Rainy ride and recent movies

I've found that the week post-triathlon, each time, has been a bit of a downer. The other day I resolved to kick off the latter half of the week with what would hopefully be a restorative bike ride at sun-up. So off I went on my first ride since Sunday's hilly atrocity. It was a lovely morning, and the sky was brightening with the ascending sun, and I passed my old boss's house and she was out on her driveway with her dog, so we waved.

Not 5 seconds later, I noticed some water on the sidewalk ahead, which is not unusual due to sprinklers, but then I noticed sprinkles all over the lake, and I thought to myself, "Wow, they must have gotten a bigger sprinkler!" Then I realized that it was pouring down rain. Whoa! It was kind of shocking at first because I couldn't really see, but I said, "Self, eyelids are the original windshield wipers. You can make this work!" So I just started blinking rapidly and somehow kept most of the water out of my eyes. I had to slow down, obviously, but what was I going to do, pull over and just stand there holding my bike in the rain? Soon I was soaked to the skin, my shoes filled up with water, and I could feel the dirt splashing up on my seat, shorts, shirt, and even helmet from the back tire. It was kind of crazy.

I could not help but laugh; there were a ton of runners out, and everyone seemed sort of amused, shrugging at each other and smiling as we passed. The best part was how the ducks climbed out of the woodwork to take over the rapidly filling puddles, splashing and ducking their entire heads in the water and pulling them out and shaking them off and then nosediving right back in. It was a total Disney movie. The sun was still shining, so everything was kind of shiny and sparkly and lovely. Eventually I made it home, sloshing inside and realizing the entire back of my body and clothing was caked in sandy wet black dirt. Good times!

Misc.: Sometimes I make little notes to myself about things and can't remember their origin. Like, I just found one that says "Mr. Blue Sky. ELO." I really, really like this song! But where did first hear it, and what made me look it up? No memory of this whatsoever. (A little later...) I remember now! I was reading one of the trailer tournament posts at Low Resolution and heard it in the trailer for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Great movie, great song.

And now a quick recap of movies I've seen recently:

Funny People

I always enjoy seeing movies with my little brother because he laughs big and he laughs often, which makes me laugh, too. Overall, this movie is kind of strange. It's funny and depressing. I liked all of the actors, but I wasn't crazy about the characters. Leslie Mann was really good, and Eric Bana was so funny I might have been kind of in shock. It's way too long, but it's got good parts. Wow, I am a terrible movie reviewer!

500 Days of Summer

Mostly, I liked it. I liked the music, and the actors were totally winning. I was a little annoyed by the aglow in the sunshine shots, you know what I mean? But I thought the end was very true to life. And the Hall and Oates dancing scene was perfection to me.

Julie and Julia

I understand that Julie was supposed to be living a blah life, but I will never understand why they had to de-glamourize Amy Adams to such an absurd degree in this role. I guess they had to try extra hard to dim her natural radiance (I am serious), but it was so overboard that I just wanted to shake Julie by the shoulders and say, "How can you expect to be happy with hair and clothes like that?" That said, clearly Meryl Streep was beyond amazing and so delightful that the movie made me feel a little floaty. It was a fun one to see with my mom, who LOVED IT. I caught some Julia Child reruns on PBS later that week, and she really was so astonishing to watch. "And now I shall give my chicken a BUTTER MASSAGE!" I thought Meryl Streep might be playing her over the top, but it turns out that's how she really was. A movie all about Julia would have probably been better, but I understand why they set it up the way that they did and that Julie's side of the story was the whole impetus for the film, that her blog was a brilliant idea, and that the actual real-life Julie is probably a lot less dishwatery than the film version. Overall: thumbs up.

17 Again

I thought the Efron factor would be enough to make this a good movie. I was very wrong. There is nothing good about this movie. Zac was so fantastic as Link in Hairspray, but everything about Hairspray was so glorious and perfect that perhaps I overestimated his personal greatness. To beat a dead horse, I still think he'd make a better Ren McCormack than Chace Crawford.

I Love You, Man

I have loved Jason Segel since he was Nick Andopolis (scroll to 2:50), and Paul Rudd can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned. I liked this movie, but I didn't love it. Rashida Jones is a very natural and likable actress. The guys were very funny. Anything featuring J.K. Simmons gets a good grade from me, usually, and I also really like Andy Samberg. My affection for the movie deepened greatly when watching the special features, which were hilarious and totally worth watching. Without those, this movie mainly made me want to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall so I could see Paul Rudd as Kunu and Jason Segel as Peepyopee.

The Class

Well. This movie is way better than any of those others. It is in a (pardon me) class by itself. Every moment is brutally and beautifully authentic, every actor is pitch perfect, from the adults to the children, it is like watching a documentary, it is like watching real life, and I loved it. The behind the scenes features about the backstory and creation of the film were fascinating. I cannot stop thinking about this movie. It is something special.

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day:

This is a movie I just keep re-watching over and over again. Thanks to Kymm for passing along this (spoilery) review, which wonderfully captures the greatness of the film and describes perfectly the joy and love it causes to surge through one's heart. (The clip to one of my favorite scenes is broken in the review, so try this one, if interested ... it's not super quality, but it's the only clip I could find.) Love, love, love. I could not love this movie more. It is pure magic.)

Triathlon report

The fourth and final triathlon of the series was not a triathlon after all. More on that in a bit.

After a long day of visiting with family and traveling to New Orleans, I was sound asleep by 10 the night before the triathlon, only to be awakened by the boys next-door having an impromptu patio concert a little past midnight. Ah, college boys and their guitars. I was able to get back to sleep, out of which I was jolted by the strummy strummy ringtone of the 3:30 cell phone alarm. Somehow I was alert enough to make a peanut butter sandwich and get all of my things together. My friends picked me up at 4:30, and we hit the road in the darkness, listening to an excellent mix CD with songs like "Fergalicious" and "Bootylicious" and trying to put together coherent sentences for conversation.

The setting for the event was very woodsy. So woodsy that when we stepped out of the car two hours later, the mosquitoes immediately attacked. I'm not sure what it is with me and bug bites before a race, but there you go. I sprayed on a bunch of sunscreen to try to kill the itchy, burning sensation overtaking my skin. As we unloaded our bags and made our way to the transition area to set up and pick up our packets and what have you, it was announced that the swimming leg of the triathlon had been canceled because a boater had gone missing the night before in another part of the lake. We all just kind of stood there kind of dumbsquizzled, not sure what to do, wearing our swimsuits and flip flops and holding goggles in one hand and swim caps in another. Of course we were sad about the boater but sort of also regrouping as we shifted our focus as to how the event would now go. Flip flops were exchanged for sneakers as they switched the swim to a run, and I changed out of my swimsuit into my very stylish biking/running ensemble, and our transition spots were rearranged to accommodate the fact that we no longer needed to dry off or put on shoes after swimming, and so forth.

We set out for the run, and I deliberately took it pretty easy. The fact that I finished two miles in 19 minutes goes to show me that it was not a full two miles, as that pace is physically impossible for me even at a full sprint, which I most certainly was not doing. But fine by me. Because the bike route -- sweet heavens above. It was super hilly. Way hillier than anything I have ever done before. The first one appeared out of nowhere and might as well have been Mt. Kilimanjaro for how intimidated I was by it. My mouth dropped open and I said aloud, "You have GOT to be kidding me." I tried to shift gears to make it easier to pedal, but that just made me feel like I wasn't getting anywhere. This happened hill after hill after hill. One of them was an overpass over the interstate, which was kind of scary in addition to being impossible to climb, and I felt really sorry for anyone who might have a fear of heights. The best part of the bike ride was a little patch of road where the trees branched out over it, almost completely shading it except for little bursts of sunlight. It was so pretty, honestly, that I almost forgot how pissed off I was and how much I was hating life. The hills were so tough that I went to a really dark place in the last mile or so of the biking, the depth to which I had not sunk since some of my longer training runs (10 miles, 11 miles) during half-marathon training in 2007, during which I felt like I might black out due to the force with which I hated the sport and the entire universe with my entire being. That is how I started to feel on this bike ride. My knees began to ache. I started getting very slow and wobbly. I started worrying about running out of gatorade. I was miserable. I have no idea how long it took me to finish the 15 miles. Dear Lord, just get me off this bike, I will run a thousand miles. Luckily I only had to run two. Which were fine, especially when volunteers poured cups of water all over my head, soaking my shirt to the gills.

A note on the hills: I couldn't decide once it was all said and done if I would have preferred to know in advance about the hills. What would have been the point, except to mentally prepare? It's not like there are a bunch of hills around here that I could train on. It just kind of seems like the race website would have said something about it so people who weren't ready for them could make a fair evaluation of whether or not to sign up. One of my friends wasn't confident on her brand new bike with going downhill, which was pretty steep at times, so she got off her bike and ran it on all the downhills, which was kind of a crazy experience, I'm sure. Oh, well. What's done is done and we all survived.

Once we were done, we stood around hydrating and stretching and eating some nice homemade post-race food (perk of a fairly small event) like brownies and gingerbread and cinnamon rolls (healthy!) ... the race runner announced some time later that the last racer was on her way in, and so we all gathered around to cheer for her as she crossed the finish line and got the medal around her neck. She was 60-something and fought hard to finish. It was awesome.

It was a fun road trip and a very hot and exhausting but good race day under the circumstances. I would have liked to do the open water swim instead of two runs, but I understand that the right call was made on that. I thought this might be it for me as far as triathlons go for the year, but this morning I woke up and signed up for another one in a few weeks. They're just fun, and I'm not ready to be done yet.

Triathlon report

About 2 months ago, I did the swimming leg (350 meters) of a triathlon relay team and was hooked. About four weeks later, I did another triathlon, the whole thing that time, all three legs (250 meter swim, 10 mile bike, 2 mile run). I'd only had a bike for about a week and a half. I just kind of threw myself into the whole thing. Luckily, I was able to kind of phase myself in by starting with a relay and then with a triathlon with relatively short distances.

About four more weeks went by, and it was time for the latest event (350 meter swim, 12 mile bike, 2 mile run). While not following any specific training schedule, I tried to either swim, bike, or run almost every day. This has been surprisingly enjoyable.

And now to recap the day!

I set my alarm for 5, but Zuko helpfully woke me up long before that. I ate a piece of toast with peanut butter on it and just kind of lolled around. Eventually I got dressed and loaded my bike onto my cursed trunk rack and headed out to the site. It was still dusk, and there was already a long line for chips. I set up my transition area and headed to the line, where I stood in the wet grass with Tevas on my feet, which were immediately swarmed with fire ants. The welts started swelling immediately, as they do, and I told myself not to scratch them and that I would be worried about far worse soon enough. Not the greatest start to the experience, but whatever! Be tough, I told myself, over and over and over. I got my chip and my number written on my arms and legs with a big black marker by a volunteer, and eventually it was time to line up by the pool.

I learned during the last two triathlons that it is dumb to put your cap and goggles on until right before you get into the pool because it's a very long wait and those things are tight. I self-seeded myself with the 8:30 swimmers and waited and waited and waited. People, this is possibly the least fun part of the day. It's exciting to huddle there, sort of, in your suits as the super fast swimmers begin, but eventually it just gets boring. I stood on the bleachers to watch for a little while and finally it was my turn to hop in. There was no dilly-dallying, as you step on the mat to activate your chip and plunge right in. I found myself passing folks fairly easily which made me feel strong. I knew that the swimming leg would be my best and that I like swimming more than the other two events so I vowed to enjoy it. And I did! I didn't even hesitate to pass people out of fear of being rude or whatever, which I was a little more worried about my first two times around. I did have to switch to breast stroke at some point because I got very tuckered out doing freestyle, but luckily that was my best stroke as a child and there are some things the body just doesn't forget. So I finished and slipped on the little ladder on the way out but the volunteer dudes just grabbed my arms and hauled me out, at which point I tore off my goggles so I could see and my swim cap so my brain could breathe again and took off in bare feet for transition. The volunteers were super cheery, as usual, which helps. (I did the swim in 7:43, an improvement of about 2 minutes over my time in my first triathlon 2 months ago, which is exciting for me! I think if I really worked on sprinting during training instead of just swimming at a semi-leisurely and steady pace I could improve even more.)

T1 (or Transition 1, the time between swimming and biking) is typically the longest, and I ended up taking almost 3 minutes to semi-dry my feet off with a grass-covered towel, put my shoes and socks on, get very tangled up in my shirt as I tried to pull it over a still very wet top half of me, put my helmet on, and grab my wee packet of goo and shove it in my cleavage, a tip I learned from a fellow racer at our pre-race pasta dinner the previous evening (my only experience with goo was during the half-marathon, and I felt it definitely helped me through those last couple of miles), run my bike to the mounting line, hop on, and go.

(Sidebar: the weekend before the race, I went with a group of fellow racers on a practice ride on the race route, where I'd never ridden before. It was way more difficult than my other rides for these reasons: (1) way more windy (2) no shade (3) super fast cars and trucks whizzing by in a terrifying manner and (4) no stopping or slowing down for curves, thus nonstop pedaling the entire time. It took me a solid 60 minutes to finish the training ride, and I was not exactly tickled pink about doing it all over again during the triathlon.)

So the biking leg began, and it wasn't awful. I took comfort in the fact that I'd actually bought a little bag with a spare tube, tools, air can, etc. and attached it to my seat in case I got a flat – there would be volunteers to assist with such things, but only if you had your own gear and tools for it. I knew I would feel like a major chump if I got a flat but had nothing to change it with. So this eased my mind. A few bikes broke down not long into the route, and all I felt I could do was holler "you all right?" and if the answer was affirmative, keep going. What in the hell was I going to do to help, seriously? There were scores of volunteers, and reports after the race indicated they'd been able to help. One biker on a sensational road bike had to pull over because she dropped her water bottle, previously one of my great fears. Not that I was glad to see these difficulties, but it did make feel like less of a spaz, you know? So I rode and rode and rode and reached the dreaded 180-degree turn around point, at which I slowed to a near stop all the while yelling to the traffic building up at my rear, "Sorry people behind me, sorry people behind me, sorry people behind me!" It didn't take me all that long in actuality, but in my mind I was holding up the entire race. But made it through that, phew. Then I ran over the dead coil of a rather giant snake, which was both (1) bumpy and (2) kind of gross! Sometimes I would find myself starting to daydream and not pedaling as fast as I could, and I'd say, "Self, this ain't a joyride, this is a race!" I said this to myself many, many times. At 10 miles, I squirted some delicious, snotty goo into my mouth and told myself it was a melted caramel. Somehow this made it more palatable. It got all over my hand so I just started licking my filthy hand. It made me feel kind of nasty and tough, but in a good way! Finally it was 12 miles …a quick glance at my watch showed me I'd done it about six minutes faster than I had in my training ride, which thrilled me to no end, frankly, even though it's by no means a "fast" time. Time to dismount. Holy hell!

(Sidebar word to the wise: If you are training for a triathlon, please try to get in some workouts where you run after biking. This has been the most difficult part of the races for me by far. Even if you don't have to run very far, there is something strange that happens to your legs after you dismount your bike, and that something is that they stop working. At least momentarily. I let out a very loud "JESUS," when I hopped off my bike to run it into the transition area. I heard laughter from the crowd of volunteers – not a mean-spirited laughter, but a supportive laughter of those who knew all too well what I was feeling. It is very uncomfortable and unpleasant. The only times I have ever run after biking are the two triathlons I've done, and that is just kind of stupid of me. Getting out the gate on the run faster and better would have improved my not only my run time but my run experience, so I am going to have to really plug this practice if you are training.)

T2 was under a minute because all you have to do is get your bike to the rack and rip your helmet off and make your way to the running starting point … it would have been faster had my legs been fully functional, but whatever!

I took a cup of water and a cup of power ade immediately upon setting out on the run, which I think was a mistake, because I immediately got a raging side cramp. I started jogging slowly but it was so painful that I had to walk for probably a ½-mile. Bummer, but oh well. You can only do what you can do … there are some pains that you can push through and some you can't. I walked as fast as I could and the cramp subsided somewhat but not all the way. I decided to just jog anyway and that it was a bearable pain at this point. About one mile in, I saw a dear old childhood friend who was volunteering with his young son, and instead of handing me an ice-cold sponge, he basically showered me with a handful of them, which was AWESOME and felt better than pretty much anything has ever felt in my life. Thanks, childhood friend!

This revitalized me and I felt pretty strong, if slow, for the rest of the run. Eventually I caught up to one of my racing pals and we ran the last quarter mile or so in together, which was nice. She gave me a sip of her power ade. "I've said 'f*ck' like a hundred times," she said. "I might vomit, I mean it, " I said. I praised her for doing this while breastfeeding. We panted along and finished strong. My running time was not stellar (two 12-minute miles), but I still feel good about it because basically I refuse to feel bad about anything at all!

I hoped I would finish in 1:30, but honestly I considered this an unreachable goal knowing how slowly I would probably run, but I swam and biked a little faster than I thought I would, so I finished in 1:29:53! I saw 1:30:00 on my watch as I stopped for them to take my chip off after crossing the finish line and knew I'd made it under my goal time. I felt fantastic as they slipped the medal around my neck and promptly dumped a bottle of water over my head, an action I would repeat more than once in the next hour and a half or so that we stood around baking in the sun watching the awards ceremony and waiting for a raffle drawing for a new road bike. It was majorly, majorly hot, I cannot lie. But that was okay, because we were tough beyotches!

Here's what I have loved about these triathlons so far. Since they have all been all-women triathlons, some of what I have loved has been women-specific. Okay, here goes, and I've said some of this before so bear with me if I'm repeating myself. It is so awesome to be surrounded by hundreds of women from their early teens to their late sixties at every possible level of athleticism imaginable who are there to achieve whatever their goals are. I love seeing the beautiful bodies of every possible shape and size and fitness level. I love that so many dozens of people come out to volunteer to make it all run smoothly and hand out drinks and sponges and keep cars from running us over and show us which way to turn and tell us we are looking good and that we are almost done and that we will make it. To me, that is just a fundamentally kind thing to do, and I would like to volunteer at some point.

The thing about the word "triathlete" is that it contains the word "athlete." I have never been an athlete, and I still have a hard time thinking of myself this way. Surely no one that knows me would ever apply this word to me. I am many things, maybe, but not "athletic." But with every event, I am starting to be able to feel it a little bit more. This has been really good for me this spring and summer. It has felt like just what I needed.

We've got our fourth and final triathlon of the series in a few weeks a few hours away … this one has a little longer distances in every leg, and there's an open water swim in a lake. To get there, we have to wake up and leave literally in the middle of the night. We will get filthy and be delirious, and I honestly cannot wait.

I picture you in the sun

It's now the end of the last day in June. How did we get here? Half the year gone, just like that.

Today dawned at 5:39 a.m. for me when the garbage trucks made their thunderous, window-rattling roll in front of my house. I was reluctant to get up, but I did. I lounged around for a little while, ate a half a banana, and decided to go on a bike ride since I was up anyway. I rode for 7.3 miles, and everything was so still, the water and the air. It was less atrociously hot than usual because of last night's rain. Still muggy and extremely warm, but tolerable. I enjoyed my music and the morning light and the cute dogs being walked and the way people get up earlier and earlier in the summer to exercise just so they can actually do it outside and not fall over and die. I celebrated all of the people out there jogging and biking and walking and thought, "Look at all of us, taking care of ourselves on this summer morning!" I might have been a little delirious. I thought about probably my favorite moment of any bike ride so far, one last weekend when a woman approached me running, recognized my triathlon shirt, and called out the name, greeting me, one triathlete to another, a runner and a biker. It made me feel kind of awesome. I felt like I was in a club of awesomeness. I love that this club is all women.

The day continued with no tears! I made another mixture of fruit and yogurt and added some cereal to the mix and it was delish. I drank my slushy homemade granita. I ate lunch with a girlfriend, a veggie burger and hummus and fries, and bounced her baby on my lap. There were more conversations as the day and afternoon went on and some more tears. But it was okay. My mom says that tears are words you can't say, and I think that is true, but sometimes you have to try to say the words. So I tried. I had a most excellent visit with my mom that was supposed to be just a brief suitcase pick-up and ended up lasting several hours. My mom is a very wise and understanding woman in case I haven't mentioned this one billion times already.

The quote for today is from, as are many things worth knowing in this life, The Sound of Music: "Well, you cry a little. Then you wait for the sun to come out. It always does."

Randomosity

Today's entry will be a string of random thoughts.

It turns out that I have some complex feelings about Michael Jackson. At first when he died, I was immediately annoyed that everything was super positive about him with nary a mention of the fact that he was bananas and possibly did some unspeakable things to small children. But then I started watching clips and remembering. Remembering how much I once loved him, the posters on my bedroom walls, my lapel pin with his face on it, how he predated any other celebrity crush I ever had in later years, the way I adored him before my age even hit the double digits, the whole thing. It's hard for me to articulate my feelings about this so I'll leave it to Linda & Sars, who both said it better than I could.

Apologies to those who have already heard me rant about this: I do not think Chace Crawford is a good enough actor to play Ren McCormack in the Footloose remake, and I wish Zac Efron were going to play him as originally planned. Because I actually think Zac Efron is very talented! Shut up. I also think that Julianne Hough in the Lori Singer role (Ariel) is an abomination. She's supposed to be dark and damaged, and I highly doubt that Hough has that in her. Lori Singer was hardcore. It sort of bothered me when I was very young that she was not your typical teen beauty type like Cindi Mancini in Can't Buy Me Love, but as I've grown up, I realize that she was pretty much perfect for this role. Like, if my dad were super strict and my life were that legitimately dreary and hard, maybe I wouldn't eat either. (Not trying to diss her skinniness, I'm just saying.) Footloose is not all feel-good dancey dancey lighthearted goodness by any stretch. I mean, Ariel's brother died. The reverend is genuinely conflicted. There are some long and sort of boring for children scenes dealing with this, particularly the one set in church and the talks between the reverend and his wife. Bricks are thrown through windows. Books are burned. Ariel's boyfriend beats her up. I'm saying, it's got some heaviness interspersed between chicken races on tractors and Ren teaching Willard how to dance. And the director of the remake directed High School Musical. The more I think about the remake the more annoyed I get, frankly.

I've now made these two weekends in a row. I first made them several summers ago for B.'s birthday, and I've been thinking of them ever since. These past two batches, I've had some trouble dislodging them from the muffin pan without breaking the edges, so they look kind of ugly, but they still taste great. (I use sugar cookie dough instead of peanut butter cookie dough because they are already plenty peanut buttery.)

This was a weekend of nonstop chick-flickery. First: He's Just Not That Into You. Despite my enjoyment of Justin Long in anything he does, this is just not a very good movie. For many reasons. I lack the energy today to get as worked up about this movie as I'd like to, so let me just tell you that I don't recommend it. Second: Confessions of a Shopaholic. I rented this movie solely because of Isla Fisher and Hugh Dancy, and it did not disappoint. I find them both infinitely charming, and this movie is totally cute and entertaining. Third: Marley and Me. Bawled my eyes out at the end, not just cried quiet civilized tears but bawled. I can't say it was a great movie, but Marley sure was cute and reminded me so much of Zuko, that stupid, wild, destructive maniac of a dog I can't help but love.

Went on a 13-mile bike ride this morning. Yesterday I rode to a bike store to get my bike outfitted with new pedals and pedal brackets (baskets? not sure what they're called) -- things to put my feet into. Not clips or anything that would require me to actually fasten my feet in or buy expensive new shoes, but just something to slip my normal sneakers into so I can pedal more efficiently. Other than actually getting both feet inside these without tipping over -- it took me several tries -- I liked this newfangled way of riding and do think it helped me go a little faster.

Today's ride also marked a milestone I've been working up to -- reaching down to grab my water bottle while pedaling. I have never braved this feat because it's really far down, practically below the seat, and takes a really long reach to grab it, which means pedaling one-handed and reaching down and grabbing it and this just seemed too herculean a task to achieve. But today I reached down and touched the bottle a few times without actually grabbing it (tip from Jessie) to practice the reach down. It got to the point that sweat was pouring from my forehead down my nose to my upper lip into my actual mouth and I was so thirsty I started tasting what can only be described as lung juice in the back of my throat and this disgusting sensation propelled me to reach down and grab the tip of the bottle between my knuckles. Triumph! I swigged with abandon and thought I'd just hold the bottle the rest of the ride and drink out of it at my leisure. But then I remembered I needed my hand for, you know, braking. So I had to reach down and return it to its holder. Which was scary in and of itself but I did it. Then I repeated the whole process twice more over the course of the ride. I am very glad I now know how to do this because it's going to be a long, hot summer and I can't ride without drinking water, hello.

The ride was fairly delightful once I got this new routine down. Nature highlight: gorgeous, delicate egret slowly walking across the water. Nature lowpoint: seeing how low the lakes are due to basically zero rainfall in weeks. Musical high points: the harmonies in Cages or Wings and the theme to The Greatest American Hero and hearing The Weepies sing about how you can't steal happiness.

Easy like Sunday morning

It's Sunday morning, and I'm sitting on my couch with a towel on my head and my cat perched on the cushion behind my neck. I'm drinking a homemade iced coffee that I put in the freezer for a while to get slushy with an orange bendy straw. Both the air conditioner and the ceiling fan are blasting. It's 88 degrees, but it could easily be 10 degrees hotter in the next few hours. It's been an unbelievably hot week for June. No rain for days, and none in the forecast.

