, Jean S. and Clabe W. Lynn; her sister, Chloe Lynn; and numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins.
In lieu of flowers, please make contributions in memory of Susan to either the North Carolina Chapter of Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (401 Harrison Oaks Blvd., Suite 200, Cary, NC 27513) or St. George's Anglican Church, 1210 Dixie Trail, Raleigh, NC 27607.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
All-Star Review
When I threw caution to the wind ten years ago and moved to North Carolina - there was some culture shock to say the least. After spending about eight months living with Mom & Dad, they sent me packing for the big city of Raleigh. As a 'just outside Philadelphia' transplant, I initially spent a whole lot of time looking for the 'big' part of the 'big city'.
I did find it - and fell in love with it.
The thing about Raleigh is that while it is one of our state's big cities (hey, it's the state capitol, after all) - it has a very small town vibe.
It is easy to get around - and easy to get unlost if you should you find yourself in unfamiliar territory. Traffic exists, but on a scale where it is not extremely annoying or dreadful. And on the days when it is - it serves as a reminder to how easy most days are.
One of my first quandaries upon moving here was why no matter where I went were complete strangers smiling at me - if not starting a full blown conversation. It felt funny. And stalkerish. I wasn't used to having sales associates follow me around stores wanting to help. I was used to them standing next to the register with a cell phone to their ear and a look in their eyes that said, 'don't you dare interrupt this phone call to my boo'.
And, of course - there is the weather. I won't point out TOO much on that end as I know three quarters of our nation is currently under some sort of winter weather debacle (SnOMG 2011) while we sit here watching the temps climb up to the 70's. I won't dwell too much on the fact that I came to work today sans coat while wearing a skirt, sleeveless shirt and short-sleeved cardigan. It wouldn't be right to throw that in.
Yes, I do love my city. I'm wrapped up in glee for Raleigh right now because we just put on a show like no other.
When most folks think of hockey in the south - it's with a shrug and a 'oh yeah...right...'. Unless you actually live here. Then you know that hockey is not so much a game, but an event. Every time. Here, hockey means arriving at the arena hours before the game for some serious tailgating before you wrap yourself up in your warm clothes to go inside. Attendance isn't dependant on how well the team is doing - it's only dependant on whether or not you have a ticket.
And when Raleigh opens its doors to the world - we do it in style. I'd been waiting so long for All Star Weekend to arrive - and when it finally did...it was beyond my expectations. I somehow missed at least two of the items on my punch list (going to the actual indoor portion of Fan Fair and hitting the North Hills area where all the players were staying).
What I did spend a lot of time doing was talking to people not from here. Mostly from California, actually. Who seemed relatively confused at the friendliness of their Raleigh Hosts. I heard many times about how everybody talks to everybody - confusing guests into a thinking pattern of, "Wait...do I know this person? I must know them. No, I don't think I do. This is weird."
The All Star events themselves were a huge hit - including the newly conceived live player draft to determine the teams. There was the first free concert of the year - smack in the middle of town at the new amphitheatre. And a way-out-of-the-usual-summer-schedule of Raleigh Wide Open - turning the main street into a carnival type atmosphere.
So what makes Raleigh big? It's definitely not the size of the population. It's not our public transportation system or our skyline (we have a lack of tall buildings). It's certainly not our airport - which I absolutely adore due to the ease of navigation. We have a few claims to fame, but it's not like George Washington himself slept on a mountain a few miles away.
What makes Raleigh big is its heart. It's a city that welcomes everyone with a smile and is willing to give. It's a city that never listens to folks who claim it can't put on an event like the All Star game. It's a city that thrives on supporting it's own - whether it's in sports or the arts or research.
I'm not suggesting y'all pack up your things and move down here - we surely don't want a crowd. Although I can certainly understand why you'd want to - especially if you live in one of the three dozens states having winter today.
And if you do, know that we are pretty damn proud after our recent showing.
We'll expect you to jump right in and feel at home - and let the Raleigh-ness seep into your blood. We'll expect you to talk to strangers and offer a helping hand to people you just met.
But, I promise - you'll love it.
I did find it - and fell in love with it.
The thing about Raleigh is that while it is one of our state's big cities (hey, it's the state capitol, after all) - it has a very small town vibe.