This morning I slept in until about 8 and got dressed for my bike ride. This involves putting on my new biking shorts (expensive but worth it), a quick dry shirt, my sneakers, and my helmet. I set off for my 13-miler and sweat my face off. One day I will work up the nerve to reach down and grab my water bottle and swig from it while riding. That day was not today, however. I had to pull over about halfway through and sit on a bench and guzzle some water and then set off again. It was mostly a pleasant ride despite swallowing a mouthful of gnats and taking out a small branch with my helmet. I tried to focus on my beautiful surroundings and not on how slow I truly am. I am hoping that getting some brackets for my pedals that I can slip my feet into will help me to move a little faster. But the truth is just that my bike is kind of heavy and slow. And so am I. But I am getting better, and for the most part, I really like it.

I am re-reading The Book Thief after a recent commenter reminded me how much I loved it. It is still really wonderful.

I am feeling really lucky today to be able to prepare and enjoy a meal with my family and to celebrate my dad. I am feeling for my friends who no longer have their dads and hoping today is not too hard for them. I am feeling grateful for my very fat cat who is now pressing herself against my side and arm just because she likes to be close. I got to play with a six-month-old baby last night while his mom tucked in the other kids and, to be frank, we fell in love. We rocked in a rocking chair, and we played a hilarious game of peekaboo with a throw pillow. In fact, he found mostly everything to be hilarious -- the dumber and more ridiculous the better. It is amazing how it literally only takes a few minutes alone with a little baby or kid for the first time to stage a rootin' tootin' love fest.

(Later...)

Today a very large meal was cooked for Father's Day. I made a vegetable pasta dish with whole wheat angel hair with garlic, purple onion, zucchini, yellow squash, teeny tiny tomatoes, red and green bell pepper, and fresh basil with grated romano cheese sprinkled on top. All but the garlic and purple onion were grown either in a neighbor's garden or at a local farm, which I felt great about. My mom and I peeled shrimp and cooked them with a little olive oil and Tony Chachere's, all they needed to be perfect. We heated up a loaf of whole wheat bread baked by a lady across the river, another farmer's market purchase. The crust was super hard and chewy and the inside was squishy soft and delish. I ate a piece (or two) (or three) with real butter. I made these for dessert (with sugar cookie instead of peanut butter cookie dough), which we squished into vanilla ice cream from a local dairy. My older brother's new fiancee brought salad and warm from the oven banana bread.

It is hours later and still I am so full I feel drowsy. My eyes are drooping and my belly is round. I ate more than one person should, but I ate very happily. Over and out.

Swimming with shackles off

I love swimming. I love it a lot. Tonight I swam 1143 meters (1250 yards), my longest swim yet in this whole training season. It was glorious. Mostly. Things that are not glorious about swimming: the bugs, leaves, blades of glass, wads of hair, and other filthy things in the water. My gym's pool is not fundamentally disgusting; I think it's just the result of the sheer quantity of people in the pool, many of whom are small children. I try to look past the dirty bits and just breathe.

Like no other form of exercise for me, swimming allows me to totally free my mind, as En Vogue would want me to do. I just tune out the whole blur of life. I count my laps and listen to the air bubbles made when I breathe. It sounds kind of like the ocean in my ears, like I'm listening to a conch shell, because the cap fits tightly over my ears and adds to the whole drown out the rest of humanity sensation. I just go to my happy place. It's so anonymous -- with your face in the water and your hair in a cap and goggles over your eyes, it's like no one knows it's you. You're just there all alone in the water. It is such a comfortable and comforting solitude.

Today, a good friend of mine introduced me to the Martha Beck concept of "shackles on" vs. "shackles off." I am not sure who Martha Beck is, exactly, but I really like this concept upon first glance. I am going to look more into it because I am intrigued, and I like that it seems to involve gut-checking and, more importantly, gut-trusting. That is so important and so hard sometimes. Anyway, swimming = totally shackles off for me, and I am thankful for it.

It's a good thing I love it so much, otherwise peeling off my bathing suit and seeing a clump of hair that does not belong to me plastered against my bosom might send me keeling over in a dead faint. I tell myself it's all chlorinated and to calm down. Really, swimming calms me down so much intrinsically that these things do not bother me. It's like an OCD miracle.

I also had my best bike ride yet yesterday morning. 10 miles in the scorching 10 a.m. sun. I know it does not sound like the sun would be scorching at 10 a.m., but it was. I rode with a distinct lack of the fear that has plagued me on earlier rides. I was basically like, "Out of my way, joggers in the wrong lane! Coming through!" I am turning and slowing down with more skill and confidence. I am certainly no speedster, but it's so beautiful along the route, and I am starting to let it inspire me instead of worrying every minute that I am going to be colliding with certain death.

I guess that's about it for tonight. I watched In Bruges again and loved it all over again. I am enjoying Dragon Spear. I loved The Wednesday Wars and reviewed it over at Melissa's site, Kidliterate. My brain is shutting down now. Good night.

Triathlon report

Not sure my fingers have the energy to type this post, but I am willing them to. Last night my friend and I drove about 2.5 hours away to spend the night before our triathlon this morning. (Designed mostly for beginners, it was a 250m swim, 10mi bike ride, and 2mi run.) Even though we got rather lost, heading to Texas instead of the central part of the state by accident, we had an enjoyable road trip. We have basically exactly the same taste in music, so we sang until our voices hurt. We calmed ourselves in the frenzy of getting lost by listening to Hairspray. It's just soothing. "He's Corny!" Anyway, we went out for pasta and French bread in the attempt to carb it up bigtime and turned in at about 10:30. BBQ shrimp pasta is very good. So is The Wednesday Wars, which I didn't want to stop reading, but we decided it was best to turn out the lights for our 6 a.m. wake-up call. At about 1 a.m., the peaceful sound of the waterfall on my noise machine turned inexplicably to morning birdsong, which of course woke up up instantly. "WHAT THE ___?" I moaned, cursing and slapping the buttons until the waterfall came back. Somehow my friend slept through this, luckily.

We were up and out the door by 6:15 to head to our destination. We picked up our packets and got our numbers drawn on our arms and legs with big black markers and set up our bikes. Since I only did the swimming leg last time, the whole set up was new to me. I didn't even know how to hook the bike onto the little rack. Great. But I lay out my towel and shoes and helmet and all that jazz and soon it was time to head to the pool area. The 250 meter swim meant up and back in five lanes. We predicted this would cause major traffic jams -- swimming counter-intuitively on the left and passing on the right, where someone would inevitably be coming at you because she was swimming on her left -- if it sounds confusing, it was, but luckily no one had to pass me, and I was able to pass a couple of people by ending up at the wall at the same time and having them graciously tell me to go ahead. So I really enjoyed the swim other than the fact that I could feel the velcro on my ankle bracelet chip loosening with every kick and I think it caused me to kick a little less ferociously than I would have otherwise.

I lost a little time getting out of the pool because I'd left my Tevas near the pool steps. Many people left their sandals or flip-flops there because the asphalt in the parking lot where the bikes were was really really rocky and hurt to walk on gingerly -- I was afraid it would tear my feet up if hauling ass across it. I never go barefoot, even in my own home, so my feet are not exactly toughened up. Anyway, that took me a second, as did changing into padded biking shorts once I got to the transition area, but I know my nether regions, and there was no way they could survive the bike ride without padding. I pulled my bike down and realized I'd forgotten to put my shirt on, but when I reached down the bike started falling over, so I just left my shirt on the ground -- remembering that the race leader guy had said we only needed to wear our numbers for the run, not the ride -- and rode in my swimsuit and biking shorts. I "ran" with my bike to the mounting area and wobbled my way on, apologizing to the volunteers, "It's my first time." They were very encouraging.

I proceeded to set out on the ten mile ride and fry somewhat like bacon, but that's okay. I was passed time and again by other bikers -- my friend finished the swim after me but passed me handily on the bike -- but I never passed anyone, no shock there. I pedaled as fast as I could, but I am still a beginner and there is only so fast my bike can go, especially compared to some of the road bikes whizzing past me every two seconds as if they had wings. Next time I will bring sunglasses because I squinted the entire time. I tried to sing to myself and enjoy the scenery. Truly, it was so pastoral I felt as if I were in a watercolor painting or something. There were horses behind fences. "Hi, horses!" I called, flashing back to when my dad was teaching me how to drive on River Road and he yelled at me for getting distracted by the cows on the levee. What can I say, I find large grazing farm animals a pleasure to behold. There were silos and red barns. Sprawling farmhouses with front porches and corn fields, which of course made me start thinking about The Omnivore's Dilemma. The course was luckily totally flat. I only ended up in the wrong lane once on a turn. It was strange to try to give myself pep talks. Usually, such as in the half-marathon, I would just say to myself over and over, "You can do this, it's what you've been training for!" This time, I just said, "You can do this, it's what you've ... not trained for at all. But that's okay, you can still do it!"

Some 45+ minutes (?) later, it was time to dismount and "run" the bike back to the transition area. My legs were total noodles by this point and I seriously thought I was going to fall over. I took my time pulling off the biking shorts and pulling on running shorts (way too much changing compared to other people but I just wanted to be comfortable and not feel like I was running in a diaper) and making sure to put my damn shirt on and grab a visor because it was really sunny and there was not a tree in sight. I took off and saw that many, many people had already finished the entire triathlon. I told myself it was only two miles. Unfortunately it was two miles on legs I could no longer feel with sizzling skin on black pavement roads. Holy crap. I didn't make it very far on the run before I had to start speed walking and calm down a little bit. I ran a little more, I walked a little more. I saw my friend up ahead of me and as a volunteer cheered me on, "Lookin' good!" (doubtful), I said to her, "I am going to catch my friend" (pant pant) "if it kills me!" "You go get her," she yelled. So I took off (and by that I mean I broke into a slow jog instead of walking) and eventually caught up to her. I didn't feel bad about having walked because a lot of people were walking. A lot. And a lot of them looked really fit. It was just ... really hot. People were really hot, it was obvious. Thank goodness for the volunteer cheerleaders -- they really did help so much. I ran through to the end and promptly dumped a bottle of cold water over my head because I was so hot I felt like I might burst into flames. My friend came through shortly thereafter and our final times ended up being within less than a minute of each other. (I was a faster swimmer, she was a faster biker, and we ran probably around the same. So it was all good.)

We got our medals and stretched and ate some jambalaya and headed home, but not before stopping on our way out of town at the DQ. I wanted a banana pudding blizzard probably more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I hadn't been to the DQ since the summer of '95 in Boulder, when I ate a blizzard every day and I'm not joking. If you see pictures of me from that summer, this will come as no surprise. I hadn't even been to a DQ since I first saw Waiting for Guffman. So it had an even deeper meaning. We enjoyed our blizzards. Every bite of vanilla wafers and bananas and ice cream tasted like Libby Mae Brown singing Teacher's Pet and like that beautiful Colorado summer.

So. That was that. My sister reminded me that she's always thought I should be a triathlete. She has said this over the years but I effectively ignored her because it seemed impossible to contemplate. Now as of today I actually am. I still can't really believe it.

One of my favorite parts of one of my favorite books, Taking Care of Terrific by Lois Lowry (who has an excellent blog), is when Cynthia looks back on organizing the bag lady root beer popsicle protest and reflects upon how good it feels to win a war, thinking it might be fun to start another one.

In that spirit, I feel like I must now look for another war. So I've registered for a slightly longer triathlon in August (350m swim, 12mi bike, and 2mi run) and am considering an even longer triathlon (500m swim, 15mi bike, 5k run) where I'd have to swim in a lake. Reports are that you come out of the lake totally brown and covered in goo. If that's not immersion therapy for a germophobe, I don't know what is. I feel good about this. I think that Cynthia, Hawk, Seth Sandroff, and Tom Terrific would be proud.

Awful run, weird dinner, great show

I've fallen off the fitness wagon this week in a big way. Really the past few weeks. No huge shock -- it happens. Tonight I embarked on my first run in nearly three weeks and boy did it suck. I can't remember a worse run in my life. I honestly can't. I blame three weeks of slacking off, the heinous humidity, the not so healthy eating I've been doing this week, and the weird pain in my diaphragm area that made me feel like I couldn't catch my breath. Awesome! 2 miles, man. It was just terrible. But I willed myself not to quit, and I feel good about that.

I just whipped up a very bizarre dinner with canned pinto beans, slivered almonds, frozen peas, garam masala, sesame oil, kamut/quinoa pasta, and feta cheese. Yeah, those things don't sound like they go together to me either. But they were basically all I had to choose from so I just threw caution to the wind and went for it. It was not great but wasn't altogether disgusting, either.

It's a big day, America. It's the season premiere of So You Think You Can Dance, which brought me tremendous joy last summer. I just love this show. This article really says it all. I think people have a lot of misconceptions about this show if they've never seen it. It's so, so good. Great host, great stories, great dancing. Don't let Mary's screaming scare you off. Don't let some of the outrageous audition nonsense give you the wrong idea. Once the top 20 is picked, it becomes a serious and glorious competition. Love! And ... it's starting right now. And the first audition is giving me chills. This show is just phenomenally good, I swear.

I guess that's all I have to say tonight.

Catching up & rambling

A few more words on Chuck: I finished season one and loved every second of it. I spent way too much money for a season pass for the second season on iTunes, but it's worth it to me. I'm two episodes in, and it continues to delight. One of the miracles this show has worked in my life is that it's actually made me like the actress who played the much hated Madison on Everwood. I never would have thought this to be possible, but Chuck is just magical that way.

Last weekend was a nice one. I spent Saturday morning at a little women's retreat led by my mom, and I was so proud. She did a wonderful job. She was funny, assured, inspiring, and wise.

Mother's Day was good. Morning mass followed by an afternoon gig of my brother's, where we ate boiled shrimp and had a merry time. After that, I went on a bike ride for the first time in at least 15 years. I borrowed my friend's bike and rode in her peaceful neighborhood with little to no traffic, which was a good plan. Only once did I end up messing up a turn and rolling inadvertently into someone's front yard. I'm still not entirely sure how to brake and turn, but I didn't fall down and rode for a solid 30 minutes, so I feel great about it!

(A few days later...) Ow. Ow, ow, ow. So cried my back for the next four days. I think leaning over the handlebars and clutching them in a death grip due to being someone nervous on the bike pulled some muscles in my back. It's finally feeling somewhat normal again after not exercising in several days. O Lord.

One night this week, I celebrated my dad's birthday with my parents. Fresh green beans with real butter, corn on the cob, whole wheat spaghetti, fresh pineapple, broccoli salad, and some kind of pounded meat cutlet-y thing. And limoncello! It was good to visit with them and celebrate the wonder that is my dad.

I've read the first section (CORN) of The Omnivore's Dilemma and a little bit of the next section (GRASS). It's a book club assignment, and I had to think long and hard about actually starting it because I feared it would make me more neurotic about food than I already am. I have to turn a blind eye to most of the things I put in my mouth because the freaked out germophobe in me can't tolerate to think about where any of it came from. I'm like, hello, little grape. Did a cow ever take a poop on you? (I know that makes no sense.) I'm not sure that's so healthy, especially when I've been trying to for the most part eat whole and natural foods this spring. That's really a movement towards eating more consciously for me, and I don't want to avoid a book that will shed light on where some of that food comes from. I have to say that the corn section has basically made me never want to think about ever touching any part of any animal fed with corn ever again. Even though last night I ate and enjoyed a giant ear of corn on the cob. Wha? It made me actually mad at corn. Like, how dare you, corn, for being so insidious and being in everything human beings eat and drink? I don't want to be mad at corn. I like corn. Especially when it's boiled with a bunch of crawfish. Which are born in ditches as far as I know. So that is obviously an acceptable grossosity to me. It's hard to decide what is acceptable and what is not.

It's a lot to process. I eat beef once in a blue moon. Hardly ever. Maybe three times a year. Including last night at my parents' house. And it was tasty, but it's just not my thing, unless it's my mom's famous roast. But I do eat dairy products and lots of them. And I eat a lot of chicken, and I eat a lot of eggs. I would really like to go cold-hard vegan, but I don't really know what that would solve for me. I don't want to start eating Boca burgers and fake-ass food like that. I know I could live without beef and chicken and possibly even shrimp though that would be hardest for me as I truly love shrimp. But I do not think I would do well without eggs and cheese.

I don't know. It's a lot to think about. I don't want to obsess about food, but I also want to. I want to know what I'm eating and really think about it and really savor what tastes good and is good for me. But I don't want drive myself crazy. I'd like there to be balance. I'm not sure how. As I was reading the corn section and contemplating the wrongness and badness of "processed" food and food pesticided and horomoned and chemicaled and antibioticed out the wazoo, I comforted myself by thinking, well, there's always Whole Foods. But then I got to the GRASS section. Which so far basically boils down to the fact that Whole Foods and everything sold under its roof is a big fat lie. And it galls me that I've never given much thought to trying to only eat produce that's in season and local hasn't been shipped from a million miles away. I want to be better about this, to do better.

I want to eat healthy things that don't harm my body or the earth. But what are those things? Seriously, what are we supposed to eat? I would really like to know.

(Still more days later ...) I can't seem to wrap this up! I bought a bike! My classmate was selling her gently used bike, a bike that looks like this. I have no idea if this is a good bike or a bad bike, but my sister and BFF tell me it is, and my classmate is nice and trustworthy, and it looks fine to me! My dad gave me his gently used helmet. I am ready to start really learning how to ride it even though I am kind of spastic and scared. This is not exactly a bike-friendly town, though some people are trying hard to make it more so.

Another weekend has gone by. So busy! Spent yesterday in French Quarter with my cousin, attending mass at the cathedral (banging gong drum in choir loft ... so crazy ... I loved it!), running through the rain to brunch at Muriel's, where we ate crawfish hash and crawfish crepes with goat cheese and drank mimosas and yum, and a couple of bars where we nursed family wounds and more mimosas and laughed and remembered. It was a drizzly but nice day. Early Saturday morning, I went biking, and it was very painful and I need some good padded biking shorts right away. Between the cars, bikers, and joggers (even at 7 a.m.) and the crippling nether region pain, I basically rode in constant fear of collision and death and permanent groin paralysis and only made it 3.6 miles. Biking is scary. But I have to learn, and I will!

I am very, very, very excited about Glee.

Meanwhile, some very sad things have happened to some of my friends, and I am thinking of them & love them very much.

Race report

The alarm blasted me awake at 5 a.m. sharp and I groaned and flung myself out of bed, surly and cursing the day I agreed to do this. I ate a whole wheat English muffin toasted with some all-natural peanut butter. I put on my swimsuit and grabbed my goggles and swim cap and stumbled out the door.

I arrived at 5:45 and a large bald man drew my team number on my arms and legs with a big black permanent marker. I picked up my chip and attached it via velcro to my ankle. I squinted in the darkness, trying to spot my friends, but there was no sight of them. I stepped into the brightness of the indoor pool where I had been swimming a grand total of three times in the past two weeks to "train" for this event. There was nary a soul in there yet but a young guy in a black and white referee outfit. "Good morning!" he chirped cheerfully. I went to the bathroom and took a few deep breaths. A few swimmers were getting in the pool to start warming up when I came out.

I headed back outside, and it was still dark but getting a little lighter, and I spotted my friends arriving. They went to set up their bikes. The rest of the pre-race period is kind of a blur. The sun came up. The crowd got bigger. The lines got longer. I noticed that most of the women had on biking shorts and I was seized by a panicky moment of self consciousness that I would be one of the few women to be swimming without them. I am more self conscious about my bottom half in a swimsuit than I am about any other part of my body, and I rarely, if ever, expose it to the public. I tried to ignore that panic.

I put my swim cap on and we lined up, self-seeding ourselves based on how long we thought it would take us to swim 350 meters. Since I am not the world's most confident athlete and hadn't been timing my practice swims, I put myself with the 10-minute swimmers, farther back than I should have, it turns out. We huddled shoulder to shoulder and back to back and bottom to bottom alongside the pool, waiting and waiting and waiting to go in. The minutes crawled by. I kept picking my knees up to keep the blood flowing as we stood there on the damp tile, willing myself to stop thinking "foot fungus, foot fungus" over and over again. My pink swim cap was so tight I could feel my brain throbbing through my forehead and I couldn't really hear anything around me and I had to rip it off for a few minutes. Finally it was our turn and I learned quickly that I should have put myself farther up in the line because I kept having to swim around people. Not that I'm super fast by any stretch of the imagination, I was just faster than the people who happened to be in front of me. The most maddening turn of events of the entire day was realizing that a lot of people were actually swimming on the left, not just passing on the left, so if I needed to pass the swimmer in front of me, I was blocked by the left-sided swimmer and essentially stuck because the space between them was too narrow to swim through. I tried to be zen about this and remind myself I wasn't there to set any records and for more of the race than not, I could just swim. The traffic jams were a drag because they took me out of the moment and out of the zone, if you will, but I had to let it go.

By the time I got to the end, my goggles were totally clouded over and luckily two strong guys grabbed me by the arms and pulled me out. I said, "Thanks, I can't see!" They were friendly and then I pulled off my goggles and took off running out of the building in bare feet wearing nothing but my swimsuit and my swimcap. I ran through a crowd of people cheering me on as I hauled ass to the transition area through the grass. I felt like a complete moron, naked and exposed and bouncing and crazy, but just wanted to get there as fast as I could for my teammate, who was waiting by her bike. I still cannot believe I did this but it was part of the deal, and luckily the distance between the pool and the bikes was fairly short.

I wasn't sure what to do with myself after that since my part of the race was over, so I threw on shorts and my race shirt over my soaking wet suit and exited on foot out the bike exit with a couple of other swimmers and hoofed the two miles of the running route in my Tevas. I never thought to bring running shoes. Luckily these Tevas are comfortable and well broken in. I felt silly walking in sandals while the runners who finished the biking portion caught up with us and zoomed past us, but I wanted to walk so I could wait for my teammate near the finish line. She showed up eventually and we ran the last 100 yards or so together and got our medals at the same time. We slapped her little boys' hands on the way in. It was all very celebratory and fun. The bananas, the oranges, the clapping, the cheering. I was proud of myself and of my friends.

I came home and showered and collapsed on the couch for a few hours. Soon it was time to be fetched for an afternoon festival with M. and her girls. We had a good time, enjoying Italian ices and face painting before it started raining buckets. With no other choice but to set off in the rain for the car where we'd left the umbrella, M. carried her 2-year-old toddler in a baby backpack, and I carried the 5-year-old on my back so she could bury her face in my shoulder and use her hair to protect her newly painted dalmatian face from the downpour. Somehow this worked, and her face art remained relatively intact. I have to say that running through the rain with a couple of very game young girls -- the 2-year-old was laughing and saying, "It's RAINING!" -- was more enjoyable than I anticipated. We went out for turkey burgers and fries and had a merry time. Perhaps my favorite moment of this whole excursion was walking ahead of the 5-year-old after we ate as she carried a giant black umbrella to protect her face paint and hearing her sing out in a very Julie Andrews way, "I have confidence in sunshine, I have confidence in raaaaain!" To be around a couple of little girls who have just discovered The Sound of Music in the past few weeks, knowing the magic that will now be with them the rest of their lives, is a pretty remarkable experience. They already know pretty much every word of every song by heart, and the four of us had a rousing singalong, sans the CD, in the car. ("A captain with 7 children, what's so fearsome about that?" piped a tiny but sure accapella voice from the backseat. Exactly! What's so fearsome about that? I might need to adopt that as my new life motto.) It made me really happy.

The whole day, really, was a joyous celebration of women. Elite athletes and cancer survivors and mothers of newborns, young and old and fit and not-so-fit. I can swim, but I couldn't have climbed on a bike and ridden 12 miles. My friend couldn't have swum 350 meters, but she could bike and run and has lost a lot of weight after bearing three sons and is totally embracing fitness and succeeding, and we were a team. More than three hundred women signed up and did this race in some form or fashion, fast or slow or in teams or solo, and I think that is amazing. Then I hung out with three more of my favorite females all afternoon, and we had confidence in sunshine and in rain, and isn't that something.

Running, swimming, and CHUCK!

I ran in a 5K race recently with some friends. I was intimately familiar with the route, which was nice on many levels. I ran about 11:30-miles, which is REALLY GOOD for me. I felt really accomplished when I was done. As I puttered red-faced and panting toward the finish line, a very fit runner who was clearly lapping back and had finished long before me shouted, "Good job, runner!" It took me a second to realize that she was addressing me. Encouraging me. She called me "runner," like that was my name. I found it very moving. Perhaps it was just the adrenaline and the level of poopedness I felt at that moment, but her yelling that to me at that moment seemed a real act of kindness. Sometimes I think the best thing about doing races is the community aspect of it. Sure, I pass people on runs all the time because about a million people run where I run, and sometimes there's a nod or a even a little wave or a "Good morning" or a "Cute dog!" but strangers don't make a practice of cheering each other on -- unless you're in a race situation. She was done, she had probably been one of the first to finish based on her Dara Torres-esque physique, and she was just running in the opposite direction for fun, or to cool down, or whatever, but she smiled and said, "Good job, runner." Thanks, whoever you were.

I am trying to mentally prepare myself to arrive at a pool for 6 a.m. on a Sunday morning and then jump in it and start swimming. Holy crap. It's a good thing I have a disc of Chuck to keep me company. It's my first Netflix in a while not to be In Treatment, which has nine discs. I finished season one of In Treatment, and as I've mentioned, it was wonderful. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, staggeringly wonderful. I will never forget many moments of this season -- particularly, I will never forget the character of Sophie and how much her arc and her phenomenal portrayer, Mia Wasikowska, moved me to the point where I had actual physical reactions to every one of her episodes, having to assume multiple couch positions just so I would not feel like I was coming out of my skin until the closing credits and I could relax again. This show made me cry constantly and laugh sometimes and most of all think. I felt drained and invigorated and terrified and relieved and heartbroken and basically every other state of emotion on the human emotional scale while following the stories, especially Sophie's, and then Alex's. Not so much Jake and Amy's. Laura's made me want to throw up on every level. But all in all. What a great show.

Speaking of Chuck, WHY HAS NO ONE TOLD ME HOW GOOD IT IS? Under what rock have I been living? I noticed that my fave TV critic, Alan Sepinwall, wrote an open letter to NBC recently saying that it's the best show they have on air and that canceling it would be a huge mistake. Considering that this is the network of 30 Rock, The Office, and Friday Night Lights, I knew this was very high praise. So I've been peripherally aware of the threat of cancellation, but I've never laid eyes on this show or known anything about its plot or characters until last night. And I was in love with it seriously by the end of the first five minutes of the pilot. My little brother is a huge fan, and the fact that he loves a show so much that I've never even seen is very weird and unusual. He said it makes him feel so happy every time he watches it. I don't know how I didn't know this until recently. Anyway, I love it, and I've now seen the first four episodes, and I love Zachary Levi so much that I can't even fathom that 24 hours ago my television landscape and life as a whole did not include him, and I love seeing the hero of Canton, the man they call Jayne again. I love it! That it even faces the possibility of being cancelled is a crime. What is wrong with you, NBC? You should be ashamed of yourself!

Swimming, eating, remembering

My first sweet treat since Lent started was a long time coming. I waited until the Thursday after Easter, when I could return to my favorite cafe and enjoy one of their magnificent pastries. I chose a cappuccino and an almond croissant. It was truly heaven in my mouth, and I ate every little bit carefully and slowly and deliberately. I told myself, "Self, see? See what a treat this is? It's so wonderful, and it was worth the wait."

Then the weekend rolled around, along with a limo ride with some friends for a birthday to one of the best restaurants in existence. And lots of wine. And this:

That is a damn fine plate of food in a sauce made with a damn lot of butter. But I didn't care. It was awesome. And I ate it with grilled shrimp over a fried grits cake and crab cakes and shrimp in a bread bowl and more wine. And then some starbursts and tootsie rolls from a candy bowl. And a good time was had by all, and I'd run three miles that morning, and I still felt perfectly in balance on Sunday, if a bit hungover.

Then this happened:

Oops! A friend and I went to see an art exhibit downtown and wandered over to Earth Day, where it seemed the only right things to eat were strawberry snowballs and a giant plate of greasy Chinese food that cost $13. We split this, yes. But still. Not exactly the healthiest lunch on the block. But who cares? It was a festival, and it was fun to park myself on a curb with a stack of napkins and an old friend I hadn't seen forever and eat that hot mess together. And I went on a long walk when I got home. Then I went to my parents' house after going to mass with them and ate tons of my mom's perfect tuna salad and about two pounds of shelled pecans. I'm not sure what possessed me to eat all I did this weekend. Maybe I was just hungry.

(Mass was good if a little strange. Lots of youth group type kids apparently go to this mass, which is swell, and I like the modern music a lot, and the musicians are fantastic, but I need at least one 80s-style Glory and Praise hymn per mass. That's something I had an epiphany about at this service. I like the young, hip tunes, but throw in a "Here I Am, Lord" or "Sing a New Song" every now and then, please, and it would be perfect. My little brother recently announced that "We Are Called" should become the standard recessional hymn for every mass because nothing can top it. I think he might have a point. OMG: the composer of "We Are Called" has a Myspace page. And none of those versions sounds very good, I'm afraid. Anyway, I didn't realize he also wrote "You Are Mine," which is another favorite of mine. Random Catholic music tangent: one of my co-workers and I got a little punchy from stress last week and started singing the first lines of Catholic songs we grew up with. It is very strange to think we grew up on opposite ends of the state but grew up singing the same songs in church. "Sing to the Mountains," "Lord of the Dance," "City of God," the list goes on and on.)

My very tenacious friend who might as well go ahead and become my life coach persuaded me to do the swimming leg of a triathlon for a mutual friend who only wants to do the biking and running leg. Fine. I think this event is months off, so why not? My friend said, "Let's go swimming tomorrow night!" Which was tonight. So I said, "Sure! Why not!" I bought some goggles and a swim cap at lunch and we went to a place where I thought we had permission to swim, but we totally didn't. My friend acted like we did, though, so in we went. I hadn't swum actual laps in an actual pool since 2003. We swam 8 lengths in the 50-meter pool and called it a day. I got tuckered out doing freestyle about half-way through (tuckered out = felt I might have heart attack) so I started alternating between that and breast stroke. I seriously could do the latter, I think, for hours at a time. It is so soothing. I threw in one length of backstroke just for good measure. Turns out the triathlon is actually, like, next weekend. Awesome! We'll see how that goes. I'm glad this is an event that can be split into legs, because I think it will be fun to participate, but I don't think I could ride a bike on a road if I couldn't even ride a bike in my friend's class in Hawaii for more than approximately thirty seconds.

I just have to say that I do love swimming. It is strange to think that my brother and sister and I swam every summer, all summer long, every single morning for practice plus meets on Saturdays. I don't remember much about those summers except that I think we'd end up just staying at the pool all day. It's not like this was a super-elite swim team or anything. There were all skill levels, and it was just fun. We all wore red swimsuits. The meets were awesome because we would eat jello straight from the box "for energy." I think my sister and I both did it from ages, like, four or five to twelve, every summer. That boggles my mind! (The little kids and the big kids had separate practices, obviously.) I was never the fastest swimmer, but I did always come out second in breaststroke. Even though it was my best stroke, there was one girl I could never, ever beat.

One time the coach at practice made me swim a lap of butterfly all by myself, making the other kids stand by the pool and watch, because she said my stroke was perfect. I remember that she basically barked at the older kids, "Look at this kid! If she can do it like this, why can't you?!" I was one hundred percent mortified but also one hundred percent proud. I was never a child who was known for athletic prowess, so to have something like that happen to me was astonishing and I have never forgotten it. I remember swimming the butterfly across the pool at that moment and thinking that all of those high school boys were watching me and was it possible the coach was making fun of me or punishing me in some way? But I don't think she would do that. Other major swim team memories: practicing swimming the entire length of the pool without taking a breath, throwing the coach in the pool after the meets, and always, always going to Godfather's pizza after the meets with wet hair.

Anyway, so swimming laps brings back mostly happy childhood memories. I know that cardio with impact is important for joint and bone strength, but I think swimming has to be awesome for you, too. I will try to incorporate it more into my life even if breaking the swim place law made me kind of nervous today. I am just not the criminal type.

Tonight after swimming I made an awesome dinner. Onion, bell pepper, garlic, yellow squash, and celery with fresh rosemary and cayenne pepper mixed with chicken breast and slivered almonds cooked in olive oil and quinoa with a little grated mozzarella cheese on top. It made me feel more in control of myself and was delicious.

I would literally give my right arm for a disc of In Treatment to watch right now. Only three weeks left! I love it so much. Must wait for Netflix, though. This is a busy week of dinner and lunch with friends and a date with Ira Glass. Life is good.

Easter weekend

Good Friday was not a holiday this year, as I worked all day. After work, I headed to see my friend M's new house, which is beautiful. It is always fun to see her and her girls. I love being able to watch them grow up.

On Saturday morning, I worked on homework for three solid hours in my jammies. Then I went on a three-mile jog, which was pleasant if a bit hot. I headed into the office for the afternoon, which was not the thrill of my life.

That evening was more homework plus hours upon hours of In Treatment, which is so good I can hardly believe it. I cannot stop thinking about that show. I hold my breath for entire episodes at a time. Gabriel Byrne is so good. I thought nothing could ever surpass the way I love him in the proposition scene in Camelot, but he is just blowing me away in this role. (I still cannot watch that without crying, but I never cry as hard as I did when it first aired last May, as I started to literally project it onto the upcoming presidential election -- having thoughts like, "This is the time of Obama, when we shall reach for the stars! This is the time of Obama, when violence is not strength, and compassion is not weakness! WE ARE CIVILIZED! Resolved!" Anyway.)

And Dianne Wiest ... forget about it. She astounds. (Can I just say that I have loved her since Footloose and how amazed I remain by the fact that for some mysterious reason her parents lived two doors down from my BFF growing up, in this very town? And that my BFF met her and asked her what it was like to work in The Lost Boys with the Coreys? I am not making this up.) Anyway, this show is awesome. An evening with my stir-fried chicken and veggies over rice noodles and this show was actually a mighty fine Saturday night in my book. Topping it off with Zac Efron on SNL was just icing on the cake.

Easter dawned with a trip to the grocery store, where I ran into an old friend from graduate school whom I haven't seen since the summer of '98 and who is visiting for Easter break. He looked exactly the same. He wrote a poem about each of us in our little group, and I still have the one he wrote about me. Ah, memories. Unfortunately, I spent most of the day slogging through more homework. When it was time for evening mass with my little brother, it started dumping rain. We got quite wet on the way in, and there was a sparse crowd. Good music, short mass, people in jeans, fine by me. After dinner, we met the other brother, his new girlfriend, and her visiting sister for sushi. Everyone but the sister was eager to discuss Friday Night Lights. My older brother was the only hold-out among the siblings in terms of hearts set aflame for this show, and now he's come over to the light. Both brothers admitted that the show makes them weep openly. This show brings people together, I am telling you. I'm so glad it's not over yet. (This is a frank, lovely, and very moving column by Scott Porter, a.k.a. Jason Street. Warning: full of season three spoilers if you're not caught up.) It was strange not having the parents in town for Easter, but it was still a decent day, homework drudgery notwithstanding.

I spent a little time yesterday making brownies with rolos, chocolate chips, and toffee. Usually these are made with chocolate cake mix, but I decided to use yellow to give things a different spin. I made them for my hardworking work peeps, and they seem to be a hit.

Speaking of baking, there is something about Tastespotting that makes me happy. I can scroll through this site for untold hours. I've never made anything from the recipes, but I'd like to. Even if I never do, this site releases actual endorphins within me. My body feels actually warmed when viewing the pictures. It is very strange. These pictures and the whole layout and concept of the site make me feel blissed out and satisfied.

I have not yet indulged in sweets. I've decided to break the fast with something sweet at my favorite cafe when it reopens soon. At least I'll know whatever pastry I decide on is homemade, handmade, fresh, and fabulous. I was semi-tempted to enjoy some leftover Easter candy dumped in the work candy bowl today, but I decided to wait for something really special. Hence the grapes I just had for dessert. Exciting!

Meanwhile, I was very sad to learn of the death of Judith Krug. Watch or read a great speech she gave back in 2002. She was a warrior and, in my opinion, a true American hero.

Sunday

I love the Internet sometimes, I truly do.

Last week, I followed Matt Logelin's link to this video. The video itself is gorgeous -- amazing footage and photos of a father and daughter whose story I've been following for the past year or so -- and I fell in love with the song. I looked up the artist. I downloaded her album. I've been listening to it all week. She might be a new favorite. And I am so interested in ways that we discover music, and I like to remember how I discovered music I love. So, this is how I discovered Amy Seeley. Since then, the line "been realistic about love, been optimistic about the weather" has been floating through my mind pretty much 24 hours a day. Not sure why.

I followed a link at kottke.org to this site, which is clever, funny, and ultimately very moving. The numbered rules are in red, and the accompanying quotations and photographs and captions are delightful lagniappe. This site is full of basic life advice that we'd all be better off following. So many of the sports-related ones reminded me of my dad and brothers. I love this site; it just kills me.

My friend Grace wrote a really nice post recently about food. I have more to say about this, but it can wait.

This video caused me great amusement and delight, possibly because I also have a dog named Daisy. She does not jump like this often, but Zuko does, every day, while outside, on the sliding glass door, wanting to come inside. Weirdo.

And now, random rambling. This week has been a blur of I don't even know what. Sushi & beer at happy hour (fun). Stressing about school (not fun). Stressing about work (SO not fun). I am sad about the end of ER. Even though I missed many-an episode over the 15 year course of the show, I saw a whole lot of them, and it's certainly the longest running show I've followed in my lifetime. I chose Chicago Hope over ER in 1994 and stuck with it for a long time, but I always ended up back with ER, and it obviously long outlasted its initial competition. I have a real fondness for many of those County General characters; I think the softest spot will always be for Carter. I don't know why. I also have never forgotten that sweet and sad scene when Carol tells Luka goodbye and explains that she's been in love with Doug since she was 23 years old. It's weird to think that was in season 6, and here we are, at the end of season 15. I never cared for Sam or Gates despite really liking the actors who played them. I loved Neela. I was very taken by this new, foxy, tortured Dr. Brenner and I'm convinced he will be a big star. This show has been on forever. I don't know why it's affecting me, but it is. I loved how they used old school-style opening credits for the final episode. How could America not break out in simultaneous smiles and tears upon seeing Benton kneel down and do that familiar punching move.

And once again I killed my iPhone. It stopped syncing or charging after an unfortunate encounter with my ceramic tile. The genius bar girl regarded me knowingly after shining a light into the base of the phone and said, "It appears to be a hardware problem." I nodded guiltily in silent acknowledgment of its contact with the floor. She noted that my original warranty had expired. I sighed, "Yes." Then she kept typing and her eyes widened and she broke out into a giant grin. She was obviously delighted to discover that I had five days left on my replacement model's warranty. "I'm so happy for you!" she smiled. "I'm so happy for me, too!" I said. It was a smile fest. Thanks, Apple. Tip: She said that we should only plug our iPhones into the car charger in emergencies. She said it's a "trickle charge" that is not good for the phone and to use the wall charger whenever possible. I told her that I plug that thing into the car charger every time I get in the car. "Oh, that's NOT good," she said. So -- word to the wise, straight from the mouth of the genius bar girl. Chill with the car chargers.

Yesterday evening I did a 5K with some friends, and I have to say, it was a great time. A big street party before and after, basically. My friend and I might join the running club that put it on. It was inspiring to see all of the super-fit runners and also the not-so-fit ones who were there pounding the pavement. It was a beautiful night and the pink azaleas were blooming along the route and the sun was lowering in the sky and it was just swell. The live music, the amber beer, the visiting. Excellence all around.

This morning I went to visit with my parents for about an hour and a half while they prepared to depart on their trip to Sicily. It is funny to sit there as an observer as they pack last-minute things and call across the house about remembering this and that. They pack funny things. Zone bars and Triscuits and large styrofoam cups so my dad can have bigger cups of coffee than they serve in Italy. My dad was in full-on travel garb; it looks like his pants and shirt were designed by Rick Steves himself. We got into our cars at the same time and I happened to have Josh Groban singing "Mi Mancherai" from my dad's beloved Il Postino on the mix CD in my car, so I queued it up and played it loud in honor of their trip, and that beautiful violin played the opening bars of that beautiful music. (The ones starting at 0:26 of that clip.) They started slow dancing faux-dramatically in the driveway. I am excited for them. They love Italy so much.

Finally, I can scarcely recall being more excited for any concert event in recent memory than I am for Brandi Carlile. I was excited to see the Avett Brothers last April, sure, but my love for them was in its initial budding stages when I saw them onstage for the first time, so I had not built up that much pre-concert excitement. My Brandi love has only intensified since first discoving her, and I just know in my heart it's going to be one of those concerts where tears start leaking out of my eyes the moment the artist steps on stage and don't cease until possibly when I'm driving home or falling asleep that night. In between then and now, I'm seeing the Avetts again, and I just learned yesterday that the Indigo Girls are playing the night before Brandi, and I haven't seen them in concert in this state since the mid-90s, and I just feel like April and May are going to be two glorious months for live music in my life, and it feels like just what I need.

Fat Tuesday / Ash Wednesday

Yesterday we had a holiday. I woke up early, of course, and headed to the grocery store for a big shopping trip and was home by 9 a.m. I don't really remember what I did. Oh yeah, I went on a run. 3 miles on a beautiful day. Then I had an impromptu lunch with M. and my favorite five-year-old, her daughter. We ate BBQ chicken pizza and drank frozen lemonade and it was great to have some girl time. I went to a cooking store where the owner fussed at me for not having cash, snarling that she might as well give me the shamrock cookie cutter for free for what running the charge would cost her. Made mental note not to return to stores where owners fuss at you for buying something. Eventually, I headed to my parents' house, where my mom and I ate king cake and watched Slumdog. (A copy on DVD arrived in my mailbox one day last month, a surprise from a friend. No idea where he got it; didn't ask!) I was able to watch the entire movie with my eyes open this time instead of shielding them at certain tense moments, and I caught things I missed the first two times around, including one really big thing involving Salim and Latika when they were kids. It was great fun to watch this movie with my mom, who covered her eyes, shrieked, writhed in her chair, laughed, and cried in all the right places. It is always fun to watch someone you love fall in love with something you love. I tell myself that I like sharing things I love regardless of how they're received, but it's always a bit deflating when something falls short of what you want it to be for someone (which is as awesome to them as it is to you). So I was unspeakably psyched to see how psyched she was to watch this movie. She actually called it "a gift." Good times.

Today is Ash Wednesday. I am giving up junk food for Lent. This feels like a monumental undertaking. My mom says that Lent, in part, is about emptying yourself of bad things in order to make room for good things. I think she meant spiritually, but I am taking this sort of literally, in that I am emptying my body of food that is bad for me and hoping it makes room for me to feel better, sleep better, look better (always a bonus), and most of all, live better. I realize it's only day one, but I feel oddly freed by this decision. Of course, in a week, I will probably be all "my kingdom for a Twix!" We'll see. Also, I abandoned my no-coffee resolution after less than a week, and I've decided my morning cup of coffee will have to be pried from my cold dead hands.

A few co-workers and I went to noon mass today for Ash Wednesday. It had been so long since going to Ash Wednesday mass that I was thinking you get the ashes the same time as you get communion. But no. You file up separately for each act. I have to tell you. I could not believe how many people showed up for noon mass in the middle of a workday. I mean, I could believe it, but I couldn't believe it. People were pouring into that cathedral like ants. We were squished together as tightly as possible in the pews, and still a huge group of people was standing in the back and people were lined up standing on the sides. Hundreds upon hundreds of people is what I'm saying. And it's not like this is the only service around ... all of the parishes have multiple masses throughout the morning, day, and evening today. The ash getting took a very long time. At communion, they ran out of communion wafers. The bishop gathered a few of us who were left around and started randomly and somewhat apologetically blessing us after they ran out. One of the ushers, a wrinkled old man, leaned over, realizing they'd also run out of wine, and whispered to us, "If we'd known there'd be this many people, we'd have brought more liquor!" Eventually someone ran in with a plastic bucket of more wafers and we all were able to receive them. At the beginning of the mass, before the processional, the cantor was announcing the song pages and then said, "Oops, I forgot to mention this mass is being presided over by the bishop. Sorry, Bishop!" and started waving her hands in the air like she just didn't care at the bishop who was in the back of the cathedral. It was all very comedic in a way, this solemn holy day.

What struck me about sitting there around these bazillions of people was not only the reminder that I live in a town of a bazillion Catholics who will march through the streets at lunch time to fill a cathedral on Ash Wednesday and what a possibly peculiar thing that is but also the reminder that maybe it isn't so much about what you necessarily believe but about rituals and tradition. I never know what I believe on any given day, but I believe in family and in growing up with certain traditions and that it's important to revisit those traditions sometimes. Thinking about that made it all a bit easier to stomach when the bishop went on and on about how we are all going to die physically but live on spiritually. It was a bit much to take on an empty, growling stomach that was dreaming of ordering a stir-fry as soon as this mass was ended and we went in peace. I found myself wondering about the people around me and the reasons why they were there. Was she a fervent believer with all of her heart? Was he there because he wanted to remember his mom or dad or grandma who used to take him to mass when he was little? Were they praying for sick relatives or friends? Were they there hoping that God exists and will save our country from this mess we're in? Were they there in case God exists so they won't go straight to hell? Who knows? Whatever the reasons, I did feel a little sense of community in that big church and with my colleagues as we returned to work with big black smudges in the middle of our foreheads.

This evening, I lay on the floor of my bedroom taking my bed apart, cursing and shaking out my throbbing hands as they turned purple from trying to unscrew totally shot screws with all sorts of sub-par tools. I wondered if there were some I would never be able to unscrew and about taking a hammer to them in blind rage. Finally, I got them all out. It was an Ash Wednesday/pliers miracle. Even though it was a huge pain, it felt good to do it all by myself, a very Mare Winningham in St. Elmo's Fire/her own peanut butter and jelly in her own apartment moment. My new bed is arriving tomorrow after 3.5 weeks of waiting for it; more on that later. I hope that it radically changes my life.

Running & Richmond

Phew! It's been a while. It's Valentine's Day afternoon, and I'm sitting here listening to Daisy barking and Nanci Griffith singing "Listen to the Radio."

I guess I'll work backwards. This morning, I got up pre-dawn with some houseguests who had to get an early move-on. I tried to go back to bed, but it was futile. I went on a 3-mile run outside, and it was horrifically muggy. After not exercising for three days, it was tough to hit the road, but I'm glad I did it. I've been having lots of thoughts while running about how it truly is the great equalizer. I mean, barring injury or some sort of condition like bum knees or ankles or whatever, anyone can run. Anyone. And anyone does! All sorts of people run past me regularly. They are equal opportunity smokers, or EOS as I've started to call them in my head. I get smoked and left in the dust by young, skinny sorority girls; silver-haired grandpas; lean, muscled, shirtless marathoners; and women twice my size and age. All of these people are better runners than I am, and I admire them all. What I really appreciate about running is that you can be good at it whether you are the super-fit aerobicizing type or not. Running doesn't care what size or how old you are, it just wants you to put one foot in front of the other. I think that's why I try to stick with it even though I suck at it. I am lumbering, I am slow, and I am totally ungraceful, but there is something pride-inducing about just doing it anyway and being out there with all of the other people, young/old, big/small, male/female, who are doing it whether it's hard or easy for them. It's nice.

After the run, I went out to buy a cream cheese/praline king cake for my houseguests and stopped by my parents' house, where they gave me a nice Valentine and I had a good chat with my mom.

Yesterday, I returned home from a short work trip to Virginia. Mostly I was just glad it wasn't freezing because I am delicate about such things. I really loved visiting the capitol and learning all of the groovy historical Thomas Jeffersony things about the city. It is sad but true that mostly everything I know about Thomas Jefferson, I learned from the musical 1776. I loved walking over the bridge and seeing the river, and I enjoyed an afternoon in an English pub with BW. Hi, BW, if you are reading this. Maybe there is a place at home with penny half-pints? That'd be swell. Anyway, I'll update more soon, but meanwhile, here are a few pictures from my trip:

Sunday

It was a beautiful morning to go on a run. Sunny and breezy and 65 degrees. I'm glad I went when I did; the clouds are gathering, and it looks like rain, which I think might foil my plan to take Zuko to the dog park.

On Friday night, my girlfriend and I went out for appetizers and wine and went to see Last Chance Harvey, which made us cry a lot. I just could not stop crying. I think it's because I love Emma Thompson so much and the moment her face even begins to wrinkle in sorrow I can't help but cry along. And all of the scenes related to Dustin Hoffman and his daughter sent me over the edge into serious fall apart land. It was cathartic! I'm glad we saw it.

Yesterday is a semi-blur. In the morning, I gave myself permission to be lazy, and I lay around and watched the previous night's episode of Battlestar Galactica, which was so fantastic I'm still not over it. Eventually I went to Target and spent too much money, as usual. Then I met up with a classmate for coffee and a visit about our projects. It was nice to be able to sit outside on the patio. I made this spinach and tofu recipe in the crockpot sans the tofu. I didn't drain the tofu enough, clearly, because when I tried to follow the instructions and dust it in cornstarch and then stir-fry it a little bit in a skillet to brown it, the cornstarch bonded to the water on the surface of the tofu instead of the tofu itself and slid off and ended up in strange congealed translucent bits swimming in a gelatinous goo that looked like I was stir-frying the wax we used with our childhood braces. Disaster. So I trashed the tofu and added carrots and almonds and it was pretty good. Not great, but edible. I mostly enjoyed the whole grain naan I bought at Target. Last night I stayed in and watched season two of Extras, which was wonderful if highly mortifying, particularly the Ian McKellen episode, the date gone awry with the bathroom ridiculousness, and the office antics involving the naked lady pen.

Which brings us to today. The run was pleasant. I hacked a giant lantana all the way to the ground (it will come back, it always does) and scratched myself up plenty in the process. I contemplated having a St. Patrick's parade party. I also thought back, randomly, to an old tape that a friend copied for me some 15 years ago at camp. All I remembered was that the guy's name was Raccoon and that he had a song about sitting around thinking about the things he likes to think about. A little searching online, and I found him. This is the song I really liked that summer. What can I say, we were in the mountains.