It is easy to get around - and easy to get unlost if you should you find yourself in unfamiliar territory. Traffic exists, but on a scale where it is not extremely annoying or dreadful. And on the days when it is - it serves as a reminder to how easy most days are.
One of my first quandaries upon moving here was why no matter where I went were complete strangers smiling at me - if not starting a full blown conversation. It felt funny. And stalkerish. I wasn't used to having sales associates follow me around stores wanting to help. I was used to them standing next to the register with a cell phone to their ear and a look in their eyes that said, 'don't you dare interrupt this phone call to my boo'.
And, of course - there is the weather. I won't point out TOO much on that end as I know three quarters of our nation is currently under some sort of winter weather debacle (SnOMG 2011) while we sit here watching the temps climb up to the 70's. I won't dwell too much on the fact that I came to work today sans coat while wearing a skirt, sleeveless shirt and short-sleeved cardigan. It wouldn't be right to throw that in.
Yes, I do love my city. I'm wrapped up in glee for Raleigh right now because we just put on a show like no other.
And when Raleigh opens its doors to the world - we do it in style. I'd been waiting so long for All Star Weekend to arrive - and when it finally did...it was beyond my expectations. I somehow missed at least two of the items on my punch list (going to the actual indoor portion of Fan Fair and hitting the North Hills area where all the players were staying).
What I did spend a lot of time doing was talking to people not from here. Mostly from California, actually. Who seemed relatively confused at the friendliness of their Raleigh Hosts. I heard many times about how everybody talks to everybody - confusing guests into a thinking pattern of, "Wait...do I know this person? I must know them. No, I don't think I do. This is weird."And the Carolina Blue sky brought most of the activities outside - including an extended tailgating session before the Skills Challenge and the big game. While I didn't make it to either of these, my co-worker was apparently accosted by several Canadians trying to understand what was happening. Of course, his answer was to give them a beer and invite them to the party, which sent them further into a stymied tailspin.
Equally flustered was a visitor who watched while I offered to hold a man's tiny dog so he could escort his tot to the rest room. The question I got was, "Wait, you don't actually know that guy?" "No," I replied, "but how could he manage a dog and a kid in a port-o-potty?" "Yeah," the visitor said, "But where I live, you probably only would have done that because you wanted to steal the dog."
Please. First of all - everybody needs some spontaneous doggy kisses at some point. And second, a Dachshund hardly counts as a dog.
Around the corner was a Snow Zone - where snow was being blown into a pile for kids to romp in. Beyond that, our outdoor skating rink. Rockefeller Center? Who needs it? Seems much smarter to live somewhere warm enough to sled without a jacket or ice skate without thirty two layers and a fear of the pond cracking.
While the rest of America spent the weekend preparing for feet of incoming snow, we were making do with an imported sledding hill.
Around the corner was a Snow Zone - where snow was being blown into a pile for kids to romp in. Beyond that, our outdoor skating rink. Rockefeller Center? Who needs it? Seems much smarter to live somewhere warm enough to sled without a jacket or ice skate without thirty two layers and a fear of the pond cracking.
The All Star events themselves were a huge hit - including the newly conceived live player draft to determine the teams. There was the first free concert of the year - smack in the middle of town at the new amphitheatre. And a way-out-of-the-usual-summer-schedule of Raleigh Wide Open - turning the main street into a carnival type atmosphere.
So what makes Raleigh big? It's definitely not the size of the population. It's not our public transportation system or our skyline (we have a lack of tall buildings). It's certainly not our airport - which I absolutely adore due to the ease of navigation. We have a few claims to fame, but it's not like George Washington himself slept on a mountain a few miles away.
What makes Raleigh big is its heart. It's a city that welcomes everyone with a smile and is willing to give. It's a city that never listens to folks who claim it can't put on an event like the All Star game. It's a city that thrives on supporting it's own - whether it's in sports or the arts or research.
And if you do, know that we are pretty damn proud after our recent showing.
We'll expect you to jump right in and feel at home - and let the Raleigh-ness seep into your blood. We'll expect you to talk to strangers and offer a helping hand to people you just met.
But, I promise - you'll love it.
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