Now I'm drinking Godiva hot chocolate with soy milk even though it's not remotely cold outside and contemplating a nap. Last night was one of those nights when I was awake more than I was asleep, and it's finally hitting me. Luckily I had a good TV show ("Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Wizard: You shall not pass! Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Sir Ian...") and a good book (I finished A Map of the Known World, which was beautiful and heartbreaking) All the pets are napping, and I don't know why I shouldn't follow their lead.

On this lazy afternoon, I'm thinking that some time soon I'd like to mull over the idea of giving myself permission to be lazy more often. I am lazy a lot, but I always feel guilty about it. I think I'd like to let that go in '09. I am trying to embrace the idea that a little laziness can be a good thing and not something to fret over. More on that later.

Niceness

This has been a weekend filled with lovely things. Some things haven't been so lovely, mostly involving the heinousness that is standing on a ladder painting ceilings, but I'm going to focus on what's been nice.

My mom and I celebrated her birthday by eating pizza and gelato and watching The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which I liked more than I thought I would; particularly enjoyable were the girl who played Lucy and the wonderful James McAvoy as Mr. Tumnus. 

This weekend also marked the triumphant return of Friday Night Lights to network television and the first of the final episodes of Battlestar Galactica. I love these shows so much; they make me so happy. I already miss them, knowing BG is nearing the end and FNL is probably not far behind. Yesterday I made my favorite crock pot recipe, and today my mom shared carrot salad and bean soup. I read a book, Schooled by Gordon Korman, that started off annoying but ended up charming me.

Today I went on one of the best runs in recent memory. When you get to leave the house at noon on a sunny, cloudless, blue-skied Sunday in January and it's 65 degrees outside, you are one lucky girl. So the weather played a major part of the pleasantness of today's run, but there were other factors -- the many white pelicans perched on the lakeshore in a huddle -- God, how I love the white pelicans! The little pink and white buds starting to peek out from the bare branches of dozens of Japanese magnolia trees. The ducks taking flight in unison. The breeze. The sight of people walking their dogs, picnicking beside the lake, biking, walking, running. The new earphones which allowed me to actually hear my songs in both ears, which was like running in super surround sound compared to what I'm used to. The way that "You Can't Stop the Beat" came on just when I needed it to. The fact that I didn't worry about a single thing while rounding the lakes. I just thought about how glad I am to have the day off tomorrow and how full my heart feels when thinking about the day after tomorrow. 

Last but not least, running three miles on a gorgeous, perfect day is about a billion times more fun than painting a bathroom ceiling, which I did yesterday and all morning long and which I'm about to have to do some more. It's been months since Gustav, and I could bear the brown spots not a day longer. Painting ceilings ranks in life, I've found, with some of the most dreadful acts a person can do on a beautiful day. Mishaps have been the story of the day ... the roller snapping in two and falling on my head, stepping off the ladder and taking down the shower curtain mid-plummet, drips galore in the bathtub and all over the floor, etc. But at least I had good music to keep me company and all of the windows are thrown up and the fans are running to try to keep the air as fresh as possible. 

My brother just called and wants me to road trip with him tomorrow to see Slumdog Millionaire, which sounds like the best idea I've ever heard. A few nights ago, I went to his house to eat dinner and watch The Dark Knight, which he of course loves immensely as a lifelong Batman fan. I thought it was way too long, but we agreed that Heath Ledger and whoever first decided to slap BBQ sauce and chicken on pizza are both geniuses.

All in all, a mighty fine weekend a few weeks into the new year.

2 days into '09

Ah ... 2009. So far, so good. New Year's Eve was spent turning in early after turkey and sausage gumbo and spinach pie with B. at my parents' house. On day one of the new year, I slept in and then treated myself to a matinee of Milk, which I'd been wanting to see for months. It did not disappoint. My most powerful encounter with the story of Harvey Milk will always be catching the documentary The Times of Harvey Milk on TV by accident and learning the story for the first time, but this was an excellent movie and I'm very glad I saw it. It made me very sad, both the way it ended, of course, and thinking about how little things have changed despite how hard Harvey Milk and his colleagues fought. I mean, sure, a lot has changed, but clearly, as we saw so disgustingly this year, a lot also hasn't. I wish this movie were getting more press and were open on more screens because I think it's important. The cast was great ... Emile Hirsch particularly impressed me -- it was hard to recognize him as the same kid who played Alexander Supertramp. 

After going to see Milk, I went over to my parents' house to continue to feast on leftovers. My mom wrote thank you notes for wedding-related kindnesses while watched Enchanted. She, unsurprisingly, found it delightful. Later that night, we continued eating still more leftovers and watched Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day; both of my parents really liked it, as I knew they would. What is not to like? I've now seen that movie four times and could easily watch it again today. It's wonderful. Kymm Zuckert, I am not sure what you are waiting for! This is your kind of movie.

After packing in three movies in the course of one day and falling asleep to Sarah Vowell's story of the Puritans, this morning I got up relatively early and headed out for a run. After about a mile, I decided that the morning fog, while very cool looking, was a bit creepy. I argued with myself for a while about whether turning around due to basically zero visibility was neurotic or sensible, and I came down on the side of sensible, ran a mile back home, and turned on Jillian Michaels for the rest of the workout. Oh, how level one still pains me so! My arms basically burst into flames, but I soldiered through. 

I showered and headed to the coffee shop to meet my old friend Herpreet, with whom I had a nice two-hour visit out on the patio. It is always nice to see her and to catch up with someone you've known for a million years. Old friends are so important, and I need to never forget that.

Then I headed over to S.'s to help get ready for a gathering at her parents' house tonight and eat handfuls of her mother's amazing white chocolate peppermint candy. I have to say, when the holidays well and truly come to a close and all friends and relatives have finally returned to their homes far away and all of the leftovers are gone and I return to work and real life, I might have to cry a little bit. 

I hope to post some pictures soon ... now I must get ready to head back to S.'s house for the gumbo event, which leads up to the Party of the Century tomorrow night. 

Maid of honoring

It's a good thing I took off this week so I could devote full attention to my duties as my sister's maid of honor! Phew! This might be the most fun job ever, though. It involves accompanying her on errands, lunching, drinking half cafe au lait/half hot chocolate, folding programs, arranging table cards, opining about sash tying methods, searching for toeless panty hose, making playlists, scanning pictures, attending fancy brunches with mimosas and cheese grits, watching parents cry, eating all of the treats people keep dropping by, sharing lovely sisterly gifts, and so forth. Being the maid of honor means you participate in the action without the pressure of getting married. Not that it's pressure! It's a wonderful thing. But you know what I mean. The week is already flying by, and the big day will be here before we know it. I kind of want it to slow down so we can keep accomplishing fun tasks together.

So, it's been a hectic but enjoyable week so far, the freezing weather notwithstanding, which I HATE. It is allegedly warming up later today as God meant it to when placing us in the South.

I've had a little revelation about my running training. After having to take another 9 days off because I could barely breathe without coughing so hard it felt like my lungs were about to fall out onto the floor during the '08 Cough of Doom, I found myself running three miles on Saturday and two miles yesterday and enjoying this concept of shorter runs just for the fun of it. I realize that though I could keep amping up the long runs to train for the half-marathon, maybe I would be a much happier person running what are normal lengths to me (like 3 miles) on a regular basis and still doing my videos, which I miss. Maybe I should just do the 5K instead of the half-marathon and start enjoying running and life again. The whole point in my mind was to force myself back into a regular exercise routine, and I have. So ... I haven't made a definite decision, but that's where I'm leaning right now. It's sort of anti-climactic to train to accomplish a mission I already accomplished two years ago. I'd like to just stick with exercising regularly in whatever form that takes. That would feel like an even greater achievement at this point, frankly!

(Later ...) It has indeed warmed up outside! Thank goodness. Most of today was spent working on a slideshow. In between scanning and selecting pictures and making my mom watch different slideshow versions over and over and eating an awesome grilled cheese sandwich she made for me, I went through my iPhoto albums and deleted 2,000 pictures. I still have 5,000. It is absurd, and I know I need to delete lots more. Most are already backed up on discs, on my external hard drive, on Flickr, and in Kodak Gallery albums ... there is no need for them to just be hanging around cluttering up my hard drive and making my sweet little iBook stall and freeze and sputter all the time. Meanwhile, for the life of us, my dad and I could not figure out how to connect my iBook to his LCD projector so the slideshow would actually play. This caused a near heat stroke because LCD projectors burn at about 1,000,000 degrees. At one point I actually sat underneath the kitchen table to escape its blare and sweltering exhaust. LCD projectors are nothing to trifle with, apparently. While working on this project, I consumed approximately 6 caramel pecan pralines, and I am surprised my teeth are still intact.

I think I need to lie down and read Sarah Vowell now. I'll close this one off with some recent pictures o' holiday family fun.

Week 9, Run 2

Today was SNOW DAY. Pretty awesome. I got off of work early and carved in a little time between frolicking about and cooking for the gym ... I intended to do five miles but only did three. I have a bit of a cough, and my lungs were burning. Otherwise, the run was fine; I watched General Hospital and thought about how much I enjoy when it gets written about over at Serial Drama. There were only a few scenes with Robin, Mac, Patrick, and the baby, but they made the episode worth watching. I used to watch this soap regularly during college and loved it a lot. Now it seems kind of like a parody of itself, as if soaps aren't parodies enough in the first place. If you know what I mean.

I might try to run five tomorrow; I don't know. Right now I'm full of curry and peppermint brownies and hot chocolate and snowy, snowy love. We'll see what happens.

Snow!

I went to bed last night relaxed in a way that only a horrible night's sleep the previous night AND finishing classes for the semester can let a person do. I read a little old school David Sedaris and pulled the covers over my head and prepared for a cold night, one where a "wintry mix" was predicted. I figured this meant cold, miserable rain and braced myself for the coming day of grayness and grossness. I heard precipitation falling outside when I woke up about 6:45, and as I reached over to turn off the alarm clock on my iPhone, I checked my e-mail while still under the covers with my head on the pillow, and there was an e-mail from my mother from mere moments before: "IT'S SNOWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I shot out of bed and looked out the window and not only was it snowing, it was SNOWING. All I could see outside was whiteness: the street, the sidewalk, the yard, the neighbor's roof across the way. I threw on some sweatpants, boots, and a coat and grabbed my Dunder Mifflin umbrella and went to the backdoor to let the dogs out to explore the backyard. They weren't all that excited about the snow, but I sure was.

That was the beginning of a wonderful day. I went into work for a few hours as one of the few who showed up -- some had other meetings and some have little kids and some live far away, and school was canceled. That's right. School canceled, bridges shut down, you name it. I know this will make those in colder climates roll their eyes but you have to understand that this sort of thing only happens about every 20 or 30 years down here. It snowed briefly in 2002, enough to cover the ground, but that was about it. I don't remember it lasting very long, though it was very exciting because my brothers did something cool in my parents' yard that I can't seem to find a picture of at the moment.

The last time it snowed this much (like, 2 or 3 inches that hung around for a good part of a day or two) was in 1988. I was in the 7th grade. We had free dress day that day, I remember, and it was some sort of Spirit Day at school. Somehow we ended up pouring into the parking lot, scraping snow off of our teachers' cars, and throwing snowballs at each other before being sent home early. It was delirious happiness for us, who had never before seen snow like that in our lifetimes unless our families went skiing for Christmas, which not many of our families did. I still have happy memories of that day and that weekend, how it felt to have our hair wet with falling snow and pink cheeks and that sense of celebration. My little brother and Shelley's little brother built a snowman in our front yard -- they were about four years old. All I'm saying is that it was a great time. And it's been more than 20 years since.

So seeing the streets of town covered in whiteness created a lot of joy today. I loved looking out the windows at work (before being sent home early, of course) and seeing how different the same boring sights I see every day looked when covered in snow. I loved driving around my neighborhood and past my old high school. I loved laughing at the dogs as they freaked out. I loved taking a stick and writing a message in the snow in my front yard. I even loved bundling up and heading to the gym to run three miles. I just pretty much loved every minute of it.

Right now I'm making my favorite chicken curry in the crock pot and peppermint brownies. I'm about to have some dark chocolate truffle hot chocolate with marshmallows on top. B. and I are going to watch the new Christmas episode of "The Office."

I would not want to live in a place where it snows for months on end and it has to be shoveled and sloshed through to and from work every day. I don't like cold weather, and I know I would hate dealing with snow in that capacity. But having it snow for one single morning in December was a beautiful surprise and a gift. I will not soon forget it.

Week 9, Run 1

And so it begins ... the rest of the training (except for the last week) is 5 miles, 3 miles, 5 miles, and then the long run each week. 5 miles still feels a bit steep, but I'm going to forge onward.

My calves have been a bit sore since Sunday's 7-miler. But I've been trying my best to stretch them over the past two days. They were definitely sore when I ran on the treadmill this afternoon, but not so much so that I had to stop. I was totally wiped out and assumed it must be almost over, and when I peeked at the distance, I'd only gone 2.7 miles and wanted to cry. But I told myself I could do it and kept going.

Somehow I made it through to the end. I caught part of an OCD episode of Oprah that literally almost made me ill all over the treadmill. I can't say I buy into therapy for germophobes that involves them sticking their hands into public garbage hands, touching a stranger's vomit, and then putting their hands in their mouths. WTF kind of psychiatrist WAS that? I understand that we have to confront our fears, but isn't that a serious biohazard? Licking your fingers after they've touched someone else's fly-covered vomit? It was truly disgusting. I think even Dr. Oz thought it was off the wall, but of course he was a good sport and did it, too! For the love of God.

Today's best running song was the theme song to The Greatest American Hero.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 8, Run 3

Today's long run was last week's skipped 7-miler. (Next week's is a 10K, so instead of that, I'll run this week's 8-miler. All of this makes sense in my head, don't worry.)

I'd been planning all week to run at the gym, but I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to attempt it outside. I hadn't tried to run outside since the shin splint debacle of several weeks ago. I have been really concerned with re-injuring myself in whatever way caused that hein pain. But it was such a beautiful day outside that I decided what the hell.

I plotted out my course on the online pedometer and hit the road. It was chilly but sunny and pleasant. I felt pretty good but started to get pretty tired around mile 5. But I charged through it. It was great to see so many people out on the streets, to see the birds around the lakes, to just be outside alone with the sounds of my music rather than the loud whir of a dozen treadmills and all of the feet hitting them around me and all of the gym sweat pouring down my face. I made it through until the end, and I am tired and it was hard and my legs hurt and I'm not sure I will ever enjoy running 7 miles in a row, but my shins feel okay so far. Phew. It was a beautiful day to run outside, and I'm glad I got to do it. My boyfriend ran 18 today (!!!), which makes 7 sound like small potatoes. It sure didn't feel like small potatoes, though.

Best song of the day: "Holiday" by Green Day. One of my favorite running songs, definitely. I hope to run next week's long run outside also, barring any kind of shin catastrophe.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 8, Run 2

I decided to skip the short run of the week since I took a week off last week and am trying to phase back into training with three runs this week instead of four in the effort to prevent the splintering of the shins. So I ran 4.5 miles on Tuesday and 4.5 miles today and will attempt the long run tomorrow, God help me.

Today's run felt like it lasted 4.5 hours. I watched the embarrassing episode of Inside the Actors Studio when James Lipton had Dave Chappelle interview him for two hours. Usually (not always, but usually) only the greats of acting or directing or whatever get two hours. I don't really want to hear James Lipton talk about how "ravenous" he was for women as a dance student compared to the gay men he studied with or how he was a pimp in Paris or how he wrote epic poetry at the age of three. That is unnecessary. Dave Chappelle tried his hardest and did a good job. The whole thing just made me uncomfortable. Best Inside the Actors Studio of late -- Daniel Radcliffe. I know. I couldn't believe it either. But he was shockingly funny & charming (Radcliffe, not Lipton, obviously), and you should check it out if you can.

The good news is that my shins didn't bother me during the run, and they feel okay now. Hallelujah! I was so empowered by running 4.5 miles that I came home and took down all the Christmas lights I strung earlier this week because I strung them up backwards like an idiot and there was no way to plug them in. Now they are twinkling outside and are making me very happy.

Best running songs of the day -- it's a tie between "Old Fashioned Wedding" from Annie Get Your Gun and "What Would Brian Boitano Do?"

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week "8," Run 1

Technically, this is only week 7 for me because I entirely skipped last week. But it's week 8 on the schedule, and to minimize confusion, I'm going to go ahead and call it week 8.

I did not run for 9 consecutive days. I threw in the towel and decided to sit out all of Thanksgiving week because my shins were killing me. As in, I'd be sitting perfectly still, and shooting pains would flame through them. It was not good. It was wonderful to skip the week of training but also horrible. I slept miserably. I felt gross. I stretched every day, but I didn't ice. I ate my way through the week: Thanksgiving food and sweets and movie popcorn (twice) and Milk Duds and bleargh. I was ready to try again today even though I was very, very nervous.

I ran 4.5 miles on the treadmill today, and while it was slow and felt eternal, as usual, it wasn't too terribly painful. My shins feel okay right now. I am not sure if they are "healed," but I guess I won't know until they start killing me again. The long run of my skipped week was 7 miles, and this week it amps up to 8, which I'm going to try to do this weekend.

What I learned after six straight weeks of training and then skipping a week is that I need to do this for my mental health as much as my physical health. I hope that the week off helped my shins, but I'm glad I did it also because it reminded me of how much better I feel when exercising and how this is something I really want to stick with.

Today's best running song was "Don't Know Why You Stay" by the Essex Green, which I first discovered via Sweet Juniper a few years ago, and my life has been all the better for it since.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Burnout

I was supposed to run 4.5 miles tonight. I didn't go running tonight. I'm not going running tomorrow. I might run the next day after work. Or I might go see Role Models with my kid brother instead. I just don't feel it right now. What I do feel are my shins, which still hurt. What I do feel is sick and tired of the whole process. What I do feel is still gross and out of shape as witnessed in the full-length dressing room mirror at Old F-ing Navy yesterday. I think I need to give myself Thanksgiving week to not try to bend and break every day's schedule around the gym. Maybe this is just a temporary Case of the Mondays sort of thing. I'm not quitting, but I just need to stay home tonight, make a stir-fry, and read What I Saw and How I Lied. We'll see how the rest of the week goes day by day.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 6, Run 4

I cannot believe I have made it through the first six weeks of this training schedule. Holla! Today's "long" run called for a 5K race ... I thought I might try to run 6 again but instead I decided just to run a 5K. Having the long run of the week be shorter than the mid-week runs (4 miles) was kind of weird, but I was down with it, largely because my shins still feel like someone's been beating them with a baseball bat.

I headed to the gym this afternoon after a long day of doing schoolwork and settled in for my 3.1-mile run. I discovered a new TV show while doing this. Of course I'd heard of The Real Housewives of Orange County, but I'd never seen it (or any of the Real Housewives derivations) until today on the treadmill. OMG, how I have lived until now? It's so terrible that it's good. I caught what I think was the season finale (a wedding, lots of drunkenness, lots of big blonde hair, big boobs, veneers, and so forth) and a little bit of a reunion show on which it was revealed that said wedding cost between $300,000 and $500,000. Oooooooo-kay. Who are these people? Who watches this show? I don't know. But I think I now watch this show. I swear it made me feel better about myself. That might be sick, but it's true.

Which is just to say that I tried to focus on this show's money and mayhem instead of the horror of my shins and my crazily slow pace and my ridiculously Hot Face. I'm glad it was on. I'm glad week six is over. I hope I'm not permanently maiming myself by continuing to run on these shins. My boyfriend is running 16 miles tomorrow and I should just stop complaining. Best running song of the day, one of my all time favorite songs in life: "The World Spins Madly On" by The Weepies.

Tonight we ate shrimp, pineapple, onion, and bell pepper pizza from the best pizza joint in town and made mint chocolate chip brownies. 10 weeks to go!

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 6, Run 3

I've decided not to run outside until my shins feel better. Maybe this is a dumb strategy, but I cannot imagine that pounding the pavement will do anything to help them. So the treadmill it is.

Last night I hit the gym for my third run of the week, a four-miler. I stretched all day long. I stretched my calves in the office bathroom. I pointed my toes and drew the letters of the alphabet in the air while I sat at my desk at work. I slung my leg backwards onto my dining room table, top of my foot pressed down onto the table top. I have done the most bizarre stretches known to man in the attempt to help these damn shins. I also took two Motrins about an hour before going to the gym and hoped for the best.

The run itself wasn't too bad! Sure, there was some soreness, but nothing too heinous. Luckily, I had my beloved Ugly Betty to keep me company. Oh, how I love that show, even in closed captioning. I felt that season two was a bit uneven, but it's really been hitting its stride again this year. It's best when it focuses on the relationships between Betty and her family members and the people at work, and any episode that showcases both Justin and Mark is alright by me. This is such a funny, heartwarming, smart show.

Meanwhile, my favorite running song of the night was "So What" by Pink. I enjoy Pink. The "long" run of the week is supposed to be a 5K race, I guess to provide race practice. I am not doing that, but I might just run a 5K in order to have a little rest. Next week amps up to 7 miles ... which should be interesting on a tummy full of fried turkey.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 6, Run 2

And ... the mid-week 2-mile run. Not too fun. At the gym in the afternoon. At least I had Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett on Oprah to keep me company. Although Brad was sporting a weird hairstyle and very unfortunate facial hair. My shins & calves hurt like m-f-ers, I cannot lie. I hope I'm not making them worse. I am stretching and icing, stretching and icing, lather, rinse, repeat. I was a wee bit nauseated while running, but I attribute that to the early Thanksgiving lunch we had at work today and the consumption of two large rice krispie treats for dessert. I don't have much else to say about this 2-miler except I lost an earring in the locker room, went back for it later, and someone had turned it into the front desk. Which was nice. It made me feel a little better about my gym comrades after one of them expelled such foul flatulence in the treadmill region that I had to hold my towel up to my nose to avoid vomiting on the spot. I think that The Curious Case of Benjamin Button looks interesting and pretty good, although I find that movies that make me reflect upon mortality are more unwatchable the older I get. I should probably be in therapy for this reason along with many others.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 6, Run 1

This morning, I woke up early to hit the gym for the first run of the week, a four-miler. The gym is such a bizarre place in the morning. I don't feel completely awake enough to truly focus on what I'm doing or hone in on an awareness of my surroundings. It wasn't too bad, I guess. I was able to drown out lingering shin and calf pain by focusing on Good Morning America and my tunes. Today's winning song was definitely "Score Tonight" from Grease 2. Nothing like a little Johnny Nogerelli to motivate a person to keep running.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 5, Run 4

I was a wee bit nervous about today's run after the shin splint fiasco of this week's third run when I ended up walking rather than running four miles due to sinking into the hellish vortex of shin pain. I stretched and iced them over the past two days and hoped for the best.

My plan was to run outside, but it was pretty cold (for here), and I couldn't find my little headband thing that covers my ears. That and the feeling that my shins would fare better on the treadmill led me to the gym for today's six-miler. Normally I would hate running such a long distance on the treadmill due to boredom and Hot Face, but today wasn't so bad.

My calves were sore, but my shins were okay. And I watched the last hour of You've Got Mail. Which is a great treadmill movie until the "I'm heartbroken. I feel as though a part of me has died and my mother has died all over again and nothing will ever make it right" part when Meg Ryan looks at her empty store and sees the memory of being twirled around by her mother, when I started crying right there on the treadmill which was a little embarrassing and also made it a little tough to keep up my pace. But I pulled it together and kept going. I continue to like this movie a little more every time I see it, and I've seen it A LOT. I still am not crazy about the last line of the movie, but overall, I pretty much love it. I love when Meg Ryan throws her face into the pillow after admitting she doesn't really know the man she's been falling in love with. I love when Tom Hanks is wondering why she can't forgive him and says, "Oh how I wish you would." GOD, I AM SO GLAD YOU'VE GOT MAIL WAS ON TODAY WHILE I HAD TO RUN SIX MILES. Thank you, you wonderful movie.

After it ended, I hoped against hope for another movie that would help me pass the time but not make me cry and voila! The Bodyguard! Perfect.

So, overall, I feel great about today's six-mile run. It's the farthest distance I've gone so far on this round of training, and it didn't kill me. 5 weeks down ... 11 to go! Today's best running song ... "Bend and Break" by Keane.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 5, "Run" 3

Well, that was a bust. This afternoon's run, I mean. I left work a little early in order to have some daylight to run my four-miler in. I strapped on my shoes, walked for 5 minutes to warm up, stopped and stretched my calves and shins, and started running ... and I knew right away something was wrong. My shins started killing me straight away. After several runs of little to no shin/calf pain, this surprised and upset me. I tried to run through it for about a quarter of a mile, thinking maybe it would fade out, but it just got worse. So much worse that tears sprung into my eyes and I felt I had no choice but to stop at a bench, stretch my calves and shins, and compose myself. I did just that and tried to jog again, but the pain was still so severe that I gave up and walked briskly for basically the entire four miles.

I don't know what happened, I honestly don't. I've been icing my shins after every run for the past several weeks and stretching them and my calves, but I guess I haven't been stretching enough. Maybe hitting the pavement for the fourth consecutive run rather than breaking up the routine with a treadmill run here and there just proved too much for my sad, sorry shins.

I'm very bummed to be hurting and to have missed out on four miles of running, but I also don't think it's smart to keep running when the pain is so bad. While walking, it lessened to a dull, constant ache, which I felt had to be better for my overall health and training than the shooting, piercing, excruciating pain of a even a very slow jog.

Walking gave me lots of time to think. When "Roxie" from Chicago came on, I thought about how Jan Levinson is about to play the role on Broadway. I still remember her from Little House. Anyway. I enjoyed watching all the ducks and egrets and other birds slowing down and settling in for the evening, and I thought about The Race to Save the Lord God Bird, which is a FANTASTIC book. The thing about being out at dusk is that lights go on in houses with curtains open, allowing little peeks inside windows. I like seeing people's wallpaper and cats staring out behind the glass. One of the best things about outdoor exercise is that it reminds you that despite the sometimes shitty aspects of life, there are people out there making an effort to have fun -- playing frisbee in a field, frolicking in the dog park, running, walking, biking, pushing kids in strollers. All of these sights make me happy.

I plan to rest the shins for two days, stretching and icing in the meantime, and then hit the road again for the six-miler at week's end. I'm not sure what else to do.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Catching up

I guess it's time for an update on what has been going on ... I like to keep track of these things so I don't forget.

On Friday evening, I went running and then B. and I relaxed with Thai food and some of last week's shows. I laughed a lot when Pam said, "That's what she said, that's what she said, that's what she said." I continue to be amazed to think I once assessed the U.S. version of The Office as not very good. I must have been in a dark place in my life at the time because now I love it so much that I cannot imagine life without it.

On Saturday, the morning is ... a bit of a blur. I think I went to the library. Around lunch time, B. and I began our trek to the game, stopping for iced coffee on the way there. We decided it would be faster to walk to the stadium than to attempt going in car, and I think it was a great plan, especially since it was a gorgeous day. Walking past a long line of cars in dead standstill traffic is sort of satisfying; on the one hand, you feel for them, but on the other hand, you think, "Suckers!" We stopped at a few tailgating gatherings and headed into the stadium for what turned out to be a hella exciting game. I thought of Al L-H throughout and just reveled in the excitement of the experience -- record attendance, two very enthusiastic marching bands (theirs actually plays "Confrontation" from Les Mis, which is awesome), and insanely fired up fans on both sides. It was of course wonderful to hear the announcer proclaim that it was now Saturday night in a voice that boomed down as if from heaven and see the entire stadium explode in what was basically ecstasy times more than 90,000. Aside from bruising my finger with the giant ring of the man who repeatedly wanted to high-five me, I suffered no injuries from the crush of the crowd. B. and I were actually lining up with hundreds of others near an exit to head out as the other team started their field goal formation and I actually said, "But they could miss their field goal!" Not likely. But look what happened! It was so exciting. Dads were throwing little boys in the air, strangers were embracing, the whole beautiful thing. Of course we lost in the end, but it was still really fun and spectacular in a way to be in the stadium on such an evening.

On Sunday, I ran five miles and went to the library and checked out some more National Book Award finalists. I posted about Chains over at Kidliterate. The Spectacular Now by Tim Tharp was a decent read, but I found the protagonist fundamentally unlikeable, so it was hard for me to get into the book as a whole. I'm glad I read it, for the most part, but honestly it gave me some unpleasant high school flashbacks of liking the wrong boys, acting like an idiot as a result, throwing up at parties, and overall teenage foolishness. I can definitely imagine teens getting into the book because it's very realistic to both a hilarious and mortifying degree. I'm about 100 pages into The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, and I'm undecided as to how I feel about it right now. There is something about boarding school books that rubs me the wrong way, and I blame it entirely on my deep and abiding hatred of The Secret History (I know it's not a boarding school book, but that whole rich kids at school doing wicked things aura just makes me surly). Although, as a kid, I sure did love me some Canby Hall! As long as the kids in Disreputable History don't start doing truly vile things, I might end up really liking it.

Meanwhile, I've decided I really want to see Australia. I think it will be so bad that it's good, you know? I really hope it's the movie that shows the world just how awesome Hugh Jackman really is. If only it were a musical!

Week 5, Runs 1 & 2

Happy belated Veterans Day! I celebrated my freedom yesterday by sleeping in and hitting the road for my first run of the week, a four-miler. I was deluded into thinking it was a nice, breezy morning, but it was a bit mugtastic. I felt like an oaf lumbering through a soupy fog for most of the run, but AT LEAST MY SHINS DID NOT HURT! I consider this a tremendous victory. But still ... it felt like it just took forever.

This morning I set my alarm clock and hurled myself out of bed at sun-up for an early morning run. It was 64 degrees outside, cloudy, and windy when I hit the streets for my two-miler of the week. I have to say that it was sort of awesome to be out there with the wind whipping and the clouds gathering and darkening overhead as they readied themselves for the rainstormy day ahead. My favorite running song of the morning was "That Thing You Do." That's right. I'm not ashamed. During my cool-down walk as I headed home, I happily listened to the finale song from Moulin Rouge.

Overall, weather permitting, I'd like to try and run more in the mornings before work. It's great having it behind me for the day. It allows me to think think all day long that if I do nothing else productive or worthwhile today, at least I went running.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 4, Run 4

Today's outdoor 5-miler was pretty pleasant. It was a beautiful day, and I enjoyed the gorgeousness around me and my tunes. It's great that it's still warm enough here during the day to run in shorts and a sleeveless shirt with no cold weather gear necessary. I tried working on the stride I attempted on the treadmill Friday night, and it seemed to work pretty well. So well that I somehow shaved six minutes off of my 5-mile time from a week ago. Which seems pretty impossible and I still don't really believe it, but there you go. As usual, I iced my shins upon returning home and tried to stretch out the old calves as much as possible. Then I ate two chocolate mint chocolate chip cookies.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 4, Run 3

Friday night at the gym = super fun times! It actually wasn't so bad, as I knew that Thai take-out, The Daily Show, The Office, and a replay of Obama's victory speech were waiting for me when I got home and I saw an old friend there.

It was a 3.5-miler, and I actually tried to alter my stride somewhat. I tried to really concentrate on what I could do to make the run less heinous, and I said to myself, "Self, are your feet hitting the treadmill more than they need to at this speed? Can you lengthen your stride a little bit and see what happens?" So I tried to be a little less bouncy and short-strided (made that up) and a little smoother. It felt sort of foreign but sort of good (or, if not good, less bad). I think I will try it again, though I'm not sure how I will pull it off when I'm on the road and not the treadmill. We'll see.

What I dislike most about the gym, I think, is how it gives me a severe case of hot face. My face turns tomato red and feels like it's in flames. This does not happen outside. Tomorrow is a five-miler outside, and I might try to carve out a new route so there's some new scenery along the way. That's it for now ... coffee time.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 4, Run 2

Sometimes I wonder why running is so hard no matter how far I'm running. Two miles last night felt no easier than 3.5 miles on Election Day. It's very weird. I'd like it to be less hard. I kept telling myself that it's just about putting the miles in and it doesn't have to be fun. Maybe the fun comes from feeling better mentally and physically and being healthier as a result of running, not from the act of running itself.

Last night's run was my first night running at the gym in a while ... I've tried to do it in the morning because the gym at night is sort of a depressing place to be. It's also when the men who run the farthest and and most ferociously run on the treadmills, and their sweat flies fast and furious. I'm not trying to be sexist, but as a whole, their sweat is somehow more airborne and mobile than the women's, and when it literally hits a person in the face, it's a little daunting.

I was also hit in the face last night by Lou Dobbs, whose show I never watch and will probably never watch again. I found him highly annoying.

Last night's best running song was "Our Love" by Rhett Miller. What a fantastic running song! I tried to embed it here, but it would not work. So I hunted it down in a "fan vid" for The Office and in one for Johnny Depp. Take your pick.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 4, Run 1 ~ Election Day

I spent the morning of Election Day voting and hitting the gym for a 3.5-mile run. The run felt eternal, but it was okay because I was glued to MSNBC and running for hope, change, victory, and all that jazz. I honestly will miss the election coverage when all is said and done. What will I watch on the gym TV if not the pundits?

Speaking of pundits, I was sort of dismayed to see Dan Rather among the random MSNBC pundits this morning. I mean, he is Dan Rather. I don't really know or care what happened to cause his fall from grace, and I wonder if he sits there thinking, "What the hell am I doing with this bunch of clowns?" He spoke eloquently and with great dignity about covering the Civil Rights Movement and how he never thought this would happen in his lifetime and how pleased and honored he is to be witnessing this and to be a part of this day of all days. Somehow my calves stopped hurting and I felt light and free as I thought about that and thought about what we are going to be celebrating (I hope) tonight.

I guess I could come up with some metaphor about this election -- this race -- and the race for which I am training, but that would be too cheesy even for me.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 3, Runs 2 & 3

So I only did three of this week's scheduled four runs. And I'm okay with it. I think pushing myself to the limit might have permanently wrecked my shins.

I skipped one of the 3.5-mile runs, but today I did the long run of the week, the 5-miler, and I'm thrilled to have made it out alive. More on that in a minute.

Yesterday morning I went to the gym for my second run of the week, a 3.5-miler on the treadmill. It seemed to take forever and I always sweat so much more inside, so that wasn't too pleasant, but I enjoyed watching election coverage on CNN and dedicate the successful completion of the run to the Killers and the cast of Mamma Mia.

After waking up and starting the day a little off-center due to the time change, I headed out at about 10 a.m. to hit the road for my outdoor five-mile run. My shins ached a bit, but that pain was muted by the heinous hip pain! I swear I look like I am both hobbling and limping along at my slow jogger's pace, but what can I do? Quit? No. I did not quit. I might as well fess up just how slowly I run ... it took me an hour and 6 minutes to finish 5 miles. That's right. Maybe someday I will get faster; maybe I won't. I'm just proud of myself for finishing no matter how long it took. It was an incredibly gorgeous day and I really enjoyed passing by the dogs scampering, ducks paddling, and egrets sunning.

3 weeks down ... only 13 to go!

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 3, Run 1

My plan to get up early and run yesterday did not pan out as I was still lying immobilized and unconscious under the covers when I was supposed to be pounding away on the treadmill. But I did get up early today and head to the gym in the cold darkness.

Luckily, I was able to tune the TV to my station of choice, and I chose Good Morning America. It was great to watch footage of last night's historic Obama television event. I actually felt the excitement sparking through the air while on the treadmill as goosebumps appeared on my sweaty arms. I ran a slow two-miler because it was my first run since the Great Shin Splintering of 2008.

After three full days off spent stretching and icing, the old shins were still pretty sore as I ran, but I didn't feel like I was going to cry or spray barf on my fellow runners nearby, so I kept going. I don't think I'll get to all four runs this week, but that's okay. I think it was more important to rest in this case.

This morning's best running song was "Lose Yourself." I enjoyed it so much I started contemplating buying Eminem's new memoir. It's funny where your brain goes when running. Hearing this song took me straight back to right around election day eight years ago, when my friend and I saw Eminem perform at Voodoo Fest in the midst of a hot, crowded, sweaty field of people. Memories from the day flashed through my mind and I thought about how much has changed and how much as remained the same over eight years. I was so grossed out by him that day, but I have to tell you, I love this song. I love it mind, body, and soul! And I love listening to it while I run.

Tomorrow I will attempt a 3.5-miler in order to salvage this week's training somewhat. We'll see how it goes.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 2, Runs 3 & 4

I'm going to have to shoot straight with you. After two treadmill runs earlier in the week, hitting the road outside for my second two runs of the week was rather painful. As in full of pain. I managed yesterday's three-miler, though at this point it's kind of a blur. Today's four-miler was so painful I am having trouble thinking of how to describe it. Here's what ran through my mind with every step -- it became a nice repetitive rhythm throughout: "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," etc. It is my shins. Boy howdy. It's not pretty. I tried to ice them after the run and stretch my calves as much as possible, since my sister tells me shins and calves are linked, but Jesu. The word on the street relative to shin pain seems to be that you have to rest, but that's not really feasible. It's primarily my inner shin, not the muscle that runs alongside the outside of the shin.

Best running song of the day: Mike Doughty's "I Hear the Bells." I never get tired of this song. I am always relieved when it comes on. I always run a little happier for its duration. For a moment, I forgot about my shins and thought only about the bells.

Does anyone have any tips for how to deal with shin pain when it's not really an option to rest for more than a day? The Internet says NOT to run through the pain.

Oops.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 2, Run 2

This morning's early two-mile run began with a momentary panic, as there were no treadmills available with TVs. 3/10 of a mile in, one opened up, so I hastily repositioned myself in front of Morning Joe for the second consecutive morning. I am wondering if this show has any credibility when the hosts are always telling the guests how great they look. Today there was a lot of talk about Iran as a superpower and not a lot of election excitement, so I mostly tuned it out and concentrated on my music and tried not to think about my tremendous calf pain.

I tried to go a little faster since it was only a two-miler, and my calves protested. I kept running because I guess some pain is inevitable. Post-run, it is my shins giving me trouble, but I plan to soldier on. I know that I need to spend more time after the run stretching out these sore spots, but it's hard to do that in the morning because I'm rushing around like a maniac. Hopefully once Daylight Saving Time ends and it's lighter outside earlier, I can do some of these morning runs outside and save myself some driving time. This is all very fascinating, I know.

I've been contemplating just what is happening when my muscles get so sore. Are they trying to tell me to stop? Are they just in shock from being used in this manner on a more regular basis and adjusting to the impact and strain? Once they become less sore, are they healing and stronger? Physiologically, this interests me. Of course I wish that running would suddenly give me strong, shapely legs, but I know I'm kidding myself. I always come back to the words of trainer Krista: "Building muscle is like prying each meaty cell loose from the jaws of a slobbery dog that likes the taste of steak. It doesn't happen overnight. It doesn't happen in a week. You may see it in a month... or three." (I love her whole site, by the way.)

For the past two mornings, I have run on the treadmill next to an elderly man who walks slowly while hooked up to an oxygen tank. I admire him a whole hell of a lot. The people who spray sticky sweat all over the treadmills and floor and don't bother cleaning up after themselves? I admire them not at all.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 2, Run 1

I woke up early this morning and stumbled blindly out the door in the darkness to head to the gym. It's always surprising to me when I get up super early to see that there are other people out and about doing their business at that hour.

But there they were, young and old, on treadmills and ellipticals and bikes and the weight machines. I planted myself in front of a TV tuned to MSNBC, which I rarely watch, and caught the beginning of Morning Joe. I have to say, watching political commentary makes three miles go by pretty quickly, especially when phrases like "sweeping victory" and "historic landslide" are being thrown around relative to Obama. One pro-McCain former secretary of state was on, saying over and over how Obama is "unknown" ... which reminds me of something I read yesterday. The truth is that he is NOT unknown to anyone who has been paying attention. That is just the way I feel about it. It's easy not to get to know someone you assume is the enemy because you stick your fingers in your ears and assume there's nothing to find out about him worth knowing. But he's been out there, working and writing and being written about for a really long time. He is no great mystery. That his opponents keep trying to shroud him in some veil of secrecy like he is a dangerous, foreign "unknown" is so ludicrous that it's laughable.

Whoops ... this is supposed to be a running blog. Well, this is what I was watching and thinking about while running this morning, and I'd guess people on treadmills all over America this morning were watching and thinking about the same thing, so I guess it's fair game.

This was my first run inside on a treadmill in a while, and here are the pros: you can run on a treadmill when it's dark outside, you can see and set exactly how fast you're going and how far you've run, and you can watch TV. Other than that, I'd pick outside on the road every time.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 2, Jillian!

I decided not to run today to give myself a rest after my "long" run of week one (4 miles). Instead, I decided to enlist the assistance of Jillian in my workout. I didn't want to go on a cardio rampage and blow the concept of "resting" so I decided to just do the strength and abs sections of the workout.

If anyone is unfamiliar with Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred, it's a workout DVD with three different levels. Each level features three circuits of strength, cardio, and abs. Before tonight, I'd only ever done level one. I decided to move up to level two but fast forward through the cardio sections because they tend to be pretty rough on the legs in terms of impact (lots of jumping jacks, jump roping, and so forth). The abs sections weren't that much tougher than level one, but boy howdy, were my shoulders screaming. I am a big fan of this DVD and hope to keep incorporating it into my routine. And I only use 3-pound hand weights. That's right, 3 pounds. And it's still really hard.

This is not very riveting information, but I want to keep track of this as I go along. The big news of the day half-marathon-wise is that I went ahead and registered for the race. Money is a big motivator in this day and age, and I'm hoping it will help me get out of bed tomorrow morning in the pitch blackness and head to the gym for my first run of week two. Now I am going to lie down, clutch my shoulders, and moan.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 1, Run 4

If there were ever a day perfectly created for outdoor activity, it was today. It was sunny and warm and cool at the same time and bright and clear. My first four-mile run in a very long time felt much longer than a three-miler, but it was okay. I kept reminding myself to enjoy the feel of the sun on my skin and the sight of the egrets and the ducks and the turtles sunning on their rocks. The highlight of the run was seeing B. approach from the other direction while on his ten-miler and slapping hands with him as we passed each other. It put a smile in my step.

And now for my running pet peeve of the day! I am guilty of being a person who formerly ran on the left side of the road. I liked to be able to see what was coming. I realize now how idiotic this is. Now that I've seen the error of my ways and run on the right side, I encounter people coming towards me (walking or running on their left side, so directly in my path), and more times than not, it's as if they expect me to go around them. In other words, I am to turn around and see if a car is coming behind me (which is not exactly easy while propelling in a forward direction) before I dart into traffic to go around them -- whereas it makes more sense for them to go around me because they don't have turn around to see what's coming since they are facing the oncoming traffic and they're the ones on the wrong side of the road. I've begun to stick strongly to my guns and not budge from the edge of the road, sort of forcing them to be the ones to step into the road since they can see what's coming and they're the ones not following the rules of the road. It seems only right. Am I wrong about this?

I'm happy I got all four runs in this week, this first week of training. Week two is a repeat of this week, and I find that comforting. I don't feel ready to ramp it up quite yet. I still can't really believe that I have committed to doing this, but here I am, 1/16th of the way done. Now I am going to reward myself by watching some Wonderfalls.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Week 1, Runs 1 through 3

On Sunday, I took an hour-long walk. It was a beautiful day, but I didn't have it in me to run. I was coming off of a week in Hawaii, where I'd done what I consider to be a fairly respectable amount of exercising for someone on vacation (a run here, a walk there, a hike here, an exercise class there), but I was feeling jet-lagged and a little hungover from getting drunk on beaches, mountains, Thai food, and Java Chip ice cream. Walking this route felt so different from running around it, and while taking it all in at a slower pace (let's face it, not that much slower), I couldn't help but remember all the time I spent on training runs out there when training for the half-marathon. I thought about what it felt like to start that training two years ago in a fall that felt a lot like this one and wondered what it would feel like to train for something like that again. The next day, I sat down and pulled up my old training chart from the fall of 2006, changing the race date to indicate 2009's date and working backwards to see when I would have needed to start training if I should decide to entertain such a possibility, fully expecting to see that I'd missed the beginning of the training period and that it was too late to think about doing it. And I went backwards, week after week, until I ended up at day one, which was that day. That very day! I decided it was a sign.

Two years ago, some friends and I discussed training for and running the race together, but none was ultimately able to for various reasons. I put out feelers to see who might be interested this time, and Erin said, "I'm in." That was all it took for me to move my commitment from shaky to solid, and I went on my first three-mile run of the sixteen-week training period that evening. I felt heavy and slow daunted by the 62 training runs ahead of me before the race, but I told myself that's okay, that I've never been fast and probably never will be, and I am fine with that, and I know I have to take it run by run.

After falling off the fitness wagon pretty much immediately after the last half-marathon for a good 15 months and HATING myself for it, I started exercising again in June of this year, and I'm really glad I've been doing 3 miles pretty regularly, since that's the mileage at which this training program starts. I feel like it's another little sign that there's no reason I shouldn't do this. Is 3 miles necessarily an easy distance? Hell no, but it's doable. Is it sort of a pain to build an entire week's schedule around the four runs? Yes. But a worthwhile one, surely. Last time, I avoided any cross training because I was convinced I would pull a muscle or hurt myself and my entire goal would go down the toilet. I was pretty neurotic about it, even though I see now that some strength training and different kinds of cardio would have certainly helped me in the long run. This time, I hope to stick with Chalene and Jillian and work out my whole body in an effort to get stronger all around and not just be so focused on miles, miles, miles.

Last night's 3-mile run, my second of the week, was very doom and gloom. Everything hurt. My knees, my ankles, my calves, my shins. Every step was a slog. I asked myself why I had committed myself to doing something I don't enjoy four times a week for the next four months.

This morning I woke up with a renewed attitude and hit the road for my two-miler of the week. It was cool and cloudy, and my spirit was lifted by two songs in particular, "Waiting for the Light to Shine (Reprise)" and "Louder than Words," and I was reminded about one thing I do actually enjoy about running ... the opportunity to listen to music I love. These songs made my heart sing and my feet move a little faster. It was my best run of the week so far, for sure, and I remembered that this is just how it goes ... some runs are downright miserable, some are fine, and some are even sort of good. It goes up and down, just like everything else in life. Running is clearly emotional exercise as well as physical exercise. Plus, on this morning's run, I spotted two more Obama yard signs that had gone up on my street. I caught myself shouting "Yes!" and pumping my fist in the air in a moment of truly dorky, hopeful exuberance.

Mostly I just want to feel that pride in myself that I only feel when I decide to do something and actually stick with it, even if it's really hard. That's something I don't do all that often. And I want to take care of myself, and running increasing miles every week for 16 weeks is a mighty fine way to do that. Looking back, it feels a little different this time because last time there was the ever-looming question of can I do this? Can I actually run 13.1 miles without stopping to walk? (In my mind, the slowest jog in the world, what I ultimately did, was acceptable. Walking = not acceptable. That is just the mindset I was in.) I never believed that I could do it until I did, and I was obsessed with that question and that distance even though it's just an arbitrary number. Now that I know that I can, it's less about achieving that seemingly impossible feat and more about just putting in the miles and hours and weeks of getting to that place. And the bonus is that I get to share it with a friend who understands why this process is important to me because it's just as important to her.

I don't love running. It hurts, it's hard, and it's mostly hella boring. But I love knowing that I'll do it anyway. That doesn't make a lot of sense, but it makes just enough sense to feel right.

(This entry was moved over from a separate running blog.)

Lunch break

Having an iced coffee for lunch in order to use coffee shop's wireless, which I still don't have at home. Damn you, Gustav! I just hope it comes back before this weekend because cable TV's still not working either and I need to see Mad Men win a lot of Emmys on Sunday night.

First of all, thanks for your encouraging comments on my last post. They mean a lot to me.

I feel like I'd like to say a few more things. I just want to be clear that I don't think all McCain supporters are evil meanies. My parents, for example, are people I love and respect beyond measure. They have their own personal reasons for believing what they do, and they are not hateful about it. I really do respect that we all have our own personal reasons for supporting the candidates we do, and I don't paint all McCain supporters or Republicans with a big, barfy brush. The men in the coffee shop = assholes. All McCain supporters = not assholes. I understand this and just want to make sure I state it explicitly.

Later that day, I went to a baby shower where I had a nice conversation with an engineering professor about the situation, and it was nice to touch base with someone on the same page as I am. Still later, I was at the gas pump and a woman complimented me on my Obama shirt, and we had a nice chat. It was a nice way to balance out the ugliness of the morning's encounter.

Two of my heroes have written about this lately: Eve Ensler and Anne Lamott. Check them out.

:::

So far, I've done Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred three times. I know Jillian from The Biggest Loser, and Linda recommended the DVD. The first time, I did it without hand weights and thought, "This isn't hard at all! What is everyone complaining about?" Ha. Ha, ha, ha. The next two times, I did it with three-pound hand weights. Which doesn't sound very heavy, I know. But ow. That's really all I can say. Also, I can't do the squats where you put one leg behind the other, squat, and do bicep curls as it makes my back knee feel like it's going to snap in two. So I just put my feet shoulder length apart, squat, and do the bicep curls that way. The great thing about this video is that you're done in about 20 minutes. The bad thing about it is that it makes me realize what a wimp I am. But I'm working on it. I love when Jillian barks about things like "FALSE MESSAGES OF LETHARGY." It fires me up, it truly does. I'm not doing it every day (alternating with Punch, Kick, and Jam, gelato, jogging outside, french fries, weights at the gym, and chocolate chip cookies), but it's definitely good in a pinch. Note: I do these workouts in my living room, which has very hard ceramic tile flooring with no give whatsoever. I simply cannot do repeated jumping jacks and butt kicks and jump roping on that kind of floor without severe ankle and knee pain. For some reason, even running on concrete roads and sidewalks is easier than that. So I throw down the yoga mat and do the serious pavement pounding exercises on it. It really helps, though I'm not sure it's entirely safe as sometimes the mat feels like it might go flying. And three-pound weights are definitely heavy enough for me right now because of the many reps ... I don't think I could complete the circuits with a heavier hand weight right now. If that makes me a wuss, so be it.

:::

B. and I started Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day and turned it off after the first 30 minutes. I finished it later on my own, and all I have to say is DON'T give up on this movie. It is so much more than it initially seems. There is a shift after the first third or so, and suddenly what seems really silly becomes more serious, and the performances are wonderful and it's really moving and I loved it! I highly recommend it. Amy Adams and Frances McDormand are unsurprisingly great and give wonderfully nuanced, layered, heartfelt, heartbreaking, and funny performances, and Lee Pace -- wow. Lee Pace. If you've never seen him as anything but Ned on Pushing Daisies, you already know he's fantastic, but he's REALLY GOOD in this movie. His English accent is perfect, at least to my ears, and when his character really comes onto the scene about 40 minutes in, it's what really snaps this movie into place. Everything about his performance in this screams Future Movie Star in the most beautiful possible way. Give this movie a chance ... it really lifted my spirits and put pep in my step. I liked it so much I watched every special feature and listened to the director's commentary and then started the movie over for the third time. I am becoming attached, so much so that I feel emotionally incapable of returning it to Netflix.

:::

I don't know what else to say. The weather has turned in the past few days; I am sure it will get hot again, but it's been such a welcome change in the air. I still do not have a new roof or a roofer or anything fixed on my house, and I am growing accustomed to the mold smell. It's just incapacitating, somehow, deciding how and when to do all this and how to pay for it. And I'm still really ill about and saddened by Gustav and Ike in general and by what they did to my state and to Texas.

:::

In other news, before Gustav came along and ate all of my money with his giant ridiculous should be illegal deductible and in spite of the fact it might cause me to fail both of my classes, I bought a plane ticket to Hawaii. Where I am going very soon. Like some kind of lunatic. Who cannot wait.

Pre-storm update

Taking a moment to take a moment. I got up and ran three miles this morning outside and it was the best three miles I've run in a long time. I kept telling myself, "Be happy the sun is shining and you are outside." Anticipating a hurricane is no fun. I finally found battery-operated fans in a Bed, Bath, and Beyond miracle. Then the challenge became finding D batteries. This is a situation where employees laugh in your face when you ask them if they have D batteries. My dad finally found some at Office Depot, where he literally filled his shopping cart in triumph. He's working on his generator right now. My cousin from Houma is coming, so I'm washing bedding and trying to de-pet hair his room as much as possible. "I like animals!" he insisted when I warned him that they can be a bit much. Everyone thinks they like animals until they go from living with zero to four overnight. I guess in the grand scheme of things, a few pets and their antics are small potatoes compared to your house being covered in water. I haven't gone overboard on buying groceries. I figure we can live on peanut butter by the spoonful for a few days. Right now it's sunny and you'd never know a storm is coming. It is very strange. I think a lot of people around here are having serious PTSD flashbacks from three years ago this weekend. Today is the five-year anniversary of my grandmother's death. She loved weather. She loved weather events, weather forecasts, and the weatherman. Everyone is just basically running around like a straight-up lunatic. Many gas stations are out of gas. One of B.'s school friends just informed me there is nary a loaf of bread left in the city. Every Wal-Mart in town closed at 11 a.m. this morning. Which was kind of weird. I was in a nearby parking lot after having coffee and beignets with my parents and sister and there was a giant emergency loudspeaker from Wal-Mart droning, "THIS WAL-MART IS NOW CLOSED. EVERY WAL-MART IN TOWN IS NOW CLOSED." If you ask me, they closed a little too early, but I guess the employees needed to get home and prepare, in which case, I'm glad they got to go home and do that. Being a town that people evacuate to rather than from is a bizarre experience. I'd certainly rather be in the situation I'm in than a person fleeing my home and not knowing if it's going to be there when I get back. I do worry about things like telephone poles or trees falling on my house, but I have been told and know that I am a catastrophizer. School is canceled for days to come. The power will probably go out tonight or tomorrow morning. I want to be a good hostess for my cousin and make him feel safe and comfortable. I want to help B. not be stressed about school and other things. I want us all to be safe. I want this hurricane to weaken and not hit my state or anyone else's.

Misc. Thoughts

(1) I am sitting in my favorite coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon with my headphones in and an iced coffee. It is a good way to spend an afternoon.

(2) This morning while running three miles outside and sweating my face off, I started to push myself to continue with all sorts of irrational but inspirational thoughts. It is what I do; it is the only way I can keep from veering off to the side of the road and hurling myself face-first into someone's bed of caladiums. This morning my thoughts of fortitude were mainly focused on the women's Olympic marathoners, whose race B. and I caught part of over appetizers (pesto bread, hummus) and Blue Moons last night. When I was struggling to get my breathing into a normal rhythm and feeling like my facial capillaries were boiling beneath my skin not unlike molten lava, I thought about that runner who got the foot cramp in the middle of the race. And I said to myself, "Self, I'm sure that foot cramping marathoner would not be complaining about the opportunity to run at a snail's pace like you around these beautiful lakes so just get a grip on yourself and finish your measly three miles!" It helped, it truly did.

(3) It's been a nice weekend so far. On Friday evening, we got take-out and watched Smart People. I both liked and didn't like it, mostly veering on the side of like. My main complaint is that the romance between Dennis Quaid and Sarah Jessica Parker was soulless and unbelievable, but other than that, I liked the quirk of the characters and the overall film. It was nice to see Ellen Page in a pre-Juno role; she was excellent, as was the always reliable and hilarious Thomas Haden Church. Saturday morning, we woke up early; I went running wanted to stop at two miles but told myself, "If you can run 2 miles, you can run 3." So I did. I ate some leftover stir-fry for lunch, returned some graphic novels to the library, bought a visor to run in to help with the blinding summer glare, and took a long nap. After appetizers yesterday evening, B. and I headed to the wedding reception of a school friend, which was in a backyard and was beautifully laid back and relaxing ... as far as I'm concerned, backyard wedding receptions are the way to go ... had a very nice time except now kicking myself not to have applied bug spray now that I'm sporting about 25 new mosquito welts ... I should know better. I wish there were some kind of natural way to protect oneself against bug bites or something I could eat or drink that would make them think, "This blood is going to be foul, let's move along."

(4) I just finished reading the reissue of The President's Daughter. As I've written before, I have a long history with this series. I have my original copies from the mid-1980s. They are tattered, torn, and deeply beloved by me. The author came upon those entries and e-mailed me about five years ago, saying that she was writing a fourth book in the series, which has since come out. The books were reprinted several years back with truly odious covers (and if I'm not mistaken, the pages were basically xeroxed copies of the original pages), and the latest reissues have much better covers, are all-around first class in quality, and have been revised/updated by the author to add modern things like the Internet. And I'm thrilled that they're back in print and I hope a whole new generation of readers embraces them. Truly. And I am fine with certain updates to bring them into modern times. And I almost want to hold my tongue about this because I have loved these books for most of my life, and I love them still. But the little tweaks to the Preston stuff in the first book really bothered me. I don't like how when describing him, something like "and he's so handsome" was added, and I don't like how Meg talks about having a crush on him. These are very minor and short-lived little moments in the book, but they leapt out at me and made me squirm a little bit. It is clear when reading book four that now that Meg is an adult, a different kind of relationship with Preston is inching into the realm of being conceivable. That's not a spoiler; it doesn't happen in the book -- after all, she is still only 18 in book four -- but it starts to vaguely feel not altogether out of the realm of possibility. And I'm fine with that. Truly. I just do not believe the seeds needed to go back and retroactively be planted in book one when she is 15. Preston was already portrayed in books 1-3 as a wonderful, cool, hip guy who was their family's best friend -- in other words, we already know how important he is to Meg and what a rock he is for their family -- we just don't need the handsome, crush, etc. stuff that early on in the game, and I wish it would not have been added. (I always, always, always assumed Preston was gay, and learning that he is not really threw me for a loop, and so I'm starting all of these thoughts from a little bit of a discombobulated place anyway, for that reason.) I am almost frightened to see if more of these little hints about him are placed in the next two books. ANYWAY -- other than that, I loved reading the reissue, and I can't wait to start the second and third, because these books get better and better as they go along.

(5) Later ... I guess that is about it for now. B. made pesto and it's time to eat!

Motivation

I went to the gym today to go running. Lucky for me, I caught the last fifteen minutes or so of A Knight's Tale, which are a great fifteen minutes to keep your feet moving, even with no sound and with closed captioning. It occurred to me as I watched the end of this movie (SPOILER ALERT) that this is actually a really good movie. When the prince knights Heath Ledger's character, it's genuinely moving. And when Heath Ledger fights Rufus Sewell in the final duel (my sorrow at seeing Rufus Sewell play a villain is deep, true, and documented), it's genuinely thrilling. At least it was to me on the treadmill today. The thing I like about this movie is even though it's a silly Middle Ages romp with modern rock music (and even though Shannyn Sossamon can't really hold her own with the rest of the cast, her gorgeousness notwithstanding), the actors play it all completely straight. The reactions of the prince, the crowd, and especially his friends to William's ultimate knighting and victory are so heartfelt and loving and real (how awesome is Paul Bettany as Chaucer?), and Heath Ledger never lets on that this is really a silly movie. He acts like it really matters to his character that his dad heard him being addressed as "sir." It is easy, looking back, to see why this was the movie that made Heath Ledger a star. I really liked him, and he moved me in both silly and serious films, and I am very sad that he died.

And this is more than I ever thought I would say about A Knight's Tale, for pete's sake. But it, along with the Olympic footage of the U.S./China water polo match and the women cycling in the rain under the Great friggin' Wall of China, really motivated me today to run three miles instead of two, the longest I've gone since resuming exercising this summer. So that felt great. This evening I went to yoga with my dad and we did so much floor work that my forehead started becoming permanently attached to my mat and had pains shooting through it, so that was a less pleasant fitness experience, but what're you gonna do?

I guess all I can do is prepare to watch Mad Men and face the week ahead. And make these (I used chocolate chip cookie dough and alternated mini-Reese's cups, Rolos, and regular Hershey's Kisses, and they were easy and delicious and perfect). And try to watch as much Olympic gymnastic footage as humanly possible because it is awesome. My older brother texted us in excitement when Li Ning lit the Olympic cauldron because we were glued to the gymnastics coverage in 1984 along with the rest of the universe, for that was the year of Li Ning and Bart Connor and Mary Lou Retton and MITCH GAYLORD. Seeing Li Ning was like seeing an old friend. It was funny that my brother remembered that summer. That made me happy. And now, for nostaglia's sake ... remember, she needed a perfect 10 to get the gold medal:

Yoga

The truth is that when it comes to utilitarian/authoritarian/no nonsense yoga teachers vs. hippy/dippy/sunlight & moonbeams yoga teachers, I've decided I prefer the latter. Truly! If I'm going to be focusing on shakras, I'd rather be hearing about them from someone who talks about opening our hearts to compassion and love and how the light within her honors the light within all of us and all that jazz because it all just gets me way more into the mood. I still can't do many of the poses but it was nice last night to meet a tiny yoga man next to me who encouraged me and said that yoga comes back to you quickly. Yes, I thought, but only if one was there in the first place. Anyway, I'm sore but feel great after the class. I just collapsed into child's pose as the class held downward dog for five hundred years and then started lifting their legs into the air one at a time and then pulling them to their chests because I just could not hold those poses for that long. But other than that, I pulled most things off, including coming nose to nose with the tiny yoga man in prayer squat (close quarters; crowded class), which was semi-awkward. I was trying to breathe and balance and not fall over and there he was a centimeter from my face, hi. I averted my eyes and prayed while squatting for it to be over soon.

Meanwhile, I have come to terms with the fact that I think I have now seen every single episode of Reba.

Favorite running showtunes

I like running to Green Day as much as the next person, okay? But sometimes nothing makes me feel more footloose and fancy free on my turtle-like jogs than an upbeat showtune. Here are some of my favorites to run to, in no particular order:

1.) Waiting for the Light to Shine from Big River

2.) You Can't Stop the Beat from Hairspray

3.) Oklahoma from Oklahoma (There is something about this song that makes me so happy while running ... I think it's how happy the characters are about their brand new state ... they are overjoyed ... it releases endorphins in me, I cannot help it.)

4.) 30/90 from tick, tick...boom!

5.) The Dark I Know Well from Spring Awakening

6.) You Can't Get a Man with a Gun from Annie Get Your Gun (This song is a perfect of example of how Irving Berlin wrote some of the greatest lyrics of all time.)

7.) Another Day from Rent

8.) Mamma Mia! from Mamma Mia! (not really a showtune, but whatever)

9.) Forget About the Boy from Thoroughly Modern Millie

10.) NYC from Annie

11.) The Seven Deadly Virtues from Camelot

12.) Angry Inch from Hedwig and the Angry Inch

13.) Who Loves You from Jersey Boys

14.) Pharaoh's Dreams Explained from Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

15.) What Would Brian Boitano Do? from South Park

16.) Run, Freedom, Run from Urinetown

17.) Defying Gravity from Wicked

18.) The Book Report from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown

19.) The Lees of Old Virginia from 1776

20.) Fame: I'm Gonna Live Forever from Fame

P.S. Totally open to suggestions!

Sunday Run Day

This morning I took leave of my senses and decided I should run outside since it was a mere 74 degrees outside. My (old) route (that I haven't been on since resuming my exercise routine) has little shade and soon enough I was sweating profusely and my feet like they were being stabbed with hot pokers because I unwisely did not wear my trusty coolmax socks. But I panted and trudged through my two little miles and made it home safe and sound, where I juiced three grapefruits and felt whole again, noting that the temperature had ascended during my run to 85. We're having heat indexes of 110, though. Awesome! While running, I started thinking about my favorite running songs -- then, now, or both.

Eliza's Ultimate Running Mix as of today ...

1.) Get Up by Bleu
2.) Don't Know Why You Stay by the Essex Green
3.) I Hear the Bells by Mike Doughty
4.) Our Love by Rhett Miller
5.) American Idiot by Green Day
6.) I Get Along by the Libertines
7.) Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet
8.) Ain't No Other Man by Christina Aguilera
9.) Just What I Need by Rufus King
10.) Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson
11.) Bend and Break by Keane
12.) My Feet Can't Fail Me Now by the Dirty Dozen Brass Band
13.) Taking the Long Way Around by the Dixie Chicks
14.) I Believe in a Thing Called Love by the Darkness
15.) Punk Rock Girl by the Dead Milkmen
16.) Viva la Vida by Coldplay
17.) Who's Got a Match by Biffy Clyro
18.) Better Things by The Bouncing Souls
19.) Save the Last Dance by Michael Buble
20.) Lose Yourself by Eminem

List of favorite running showtunes to follow.

Catching up

I guess it's been a while since I updated this here website. It's been a busy summer! In the past month or so, I've been immersed in schoolwork, at a conference for work, reunited with my boyfriend, and trying to live like a healthier human being. There is truly not much news to report. I will talk about miscellaneous things now in no special order.

I'm still watching So You Think You Can Dance. I watched most of season one of Mad Men in one sitting while waiting to pick B. up at the airport, and holy wow. It's so good. It's slooooooow and deliberate and just a fine program. I can see myself becoming obsessed with it; I sort of already am. I saw Mamma Mia! and liked it but did not love it. It was so over the top and cheesetastic, but I loved most of the singing and dancing numbers, Amanda Seyfried was luminous, Meryl Streep can do anything, and the dads were all quite good even though Pierce Brosnan has the worst singing voice every committed to screen. I even liked Sophie's boyfriend even though I loathed him as Willoughby in a recent Masterpiece Theater Sense and Sensibility. It was a sweet, fun summer movie but certainly not a great movie musical.

The Avett Brothers' new album, Gleam II, is out, and it is wonderful.

I am officially addicted to Turbo Jam: Punch, Kick, and Jam. I first learned about it from Linda and figured I'd give it a try because I was feeling so adrift when it came to my health. I was lost at first but now could do it in my sleep. Not that it's easy to do; it's just easy to follow once you know the moves, and I like that each move can be taken to more difficult levels the more you know what you're doing. I've also started trying Hip Hop Abs, but I fear it is way too dance-y for me (no rhythm), and it also makes my stomach hurt so badly that it makes me think I am going to throw up in a projectile manner mid-"Tilt, Tuck, and Tighten." I went to yoga with my dad recently, and I love yoga in theory, but I wonder what is wrong with my wrists that causes any pose that involves my lifting my body on them to make me feel like they are going to splinter into pieces. I am up to running two miles again but haven't tried to push past that point yet. Anyway, fitness. I've spent a lot of my summer trying to get back into the exercise routine, and while there have been no dramatic changes body-wise, it feels good to be doing something good for myself.

When I haven't been making time for exercise, I've been doing homework for my class. It's consumed much of my summer. I read sixty graphic novels and did a whole lot of work related to them and to graphic novel collections in general (annotating and reviewing the books, evaluating a collection, coming up with a collection development policy, coming up with a library program for them, writing a research paper, etc.). It's been exhausting and ridiculous. I need to sit down and make a top ten list of the best books I read this summer. I'm doing my research paper on Alison Bechdel based on my undying love for Fun Home, and I can't wait to get it turned in and put this class behind me. I'm glad I took it because of some of the excellent books it brought into my life but -- hate to be a negative nellie here -- overall, it was kind of a drag.

My four favorites I actually read before class started so I'm not including them in the list (The Complete Maus by Art Spiegelman, Fun Home by Alison Bechdel, Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth by Chris Ware, and Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi). Here's the top ten in no particular order along with excerpts/snippets of the reviews I had to write for class this summer.

(1) The Tale of One Bad Rat by Bryan Talbot. This the tale of one young woman's quest to survive the wounds of being abused by her father as a child. Helen is both terrified and brave, both scarred and healing, and both enslaved by her past and striving to break free. The plot follows her from her days as a homeless young girl in a cold London winter after running away from home to her odyssey through England's Lake District, the home of her hero, Beatrix Potter, as she finds a new family and ultimately confronts and disentangles herself from her abusive father. The color illustrations are simply beautiful – they capture Helen's transformation wonderfully and depict the outside world with highly detailed attention, from the streets, buildings, and bridges of London to the spectacular countryside of the Lake District (which I visited four summers ago and still miss in my heart). The purpose of the book is to portray, through the life of one girl, the idea that abuse is survivable, that a person can overcome his or her darkest and deepest pain, and that people are stronger than they think they are. It is very effectively achieved, particularly in a scene in which Helen stands alone atop a hill overlooking Lake Derwentwater, crying and shaking her fists at the sky, proclaiming that her abuse was not her fault, and also in the scene in which she fearlessly stands up to her father.

(2) Sandman: Preludes & Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman. I did NOT understand this book at first and wanted to stab it with a knife or throw it into a fire. Then I started to understand what was going on and really dug it! The plot follows Dream as he escapes from his longtime prison cell and embarks on a quest to find the items that give him his power – his pouch, his helmet, and his ruby. Though initially hard to follow, the storyline clicks into place once Dream gets going on the different legs of his journey. Much of the artwork is grotesque and terrifying, and it does a good job of showing Dream's power as well as his humanity (as it were). The book has important things to say about fundamental ideas about life and death, like when Dream asks a demon who taunts him that dreams have no power in hell, "What power would hell have if those imprisoned here were not able to dream of heaven?" The idea that heaven and hell, dreams and nightmares, and life and death are inextricably intertwined is the predominant one in this novel.

(3) The Walking Dead: Volume One by Robert Kirkman. The plot follows Rick, a police officer, as he awakens from a coma to find the world around him irrevocably changed … it's human vs. zombie now, and he must find a way to survive against all odds. The realistic writing style aptly captures the excitement, the fear, the suspense, and the heartache. The excellent black and white pen and ink illustrations convey the terror and emotion of the story with intimate, intricate detail. This book reminds me of Carmac McCarthy's The Road in the way it portrays the desperation and desolation of man vs. the near-apocalypse. It could be used as an accompaniment to The Road in that they both focus on surviving with loved ones in a forever changed and terrifying world. This book is a unique and devastatingly moving twist on the traditional zombie genre with its focus on love, family, emotions, and the ties that bind – particularly touching is the scene when the characters sit around the campfire in the snow sharing what they used to do in their "past lives."

(4) The Rabbi's Cat by Joann Sfar. The cat as narrator is snarky, inquisitive, and wise, and his master, the rabbi, is insecure but likeable and grounded in his faith. The plot follows the cat through a temporary spell when he's able to speak after swallowing the family bird and as he accompanies his master through his daughter's marriage and to Paris, where they visit the new in-laws. The purpose of the book seems to be a spiritual exploration – what is a Jew, really, and what is a non-Jew? What traits do they share? How are they different? It's about coming to terms with one's faith or lack thereof or finding peace with some combination of faith and non-faith. It's also about coming to understand one's place in his or her family and in the world (human or feline). A beautiful and thought-provoking book.

(5) Heavy Liquid by Paul Pope. This is a futuristic look at crime and romance through the eyes of S., a former lawman who's turned to the dark side. S. is a dashing cross between Mick Jagger and Benicio del Toro who's a slave to heavy liquid, a chrome-like substance that melts into a dark milk that he pours into his ear for a high. The plot takes him on a lonely journey in the mid-22nd century as he embarks on a search for a lost love in order to fulfill an assignment for a powerful art dealer. This is a compelling and unusual story with haunting illustrations.

(6) Serenity: Those Left Behind by Joss Whedon & Brett Matthews. The diverse characters of this book are the motley crew aboard the Serenity – two soldiers, a pilot, a doctor, a mechanic, a preacher, a courtesan, and a possibly insane young woman – for their own reasons, all boiling down to a shared mission – to rob and steal in order to survive. The writing style is true to the origins of this mythology – the characters speak in a strange, convoluted syntax with a Western flavor that suits the singular atmosphere of this world perfectly. It's Whedon at his best, writing with a cinematic rhythm where all the beats, comedic and dramatic, hit in all the right places. The illustrations are dazzlingly beautiful, from the exploding light of Serenity's flight through space to the fraught emotions lined in the character's faces. The art does an amazing job of bringing this world previously created onscreen to life on the page, and seeing these iconic characters rendered so carefully and lovingly will thrill preexisting fans. The purpose of the book is to continue the story of this ragtag fleet for both fans of the TV show/movie (known as Browncoats) and to begin the story for comics fans previously unfamiliar with it – while familiarity deepens the reading experience, it's not necessary – it's funny, dramatic, complex, and exciting. Its intended audience is young adults, who will enjoy the adventure, the romantic undertones between several characters, the fights, and the whole space cowboy ideology. The many adult Browncoats will also adore this book.

(7) Paul Has a Summer Job by Paul Rabagliati. Paul, like Thoreau and countless others before him, chooses to lose the trappings of real life and go to the woods in order to find himself. He drops out of school and starts and quits a mindless job he hates before deciding on a whim to spend the summer in the woods as a camp counselor, where he evolves, to his initial surprise, into the Paul he really is deep down and the Paul he wants to be. The black and white pen and ink illustrations wonderfully capture the natural setting of the woods – the trees, the hills, the lake, the wildlife – and the personalities of Paul, his fellow counselors, and the young campers. The book's purpose is to take a look back at a defining moment in the history of Paul's life and how his summer as a camp counselor indelibly changed him, and it is achieved very effectively with heartfelt nostalgia and affection towards his old friends and experiences at camp. Readers who have spent a summer at camp, whether as a camper or counselor, will recognize themselves in these characters – the sacred, special, hilarious times at camp and the bonds formed between those who were there become frozen in one's memory and heart, and this book captures that sentiment beautifully. (Paul, sitting around a campfire, singing under the stars: "There you are, in the middle of nowhere, with a group of people you like, and suddenly, you lift off. Without noticing it, you're in a bubble. You become one with the world around you, and everything else just fades away.")

(8) One! Hundred! Demons! by Lynda Barry. THIS IS A WONDERFUL BOOK. This is the sort of book that makes a person want to sing from the mountaintops about the glories of autobiography and the lessons learned from one's own childhood and life. The plot is an episodic series of anecdotes about Barry from early childhood to adulthood. The purpose is to take a walk down memory lane by recreating Barry's experiences in a way that everyone can relate to on some level – we have had pain in our childhoods, we have felt out of place, we have loved and lost people and pets and beloved childhood blankets and stuffed animals, we have taken drugs and kissed people we shouldn't have, we have tried to create art that means something to us, and we have been insanely glued to the TV during the 2000 chad-related presidential election drama. All of us have done these things in whole or in part, and Barry has an amazing gift for tapping into the experiences that make us all human both collectively and individually. (As a chronic shame spiraler, this book was such a great read for me. It's a book all about shame spiraling and rising above. It is just awesome.)

(9) Kings in Disguise by James Vance. A young boy named Freddie struggles to survive the Great Depression and travels by railcar to Detroit in search of his father. A beautiful slice of America during one of its darkest times; showcases the inherent dignity of the human spirit -- even the poorest can be kings at heart. Sounds cheesy; is not.

(10) Runaways: Volume One by Brian K. Vaughan. This is a story about teen superheroes. The plot follows the members of the group, who are initially only friends because their parents are, as they discover their parents' nefarious ways and instantly band together in a newfound brotherhood/sisterhood … there are hints of romance as well as deception, as one of the teens might still be on the parents' side. The writing style is very modern and hip and peppered with allusions to real-life pop culture references – "You okay? You're acting all Keanu," "Okay, this is starting to get a little Eyes Wide Shut," "Wow, it's like a whole season of Antiques Roadshow in here," "Get out! That is so C.S.I.," and "You've been watching too many WB shows, bro," are just a few examples of these references that make the reader feel like these characters and their adventures really exist in the same world that the reader inhabits. The illustrations are true-to-life and do a wonderful job of conveying the wardrobes, hairstyles, accessories, etc. of the characters. The writing makes these teens sound like real teens; the art makes them look like real teens.

I guess I should say a little more about my all-time favorites.

Jimmy Corrigan. For the inexperienced graphic novel reader, starting this book is like leaping off the high diving board before learning to swim. The plot moves through time without clear transitions; generations and histories fold in and out of each other, and the reader must go with the flow rather than fight the current so that initial confusion dissipates, scales are shaken from the reader's eyes, and all becomes clear. The book's purpose is to explore wounds that fathers inflict on sons and the resulting scars carried for a lifetime and down into the next generation -- it's not only about fathers and sons, though – it is about loneliness and abandonment, the death of the spirit, and the salvation found in the tiniest moment's kindness.

Maus. The plot of this book weaves in and out of time as Vladek shares with his son Art his story of life before, during, and after the Holocaust. People are drawn as anthropomorphized animals (Jews as mice, Germans as cats, and Poles as pigs) who behave like human beings at their best and worst. Spiegelman set out to tell a Holocaust story but was also dealing with his heritage and working through the horrors and heroism of his parents' experience. Calling Maus "effective" is the understatement of the century. It is a book that cries out to be shared because of the lessons it teaches and the unique way it both breaks and uplifts the reader's heart. Its unforgettable power and singular place in both literary history and world history make it an essential read for all of humanity, if you're asking me.

Persepolis. I feel like most people are familiar with this book so I'm not going to say anything about it. It's really good, and you should read it. The End.

Fun Home. The plot primarily traces Bechdel's relationship with her father and how who he was shaped her into being who she is (and is not). It's sardonically funny and poetic, packing hard punches and eliciting gasps, sighs, chills, laughter, and tears from the reader – "Dad and I watched the sunset. It was beautiful. My father once came to blows with a female dinner guest about whether a particularly patch of embroidery was fuchsia or magenta. But the infinite gradations of color in a fine sunset – from salmon to canary to midnight blue – left him speechless." The art is black, white, and pale greenish gray, a color scheme that seems appropriate for the evoking of memory, and it incorporates realistic depictions of characters with pieces of memory, such as photographs and childhood diary entries. The book's purpose is to present Bechdel's upbringing through the lens of how she saw herself and her father in her childhood and perhaps for her to come to grips with his life and death. I've read three graphic novels so far in my lifetime that I consider masterpieces. Maus stands alone at the top of that list, but this (and Jimmy Corrigan) come closely behind it. This is not simply a great graphic work – it is a great work, period. It is a staggering achievement, and I will never forget it. Without question, it is an essential purchase for every public library on planet earth.

And ... I guess that's it for now.

Healthy

So here's where I am right now.

There is a pattern in my life (and others' lives, I'd imagine) where sometimes I care about eating well and physical fitness and sometimes I don't.

I've been holding steady in a "don't" period for longer than I care to admit. But here I am! Admitting it! I've felt removed from my body, almost disassociated from it, for a long time now. I've felt it getting softer and bigger and watched what limited leg muscles I had turn smooshy and I've watched my stomach become its own bizarre non-pregnant-but-looks-it entity, and I've ordered the French fries and eaten the daily Twix bars and drunk the Blue Moons and I've been fully aware that what I've been doing is totally unhealthy and yet I've been doing it anyway, for months and months and months. I've watched my clothes stop fitting right or at all. And somehow, at the same time, I found it very disturbing while somehow not caring, all the while wondering how that dichotomy was possible.

And then, recently, I came to my senses. I bought a Turbo Jam DVD, inspired by Linda. I pulled out my old yoga DVD. I'm planning to go to the gym this weekend. I've been trying to eat daily the amount of food a normal person eats in a day instead of three or four days' worth of food. I've tried to stop grazing. I've tried to eat things that are good for me. I skipped the cake and ice cream at a work birthday party.

I haven't had a Twix all week. This is unprecedented in 2008. Maybe even 2007.

I'm trying to take it slowly without going berserko and becoming obsessed. My yoga DVD is nowhere near a great workout, but just holding some stretches and breathing deeply seems like such a radical shift from where I've been. I'm actually paying attention to my body and trying to take care of it, even if I'm just lying there in child pose. And I know I need to pound some pavement and do some sweating, and while Turbo Jam is really hard and hurts my arms so much I feel like I cannot lift them which is sort of awesome, I know I need to diversify and do different active things on a regular basis.

This is where my head is. As I've been thinking about all of this lately, I came across this post, and it really spoke to me, especially the part about getting down on yourself when you start paying attention to your body again and really become conscious of how far you have to go to get into shape. I want to somehow be positive about this experience, but it's hard.

I've loved "Shame" by the Avett Brothers since I first heard it just because it's a kick-ass song, but I was listening to it on the way to work this week, and it says, "Shame, boatloads of shame, day after day, more of the same. Blame, please lift it off, please take it off, please make it stop," and suddenly in my head the song became about me and the way I've been treating myself. I'm tired of feeling shame and blaming myself for becoming unhealthy (even though it's my fault). (You can hear this most excellent song here.)

I want to put a new spin on things and not think about what I've been doing these past many months but think about the times when I most healthy and strong -- my sister reminded me, "You ran a half-marathon!" And I did! I still cannot believe that I did that. I don't want to keep shaming and blaming about how far I've fallen since then. I don't want to think about all of the times I've decided to start getting healthy and stopped or just not bothered starting in the first place. I want to remember that then is then and now is now, and now is what counts.

I just want to take care of my body so it will take me a long way through this life. I want to feel good about myself.

I took the stairs today at work and thought I might have a heart attack, but I did it. That's a start, right?

What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing

Not sure where to start, so I'm just going to start typing. It's Memorial Day, and I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about that, but none I can really find words for at the moment. Mostly I'm just thinking about my friend Jessamyn!

I really liked Iron Man. I have always loved Robert Downey, Jr., and he did not disappoint in this role. I definitely recommend it.

I'm not really sure what has been going on. I've been really busy with work. B's mom is here, which has been nice. I sort of went into a manic panic when it came to pre-visit housecleaning, which was silly. We had dinner with my parents the other night, took her to a plantation, took her to a museum, took her to the top of the capitol, had lunch with my parents today, and overall it's been a merry time. Today my mom made three different salads -- her cabbage crunch salad, a green salad with fresh pears and toasted pecans and feta cheese, and a curry chicken salad with dried cranberries ... delish!

I've been reading Linda's journal for a long time ... long enough to know that she is all about the Turbo Jam. I knew it was a tool in her fitness routine, but it wasn't until I saw her legs and passed out from their sheer awesomeness that I got on eBay and bought myself a copy. I did it for the first time this morning when B. went to play racquetball and his mom went for a walk around the lakes. As I told Linda in an e-mail, I am becoming increasingly frightened of my own stomach. It's always been a place where my out-of-shapeness manifests itself ... along with a big bottom that is sort of big no matter how in shape I am ... but my stomach is now doing this weird thing when I bend over where my stomach goes down before the rest of me and is sort of like a distorted, distended other being, like a sandbag attached to my body, and it's so bizarre and so disturbing. While this Turbo Jam video does not specifically address the stomach, I'm hoping that just getting moving again will be an overall good thing for my overall body. I could barely follow the steps and do not understand the different kinds of punches and am wholly baffled by how the teacher's somewhat skimpy orange bikini sports bra holds her boobs in place and I ended up just kind of punching the air randomly to the beat and trying to kick my legs out without putting my foot through the TV or taking out one of the cats. But I think it's okay because I did sweat a lot and get out of breath, which is more than I've done lately, so I hope to get into a little routine and stop scaring myself with the flubberoo.

We watched The Painted Veil last night. I sort of hated the first hour, but by the end I was glad we watched it. I've decided I think Naomi Watts is a very good actress because she just comes across as very natural. Edward Norton, on the other hand -- I've decided that he bugs me. Whereas Naomi Watts seemed to really inhabit her character, every move he made -- every turn of the head, scratch of the neck, hand on the hip -- seemed so calculated and actor-y. It was definitely not an exciting movie, but the scenery was pretty and I ended up being mildly moved by it.

I was much more moved by Secret Lives: Hidden Children & their Rescuers During World War II. I love a good WWII documentary, and this definitely was one. I cried and cried when one man, then a boy, spoke of how when the war ended, freed from his hiding place and his hidden identity, ran out into the streets waving a small Dutch flag and shouting, "I'm a Jew, I'm a Jew." I cried and cried when children grew up and re-met their rescuers -- their parents during those years, really -- half a century later. I was very struck by one woman who was the biological daughter of a rescuer couple who remains angry that her parents risked her life and the lives of her siblings to hide Jewish children. She said she's been angry about it most of her life. And I felt so sad for her and so sorry. And I wonder how all these years later she cannot see the experience with some perspective. That because her parents did what they did, children were saved. And it was dangerous, but nobody died. Not them, not her. So wasn't it ultimately a good thing? I enjoyed this movie very much.

Yesterday we visited a special Jim Henson exhibition. It was just wonderful. If it's coming anywhere near you, I think you should check it out. After coming home still feeling a bit happy/weepy from the exhibit, I went on an all-things Henson YouTube search. I loved watching the singing from his memorial service (part one, part two). And I somehow came across a version I'd never heard before of "The Rainbow Connection," which is one of my favorite songs, even when sung by the likes of Andy Bernard. Anyway, it's by the Dixie Chicks, and here it is, and it made me cry and then cry some more.

Can we talk about plantations for a second? An African American man I rode around with a lot at work last week is probably his mid- to late-60s. He was born on a plantation in St. Fr-ville and picked cotton every summer until he was 19. We were talking about plans with B's mom, and he said we definitely needed to take her to a plantation. He said he loves visiting them, loves walking through the grounds and gardens, even loves seeing the slave cabins. I asked him, not very articulately, if walking around a plantation makes him feel "yucky." (The best word I could come up with. I'm not proud.) He said definitely but he still likes going because he thinks they're beautiful. We had a pretty interesting conversation about it. So when B. and I decided to take his mom to one, I kind of kept him in mind. And sure, the house was beautiful. And hearing about the history from the tour guide was sort of neat. But I about gagged when she said something about how "they're very proud that slaves were not abused at this plantation." Well -- swell. It gave me an overwhelming sense of ickiness.

Here's a picture of the house from the top of the levee:

I can't think of anything else to say about the plantation other than that the best part of the visit was the restaurant's sweet potato fries. And now here are some more pictures of late:

Stuff & nonsense

In case anyone was wondering, True Believer by Virginia Euwer Wolff was all I hoped it would be and more. It deserved the National Book Award that it won. I cried while finishing it in bed, lying on my side, until there was a pool of tears on my pillow. I mean, I don’t really know what to say other than that. It was beautiful, and I will now wait with bated breath for the final installation of this trilogy that I did not even know was a trilogy until last week. I have to know what happens to LaVaughn and Jolly.

Let’s see … I feel like this was a pretty excellent weekend despite the fact that the sun did not show its face until Sunday afternoon and Friday was one of the foulest days in history, weather-wise. We avoided the cold and rain Friday night by ordering Italian take-out and watching The Lookout, which was pretty good. On Saturday evening, we had dinner with B.’s friend from school and her fiancée. I drank wine and ate veggies with couscous and a giant plate of cheese fries, my first truly decadent gorging in a while. I’ve been pretty much overdosing on fresh fruits and vegetables from the produce market on a daily basis. I’m sure I need more protein but I can’t help it. I just want to eat satsumas and roasted sweet potatoes all day long.

On Sunday, I slept in and eventually got over myself and hit the road to exercise after a weeklong hiatus. It was GREAT. The sun was out. It was cold but not unbearable by any means. It was a wonderful day to cruise around the lakes. The opening piano notes and then the fiddle of the swelling opening notes of the Everwood theme filled my ears as I rounded a corner and was greeted by dozens of big white pelicans and life was beautiful. I even ran an extra five-minute leg at the end when I wasn’t required to. It was Brandi Carlile’s “The Story.” It just made me start running. Have I mentioned that I love her? Because I do. The fact that it’s January is going to mean going to the gym for some of these workouts even though I truly loathe it. But I have to do it. I felt so good when I was done; I have to overcome my laziness and remember that to feel that way again I have to actually do it again.

I read Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers. I have to say that I liked Ellen Emerson White’s Echo Company books a lot better (and I’m psyched to be getting the last two through interlibrary loan because not single library in this entire state carries them and they cost $1,000,000 used, practically). I listened to Boy Meets Boy, which is a cute book, but I think I am just fundamentally annoyed by audio books in general and would have enjoyed reading it more on paper. I'm in the middle of Maus II, which is good to kind of an unbelievable degree. Sometimes I have to stop and sit there and blink and just take it in.

Eastern Promises caused me to hide my eyes too many times for me to be able to recommend it.

Don't forget to watch Eli Stone tomorrow night! I guess that's it for now.

Dusting myself off

I lay in bed this morning feeling sorry for myself and disappointed in myself and I thought, "ENOUGH." Enough of not being able to button my pants, enough of feeling tired and slow and dumpy, enough of being cross and surly, enough. So I sat down on the couch and decided to make a playlist for my shuffle and start Couch to 5K again. I decided to start on week two. I made my playlist and I went to the gym after work and I did the workout and it was hard. But it was also good to be back in the land of the fit and those trying to get fit. I used to be one of them, and then I strayed away for a long time. The thought of nights in the gym stretching out before me almost makes me feel like puking from the sheer monotony of it, but I am just going to take one workout at a time. I know from experience that the distances and times run in Couch to 5K are not going to transform my body but they will transform my life and hopefully motivate me to keep on pushing myself to be healthier. I am no longer going to mope around and feel like a lame suckass for giving myself fully to training for months upon months and then squandering all of that fitness. Moping is doing me no good! So I am just starting OVER.

Playlist:

Don't Do Sadness/Blue Wind ~ John Gallagher Jr. & Lauren Pritchard (Warm-up)
Good Morning Baltimore ~ Nikki Blonsky (Run)
Bubbly ~ Colbie Caillat (Walk)
A Well Respected Man ~ The Kinks (Run)
Anyone Else But You ~ Michael Cera & Ellen Page (Walk)
The Long Way Around ~ Dixie Chicks (Run)
Oh, What A Beautiful Mornin' ~ Gordon MacRae (Walk)
Save the Last Dance for Me ~ Michael Buble (Run)
Have You Ever ~ Brandi Carlile (Walk)
Piazza, New York Catcher ~ Belle & Sebastian (Run)
All You Need Is Love ~ Dana Fuchs & Jim Sturgess (Walk)
I've Just Seen a Face ~ Jim Sturgess (Run)
Put Your Records On (Acoustic) ~ Corinne Bailey Rae (Walk)
Again Today ~ Brandi Carlile (Cool-down)

P.S. This made me cry. They love Rosie like I do.

Monday

My sister brought me some amazing handmade gifts from Bolivia - a dress, a skirt, a purse, and a wall hanging with little pockets. I love them! Before wearing the clothes, however, I will need to invest in some spanx.

We spent a little time driving around on Saturday listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter. My sister said that every song brings her right back to specific time and place in her life. I agreed. One reminds her of being in her friend's car learning to drive a stick shift. One reminds me of sitting at a red light thinking about forgiveness. The entire album we were listening to reminds us of the summer of 2004 because we both had it on our iPods when we were in Europe. There are a few artists like that, I guess, for everyone. Those whose work has followed you for years through the entire human emotional spectrum. Adventure, romance, heartache, healing. I said, "Mary Chapin Carpenter is important." She said, "She really is so, so important." Then we just went ahead and agreed that Mary Chapin Carpenter is one of the most important people who has ever lived.

I've been coming around to the idea of thinking maybe I should start running again. Not following any program or time requirements or mileage requirements. Just doing it a little at a time if only to be able to fit into my winter pants and feel like a worthwhile person again. Is it insane to tie in one's sense of self worth to whether or not one commits herself to exercising? Because I totally do.

What else? Waitress really holds up upon third viewing. Once will be out on DVD before we know it. My little brother, of all people -- OF ALL PEOPLE -- has never seen it or even heard of it. I told him, "I don't mean to go overboard and say it will make your life complete or anything, but it totally will." School remains a mystery. I like the people I've met (most of them), though, and I'll miss having classes with them next semester. I am really enjoying the Across the Universe soundtrack these days and some old, live Ray LaMontagne. I'm excited to see Juno and The Golden Compass. In completing my unplanned but somehow neverending theme of war film and literature this year, I just finished The Things They Carried, which was beautiful. I'd like to close out the year with a really excellent book or two, but I can't decide what to read next.

And now, random pictures from the past few weeks.

There's a trickle of sweat

I am feeling very tubby lately.

Last October, I was finishing up the one-hour running program and getting ready to start the half-marathon training. I can't believe it's been only a year and I have descended this far into slothitude. Pants I bought last October no longer fit me. I can barely button my formerly loosest pants. It's a sad state of affairs. It's no big mystery - I haven't exercised regularly in months and have been eating my way through autumn. I loved my crazy exercise class for a while and went semi-faithfully, but it's all fallen by the wayside.

It's strange; I miss what it felt like to dedicate myself to the running programs and to have the routine and even the running, at least the outside running because I loved the damn scenery, but I feel like I ran solely to accomplish the goals of the 5K, one hour running program, and half-marathon, and once I'd done that, it felt like something I didn't want to do anymore. But I have to do something. Seriously. It's just unseemly and unhealthy, what my body has turned into this fall. I am actually beginning to gross myself out with the ballooning state of my stomach, and that is a terrible feeling. I'm not trying to hate on myself, but pants do not lie, and there's no reason for me to be descending into this spiral of blubbery. Mainly, I want to focus on how much saner and more productive I felt in all areas of my life when it was framed by an exercise-related structure. Healthy body=healthy mind and all that jazz.

Today I sat in class and was so uncomfortable as layers of tubbiness rolled over the top of my khaki cords that I loved and wore so much last year. I could see the rolls bulging out from inside my very cute new pink argyle sweater from Target, and I shifted and shifted, trying to feel better in my skin. I don't like feeling this way. For the first time in I can't even remember how long, I am feeling intensely sad about my body.

(Sidebar: Something that made me intensely happy was seeing Urinetown. I knew I would love it based solely on my deep and abiding love for "Run, Freedom, Run!" but that was the only song I knew going into it, so the rest was just a pleasant surprise. What a fun, funny, great show. I laughed and laughed, and I loved the music, and the cast was fantastic, and their voices were terrific, and it was a very satisfying night of musical theater. And it was exciting that it was happening locally. Just ... enjoyable. A good night of musical theater is amazing therapy.)

This afternoon, I did what I have not done in so long. I put on my exercise clothes and strapped on my sneakers and got my iPod, recently loaded with the Urinetown soundtrack, and I headed out for a walk. Not a run, but a nice, brisk walk for thirty solid minutes. We have less than a week left that I'll be able to do that after work, and I made myself go. I listened to that great soundtrack in addition to some other fine showtunes such as "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" even though it was dusk, and I watched the sun falling and all of the exercising maniacs all around me, and I said to myself, "Remember? Remember when you did this for months and months, only you weren't walking, you were running? What happened to you?" I tried not to feel ashamed but rather lucky to have the time to be outside on such a beautiful afternoon and to feel my legs getting sore and myself breaking a little sweat for the first time in God knows how long. Tonight, for dinner, I had a nice plate of roast and brown rice and peas and corn from my mom and I didn't go back for seconds. I passed on the moo-llennium crunch. I don't want to become obsessive, and I don't want to beat myself up too much. I just want to take better care of myself and start being a little kinder to my body, even if it's just a little bit at a time.

Summer

Summer. Summer is so hot. It's still really quite hot. Hot.

I've always remembered Pamie's entry about moving in with someone, so I went to her archives and found it. Here it is. It's still very funny.

So far, we've lived together for 2.5 weeks. We haven't killed each other or any of the animals yet. We baked honey whole wheat banana walnut bread in his bread machine. We made this in the crock pot which continues to taste much better than a Weight Watchers recipe should. I think it's the mango chutney. It's just so good, and I don't even like mangoes. We watched season two of Weeds. We ate sushi and played 80s trivia with friends. Somehow B. got the "Tim" and I got the "Reid" on the answer to a question about a WKRP in Cincinnati actor's show, Frank's Place. That was some good teamwork. He's been studying mostly every waking minute; I've been lying on the couch sweating and wishing the So You Think You Can Dance tour would come to my town.

I started going to my crazy exercise class again because I can no longer button my shorts and I need some endorphins released pronto before I melt away with summer blahs. It has been good to go back. I recognized most of the people there my first time back, the old faithfuls. It is still very painful and sweaty but not in an altogether terrible way. The teacher still shouts, "Love yourself." The gym is a bit like Dante's inferno, but I'm bringing a big bottle of water and drinking from it every few minutes. My shins hurt me so badly when I tried to jog very slowly around the gym for sixty seconds that I cannot believe I once ran 13.2 miles in a row without stopping. How did I ever do that? I'll never know. I wiped sweat out of my eye with my hand, which had just gotten someone else's sweat on it from a sweaty, sweaty mat, and I marveled at my ability to ignore germophobia while actively struggling to catch my breath. Sometimes breathing is more important than cleanliness, you know? And that is why I should probably keep going to this class. Being covered in other people's sweat reminds me that other people aren't walking around trying to make me sick and that their bodily fluids are much like mine. I am crazy; it is true. I also like how people meet eyes across the gym. I'll be doing some insane abdominal exercise and on every sit-up I'll meet eyes with someone on the bike across the gym and she'll be peddling like crazy and looking either empowered or about to die and it's sort of silently acknowledged that there are only sixty seconds to this round and please God we will all make it through until the teacher yells for us to switch. There is a camaraderie there. I am inspired by the fast, lean, incredible hardbodies and by the slower, more overweight people who all seem to be working equally as hard. It's all just sweaty and hot and inspiring and I don't even care how fat my stomach looks or how completely uncoordinated and ungraceful and unathletic I am when I'm there because at least I'm there sweating to high heaven and trying.

I am taking some classes myself this fall and went through a credit card debacle with the bookstore wherein they charged my card four times the price of my textbooks and thus threw my checking account into jeopardy of being overdrawn. So that was a joyous way to start the semester.

Sometimes internet dreams do come true. The entire Days of Our Lives 1986 Thanksgiving episode is now up at YouTube. When we were kids, we would always have Thanksgiving at my aunt's convent, and my brother, sister, and I would sneak upstairs to watch the show every year after lunch on a communal nun TV. And this was by far the best Thanksgiving episode of Days of Our Lives that we ever clandestinely watched. It was flashback bliss.

My latest internet hope is to somehow find a video or a recording of Shawn Colvin singing "Try to Remember" on Broadway's Best on Bravo. Sometimes I wonder if anyone but me even saw this show. But it was a beautiful, heartbreaking rendition and I'd love to hear it again. (There are few clips of the special up, such as Mandy Moore singing "Adelaide's Lament," though the audio is kind of uneven in this clip and makes her sound kind of off. I remember her doing it quite excellently, though.) I'm just putting it out there in the universe so hopefully one day this song will magically re-enter my life.

Whirlwind Weekend

Weekend whirlwind, whew.

On Friday night, I drove to see my boyfriend. I didn't get there until later than usual, so there were no big dinner plans. I ate his leftover curry vegetables and rice, and we turned in pretty early. We woke up early on Saturday morning and headed to the big city.

On our way there, I talked to my sister, who'd just run a half-marathon that morning at the very impressive pace of nine-minute miles, once again leaving me in awe of her. Once we got to the city, we attended a Jazz Fest brunch at his neighbor's house ... grits with shrimp, corn casserole, homemade cream biscuits, and other mighty fine dishes. We then headed to the festival, where we saw Snooks Eaglin in the Blues Tent and part of Galactic. We also enjoyed frozen cafe au lait, crawfish strudel, a pink lemonade snowball, a strawberry smoothie, and I think that's it. We spent a lot of time walking around the different arts and crafts booths, which is always fun.

(The Harry Shearer photo is for mo pie.) After sizzling in the sun for a few hours, we headed to a wine and cheese night with his co-worker and his wife. We walked over to the St. James Cheese Company, and smelling the gardenias and jasmine growing all along the gates on the beautiful Uptown streets was pure heaven. Somehow we spent more than $60 on cheese. I don't even know how.

I don't really know much about cheese other than I hate blue cheese and that the worse it smells the more I will hate it. I know that makes me quite a simpleton when it comes to cheese. We bought cheese from different countries, in different shapes, in different containers. It was a cheese extravaganza. The couple laid out an impressive spread of cheese, sliced baguette, crackers, and wine, and we went to town. It was quite fun, and it's too bad that they're about to move away.

The next morning, we went to brunch at the Longbranch. It was very pretty and fancy and delicious. I had the whole wheat pancakes with raspberries and blackberries and cinnamon butter, and he had eggs benedict with ham and English muffins and crispy chive potatoes. And eventually I drove home, talking to Shelley and listening to Cabaret.

I went straight to having coffee with an old friend and to Toni's reading, then I came home and watched Little Children. Which I thought was brilliantly made but pretty gross and disturbing. So I recommend it, but prepare to go, "Ew."

What else? I watched a fantastic episode of Brothers and Sisters, which I swear gets better and better every week. I love Patricia Wettig, I mean, I have loved her since she was Nancy Weston about whose evolution as a character (I'm sure I've mentioned) I wrote a 30-page paper for my Women & Television class. I watched so many hours of tape of her as Nancy that I can recite whole episodes and mimic her hand gestures and facial expressions. And so I am thrilled that she has such a juicy and wonderful role on a show that has turned out, against my initial assessment, to be absolutely good. I love that she won three Emmys for thirtysomething because she totally deserved them, and I love that she is married in real life to Michael Steadman ("Yo. It's my art center."). Love it. Love her. So it pains me to say this. But her very scary boob shelf saddens me. She is 56, and she looks wonderful, and there is no woman whose breasts should sit that high up at the age of 56. Or any age, really. Maybe she is just wearing insane bras, I don't know. It's really my only criticism, and maybe I shouldn't even be making it. I still love you, Patty!

Meanwhile, I've decided that I miss running and that I have to return to it. Not only for my physical but for my mental health. I've felt decidedly more crazy since the half-marathon. For my first run back, I'm shooting for a mile. I'm not even confident that I can run a mile. But I have to start back somewhere.

Pie for days

I spent most of the weekend eating slice after slice of my boyfriend's homemade strawberry pie. I'm a big fan of strawberry pie, as it turns out.

Let's see ... we went out to our favorite Asian restaurant on Friday night. He had honey wasabi shrimp, and I had shrimp with tomatoes, peppers, onions, and pineapple. For dessert, we had strawberry pie and pistachio ice cream. We started The Illusionist.

On Saturday morning, we had cereal for breakfast, stopped at the coffee shop for a granita, and headed out to a festival. This was our first visit to this festival. It's a lot smaller than Jazz Fest, and it was fun to walk around downtown, check out musical acts from Belgium, Finland, and Mexico, and eat festival food like a pink lemonade snowball and crawfish maque choux.

We got back to town, went to a backpacking store, and went home, where I made chicken stroganoff for dinner, inspired by this post of Jackie's. I liked it, but I thought it could have used some cayenne pepper or something to make it a little more fiery. We had more pie and more pistachio ice cream for dessert. Also, we finished The Illusionist, which I definitely do not recommend. It was terrible. Maybe not quite as terrible as The Holiday, but close. It was boring and ridiculous, and I felt embarrassed for all of the actors. Except for Jessica Biel because I don't expect anything better from her. But Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti are really good actors! How are they not mortified to have appeared in this nonsense? Argh. And we also watched Hollywoodland, which I liked but did not love, while playing a game of Scrabble. I thought everyone in this one did a great job, especially Adrian Brody and Ben Affleck, and I thought my beloved Diane Lane was a little over the top, but I still liked her performance.

On Sunday morning, we went to the coffee shop, sat outside, ate a white chocolate raspberry scone and a whole wheat bagel with veggie cream cheese, and read the paper. Soon it was time for him to go home. I did some chores like hedge trimming, went grocery shopping, lay around watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother online, and so forth. I took the dogs on a walk that went awry when Daisy got out of her collar and took off like a rocket after a cat and I ended up trespassing in someone's backyard and ultimately cornering her, which was not an easy task. It's always an odd moment when Zuko's the dog that comes out like the angel of the situation.

Last night, I was watching The Riches, and I had a flashback to when Minnie Driver was on The Rosie O'Donnell Show and she and Rosie sang "Truly Scrumptious" in harmony. It made me really like Minnie Driver from that moment on. I wasn't sure about this show at first, but I've decided that I like it. And I really wish I could find a clip online of them singing, because it was adorable. Truly, I probably still have it on tape somewhere, so maybe I'll dig it out.

I am trying to turn over a healthy new leaf this week. I've been packing on the pounds since finishing the half-marathon training and skipping my crazy exercise class for a few weeks, and I've also been eating like an out-of-control lunatic. It really has to stop. It was almost exactly a year ago that I started Couch to 5K, and I somehow completed that (9 weeks), One Hour Runner (10 weeks), and training for the half-marathon (16 weeks), but I find myself floundering when it comes to health and fitness right now. After missing class for a couple of weeks, getting back into it has been so difficult. It might be because the temperature has been pushing 90 lately, and it feels like it's about 190 in the class. I was doing some move with an exercise bar where you lie on your back and hold it over your head and then do a sit-up with it and on the bar's way back over my head, I hit myself in the nose. Dazed, I reached for my nose and thought it was gushing blood, but the dripping liquid was just a river of sweat! Delightful. I really want to commit to doing the class three times a week and throwing in a day or two of running in there for good measure. And start eating more healthy foods. Just as soon as I finish this strawberry pie.

Denied

Shelley teaches spinning in New York City and is more interested than most in hearing about all of the details of my crazy exercise class. She has become somewhat obsessed with it from across the country, and we both put it on our calendars to go to the class together when she was in town this week. We've been completely excited about it to the point of near hysteria.

So we showed up at the gym. I had the ridiculously high $10 guest fee in hand, and after I scanned my membership card, I told the woman at the desk that I had a guest. She informed me that guests aren't allowed after 5 pm. Shelley and I just stood there and blinked in surprise. The woman pointed to an explanation of this policy taped to the counter. Shelley said, "But we've been planning this for two months!" The women looked unsympathetic. I said, "But we just want to go to the class. What if we ask the teacher for permission and he says yes? Could she come then?" And another woman sitting in an office behind the counter said rather loudly and meanly, "NO. That's the policy." So we turned and walked out, quite bitterly disappointed. I was feeling the angry tears come on, the kind that spring to your eyes when you're not sad but just plain old mad. I might have even gripped the steering wheel and made angry wailing noises. We consoled ourselves by ordering a ton of take-out sushi and heading to Maryelizabeth's, where we were cheered up by her kids' cuteness and the surreal save the world episode of American Idol. Can I just say once again that I love Josh Groban? I know, it makes no sense.

I am trying not to let my rage at being denied so harshly at the gym diminish my love for it. I truly do love that gym in all of its stinky, crowded glory. I feel like it's the gym of the people. And the policy, while totally not conducive to our plan, is posted. And I guess it does serve the purpose of depopulating the gym at its peak hours when there truly are not enough treadmills and weight machines to go around. I wish they would have let us ask the teacher for permission, because there is no way he would have turned away a willing body at whom he could scream, "LOVE YOURSELF!" And I really don't think one more body in that class would in any way tax the resources of the gym, particularly if they were paid that astronomical guest fee that they charge. But whatever. I am still going to love my class and its teacher and ignore the existence of those bitches behind the counter who did not even try to pretend to be nice about squelching our aerobic dreams.

I'm sad that Rosie won't be returning to The View next season but not surprised. My love for her remains unconditional and unwavering, and I will keep reading her blog and watch and see what comes next. Frankly, after enjoying her old show so immensely, it was a total coup and blessing to be able to watch her on TV every day again for a whole season. I love her, love her, love her.

I find myself having building anxiety about the presidential election. I am just not sure that America is ever going to truly recover from the across-the-board debacle that has been the George W. Bush presidency. I feel the only way that this country can redeem itself is to not allow its next president to be elected by the evangelical, redneck, gun toting right. I'm sure lots of evangelicals are lovely people, but it's the maniacal ones, like those who support the recent Supreme Court decision on abortion, and think that intelligent design should be required to be taught in public schools, and think that stem cell research kills babies, and think that only a Republican president will keep the terrorists away, and who think that there is actually a way to "win" in Iraq -- that there is something actually to be "won" there, what the hell, seriously, what are we trying to win? whom are we trying to beat? what is the definition of winning in Iraq, I really wish someone would just tell me -- who frighten and horrify me on every level. (Elisabeth Hasselbeck actually said, relative to the election and terrorists, that certain Democratic candidates would not be able to keep the terrorists from striking. Because some of them want to pull us out of Iraq. Like the two are connected. What? Is this not 2007? Has she learned nothing? What is going on?) I truly am frightened that they are so much more organized than the left will ever manage to be that they are going to win again. And it really is a crippling fear that strikes me deep in my heart. I was listening to the political junkie on NPR in the car the other day, and someone called in to say he was a conservative evangelical and that none of the Republican candidates are conservative enough for him. He was an intelligent-sounding, humorous guy, but come on. COME ON. The political junkie said that someone like Sam Brownback might end up swooping in. And I actually was so chilled to the bone by that statement that I felt myself freezing up to the point where I could hardly pay attention to the road. I am in absolute denial of such a scenario. Something like that cannot happen. It just cannot happen. I haven't even picked a Democratic candidate to support -- at this point, just give me a Democrat, any Democrat. I have gotten to the point of feeling totally exhausted and defeated by George Bush's second term and just living for the day when it is OVER. And the thought that someone other than a Democrat will take the White House and that this nightmare of anti-same-sex marriage, anti-stem cell research, pro-war, pro-gun HORROR will continue once that idiot is out of there is enough to make me ... I don't know. Make me deeply sad and deeply scared.

Pineapple=good

The weather is gorgeous, and it pains me to be inside all day.

After a crazy work week, I headed to see my boyfriend, and we ate sushi on Friday night. On Saturday morning, we headed across the lake to do some cleaning at his house for the Jazz Fest renters. We cleaned our hearts out for a little while and went to eat lunch at Fellini's, sitting outside. Their spicy tomato paste on pita bread is probably one of my favorite things to eat in life, I've decided. We cleaned some more and he embarked on the adventure of replacing his kitchen light fixture, damaged when his ceiling was felled by Katrina, with the assistance of his next-door neighbor. We got take-out for dinner (he had grilled pork over noodles, I had tofu and vegetables over rice), stopped for gelato (he had white chocolate almond on a cake cone, I had strawberry and chocolate hazelnut in a cup), and headed out to see Shelley and her new fiance. We posed for a picture and pretended not to be old.

The next morning, we did some more cleaning and had some lunch (he had a cheeseburger, I had a caesar salad with grilled shrimp and fries), and I headed home. I had dinner with an old friend (she had sweet and sour chicken, I had shrimp lo mein) and got to spend a little time with my godson as they're visiting from Italy.

Tonight was boiled crawfish with Shelley and Maryelizabeth and their broods, along with garlic bread and corn on the cob and red potatoes and pineapple broiled in brown sugar and rum for dessert, which excited me very much. I haven't been to my crazy exercise class in two weeks, and I can't wait to go back soon. Last night I had a new version of the same anxiety dream I have on a pretty regular basis, the dream in which I haven't shown up all semester for classes required for graduation from high school or college. Last night the guidance counselor trying to help me sort through my academic freak-out was Craig Ferguson. And I guess that's about it for now.

Except that I have no idea why this entire blog is now gray or why my bullets are no longer cute and no longer match up with the text beside them. I guess something got screwed up in the template some mysterious way, and I'll be damned if I know how to fix it.

Babies and witches

Here are some things that have happened since last I wrote.

I got back from New York and plunged into a pretty busy week at work.

My friend had her second baby, and today is her one week birthday. She is Shelley's and my co-godchild, and she's an adorable little bundle of cute with black hair. My friend birthed her like a champ. Tonight I went to visit them, we had sushi, her three-year-old made up a dance to her Big Sister Dora doll's song, I held the baby and smelled her head a lot, and we watched Alanis Morrissette sing "My Humps." Birth and new life are very beautiful and miraculous to me but also very Discovery Channelish, like, hello, we are totally animals.

My boyfriend came to town, and we went out for an excellent Nepalese dinner. We also watched Lost Boys of Sudan, and I find myself still wondering about Peter and Santino.

I went on a 24-hour road trip with my old friend Eva. Somehow we ended up renting this car. Which was very amusing. It would have been great to actually put the top down à la Thelma and Louise as my boyfriend called us, but it rained the entire time both there and back. Oh, well. We went to Houston to see Wicked, and we had a good time. The nice thing about traveling with Eva is that we know all of the same Broadway soundtracks by heart and like singing the songs loudly and proudly, so we belted our way through Rent, Spring Awakening, The Last Five Years, Jesus Christ Superstar, Miss Saigon, Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and so forth. We also hit a few highlights from Aspects of Love. My favorite part of our songfest was when Eva, she of the deep singing voice, became Caiaphas. It seemed fitting with Holy Week approaching and everything.

We found our hotel, a shockingly nice Holiday Inn Express (I thought we were staying in more of a motel), showered, drove to the theater, parked, and walked umbrella-less in the rain to Sake Lounge at the Angelika. We had wonton soup, edamame, and a few sushi rolls. Eva kicked off her heels and had two cosmopolitans, which I enjoyed watching her enjoy. She has two little kids and this weekend was a rare un-mom outing for her. Our seats for the show weren't together so we split up, her in row three of orchestra left and me in row five of orchestra right.

As for the show, what can I say? I've wanted to see it for a long time even though there are songs on the soundtrack I always skip and had never heard all the way through until seeing it live. I guess the main problem with the Wicked tour is that there is no way that anyone's voice is ever going to live up to Idina Menzel's. It's just impossible. That said, I thought that Victoria Matlock was good, particularly her acting. There were times when her voice seemed kind of weak and quiet, but that could have been because it was tired or an audio issue. When she had to belt, she definitely belted, and it was very good. Christina DeCicco played G(a)linda, and her singing pipes were very impressive. I was extremely annoyed by her acting at first as I did not expect G(a)linda to be such a bouncing, spastic lunatic, but maybe that's how Kristen Chenoweth created the character -- not sure. She eventually grew on me. Honestly, I thought the best female voice belonged to Deedee Magno Hall, who played Nessarose. I think she'd make a kick-ass Elphaba. Her real-life husband, Cliffton Hall, was a decent Fiyero. His acting was good, but his voice was just okay. He kind of reminded me of a more traditionally handsome Mark Ruffalo type, actually. He and Matlock did have good chemistry. The whole production impressed, definitely, but I would definitely suggest NOT sitting on the side. Try to get in the center section, even if you are farther back. It's really kind of a downer to see the stuff happening in the wings. I tried not to look, but when I saw crew guys in jeans and t-shirts setting up lights or Fiyero climbing on the rope before swinging out on stage, for example, it kind of killed the moment.

And now a word about the audience. Good God almighty. There were college girls behind me who laughed hysterically every time the flying monkeys were onstage. I had no idea why. It would be when nothing funny was happening, they were just being the flying monkeys. It made me hate them. But that hate was sunshine and flowers compared to my loathing for the two fools next to me. They were a young engaged couple if her ring was any indication, and they were mostly fine during the first act, but despite many signs posted forbidding food and drinks to be brought into the theater, these two raging assclowns strolled in after intermission with coke cans, cups of ice, and candy bars. This worried me. I hoped they would finish them before the curtain rose. But no. They were just getting started. They popped open their coke cans, poured their coke into the cups, and proceeded to rip their giant Kit Kat and peanut M&Ms open and eat them with abandon. I think they must have thought they were at home, right? Surely they could not have realized that they were sitting in a beautiful, pristine theater surrounded by people who had paid $100+ for their tickets with a professional Broadway touring company onstage. They took no care in not crackling their candy paper and in fact chewed not only their candy (peanut M&Ms are loud, I mean LOUD) but their ICE. I started clenching so angrily that I had to keep telling myself to ignore them and not let it ruin my experience, but it was hard. It was really hard for me. I don't know what this says about me as a person but I was so enraged. Once their feeding frenzy was over, I was able to relax a little bit, and the girl started cracking her knuckles. Knuckle by knuckle. Did she have the courtesy to wait until a really loud song and dance number started up? No. She cracked them through every quiet moment. I wanted to kill her! And to top off their extravaganza of rudeness, they didn't even pick up their cups, cans, and candy wrappers when they left. They left them on the floor. And of course I stood up and accidentally kicked a half-empty coke can over, and it poured out toward the stage in a sticky puddle. I was so disgusted and also embarrassed because more than one theatergoer making their exit saw me kick it over and I just stood there helplessly and I know they thought it was my goddamn coke. Anyway, rude couple, I hope you never set foot in another theater, and I hope you spend a horrible lifetime annoying each other with your inconsiderate ways and then go straight to hell!

I don't mean to be so crazy angry about it, but I am getting angry all over again just sitting here thinking about it. When you go to a movie, sadly enough, you expect people to be answering their cell phones, cutting up, and generally acting like hooligans. But when you pay so much for your ticket, and you've driven almost 300 miles to get there, and you've waited to see this show forever, and you're surrounded by little girls in their best dresses who are staying up way past their bed times and are so excited they look like they might explode and yet are behaving like complete angels, it's really just maddening to sit next to a bunch of grown-assed idiots who have exactly zero awareness of their surroundings or regard for the fact that (a) for some people, this is a very special occasion or (b) some people are going to have to come along behind them and clean up their nasty mess. It just really kind of makes me sick.

But I am really trying to let it go and focus on the fact that we had a great trip, I got to spend time with an old friend, and for the most part, the show was really good. It was not some kind of transcendent emotional experience like Spring Awakening was for me, but it was certainly entertaining.

I've also been faithfully going to my crazy exercise class and trying not to die during it. Last night I was trying to balance and do lunges on the Bosu ball and fell ass over teakettle, which was delightful. The very, very, very, very fit superstar woman in my group laughed at me, but I like to think it was with affection. It's so weird to experience the group exercise dynamic after running solo for the past year or so. I still haven't mastered the jump rope, but I'm working on it. And Shelley will be proud to know that I am now brave enough to stand up on the bike! It's crazy, I know.

A nice weekend is on the horizon, thankfully, and meanwhile I'm just going to try to work, work out, attempt to post this entry even though a cat is lying on my forearm, finish Human Croquet, and try not to overdose on my latest addiction, Milk Duds.

Uttering joyous

I've now been to the crazy exercise class five times. Each time, I feel this weird combination of weakness and strength, slowness and speed, pain and elation. It is bizarre. I have become obsessed with being able to jump rope for the full 60 seconds of the station without messing up. I finally did it on the last station of the last class, which was kind of a triumphant feeling. I tend to get it all caught up in my ponytail and stuff. I also am fascinated with seeing all of the fancy ways that people in the class jump rope. They do some crazy stuff, like banging it on the floor and flipping their feet around and doing things sideways and I am in awe of them. I still have to do it like I did when I was a kid, which is the basic move of two little jumps, but I'd like to do it with just one jump and do some fancy footwork. I am pretty much incapable of fancy footwork in any activity (dancing, jump roping, life) so I'll probably not try that but surely I can work up to one jump. That would make me feel proud. I am so glad to have discovered this class because I was really in a running rut post-half-marathon and this is exercise I actually get excited about doing. And there's plenty of running in the class, just shorter bursts of it at greater speed. I am not very good at the step aerobics part when they start doing complicated routines of turning around and shit like that, so I just do more basic moves. So far my heart rate is always in the 85th percentile as soon as we stop, and I don't know if that's good or bad. I hope it's good. It probably means I'm kind of out of shape. Or maybe it just means I'm working hard. Who knows? Nobody is judgy, and it's all just very brutal and also very funny.

I finally finished The Last Seven Months of Anne Frank, and I definitely recommend it. (I think I first learned about this book from Chiara.) I'm really looking forward to reading What Is the What and Human Croquet (also birthday gifts from my boyfriend) and Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life (from Melissa).

Mostly I've just been working, eating too many Thin Mints, worrying about Daisy's love of carrying dead animals around in her mouth and her getting old, and trying to get rid of some stuff around my house. After helping my boyfriend pack up some of his stuff last weekend, I realized how even someone with not that much stuff has too much stuff. And I am a person with a lot of stuff, so for sure I have way too much. If that makes sense. So I've been slowly boxing up un-needed tchotchkes (I'll always keep those tchotchkes that mean something to me, so I'm definitely not anti-tchotchke) and things like extra vases and t-shirts and candles that I never burn and books and stuff like that. I'm barely making a dent, but it feels good to do a little bit at a time.

Last week I had sushi with Maryelizabeth and her little girl, who never ceases to amuse and entertain me. I always decide, whatever age she is, that it's the perfect age for a kid. She used to be 2 so that was the perfect age, and now she's 3 so it's really all about being 3. It boggles my mind how we can carry on a full conversation with her like she's a grown-up person. I wish I could remember some of the conversations that adults had with me when I was 3. I wonder what I said and what they said to me. It's a shame she won't remember much, if anything, from these conversations when she's my age because she is so hilarious and smart, and I hope she will always know that about herself, that she was always that way.

This weekend my boyfriend was here. On Friday night, we shared crawfish etouffee and a spinach salad with dried cherries and walnuts and had some ice cream. On Saturday morning, we got a scone and a muffin and played a game of Scrabble. We went to my old roommate's son's first birthday party. The shirt I gave him was a big hit. We then headed to downtown to take some pictures at the Capitol, which was fun. It was a gorgeous day, and the Spanish moss and the pink azaleas and the sunshine and blue sky and the way that the oak trees made me think about Walt Whitman were just knocking me out. Then we went to get sandwiches and he went running and I mowed the backyard. We drove out down River Road for dinner, which was very good. (I had shrimp primavera and he had a hot crawfish salad and chicken and andouille gumbo and we shared an appetizer of shrimp and peppers in spicy sauce in a bread bowl and then we ate flan and it was all just really quite fantastic.) Then we watched United 93, and what can I say about this movie that hasn't already been said? I watched it with what felt like an elephant sitting on my chest. It was very well done and filled with me dread and then a very powerful sadness. That sounds very lame but it's hard to put into words. I thought that it's probably not the best movie to be watching shortly before getting on an airplane but then I realized that was a pretty gross example of making it all about me.

This morning we headed out for my favorite Sunday morning drink, cafe au lait and hot chocolate mixed and a banana nut muffin and to buy a new comforter and we ate leftovers and watched a few (sad) special features and then he went home and I went running. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful day outside -- beyond beautiful. I'm now sitting out on my back patio typing all of this up and listening to The Weepies and Zuko is lying at my feet and Daisy is doing that thing she does where she takes a few pieces of food in her mouth, runs a few feet away, and then spits them out and then runs around and then goes and eats them. And then sticking her paw in the bowl and knocking it over and then running to chase some birds which hopefully she won't catch because that would really ruin a very beautiful and peaceful afternoon.

And now, a few pictures from our day downtown.

Grapevining

It was an enjoyable weekend for certain. On Friday night, we headed out to my favorite Asian restaurant and ate spring rolls with peanut sauce, a vermicelli noodle bowl with shrimp and pork, and some coconut chicken soup, and for dessert, we shared a giant leftover slice of birthday cake. We watched the first hour of Babette's Feast but turned it off because life is too short. (Other movies I have tried to watch but have given up on in the past month or so: Ponette, But I'm a Cheerleader, the new All the King's Men, and Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.)

On Saturday morning, we went to the farmer's market and replaced the birthday and Valentine's jewelry that I lost like an imbecile. We ate a gigantic orange blossom muffin and banana nut muffin and went running. It was my first run back after the half-marathon and the three miles went pretty well. I was a little winded because I tried to speed up a little bit, but it was a gorgeous sunny day and it felt great to be moving again.

After running, we headed to our massage appointments at the fancypants spa. I really did enjoy my massage overall, especially the use of the hot stones, which I'd never experienced before, but I wonder why they have you fill out little forms saying what you want them to focus on or skip if they blithely ignore your requests. I guess it's my own fault for being too paralyzed to speak up when the massage therapist does things I expressly asked her not to. I'm trying to remember what we did after the massages. I know we went to Starbucks. Oh yeah, we went to Supercuts! Which is always a fun time.

Eventually it was time to go see Zodiac, which was really interesting and had a great cast but was ultimately way, way too long. People used to bitch and moan about the interminable length of my beloved The English Patient that I sat through three times in the theater in a blissed-out reverie as time lost all meaning, but Zodiac is ten minutes shorter than that and it just really got slow sometimes. I do recommend the movie, but go during the day when you're not sleepy or you might be looking at your watch and yawning a lot. After the movie, we got takeout Lebanese food and watched a little bit of Saturday Night Live.

We tried to go out for brunch on Sunday morning, but there was a 30-minute wait all over the place, so we settled for cereal at home. My boyfriend went home, and I went to a giant garage sale and to Target with Maryelizabeth. Target is exhausting. My favorite garage sale purchase was a nearly full bottle of this for 12.5 cents. I also bought some old drinking glasses and a couple of sweaters that look like they've never been worn and spent a total of $4. Satisfying, I tell you.

After spending all the money in my bank account at Target, I took a bubble bath and got about halfway through The Last Seven Months of Anne Frank, one of my birthday books from my boyfriend. It's devastating, unsurprisingly, and it's nice to be able to picture a lot of the women interviewed for the book because they were also in Anne Frank Remembered.

In the effort to diversify my exercise habits, I attended the most insane class possibly ever held at a gym. There are different stations -- stationary bikes, jump roping, jogging, push-ups and sit-ups on big rubber balls, sit-ups with small rubber balls, various lunging with big poles, step aerobics, this weird bouncy blue thing that you sort of jump on with your feet, I don't even know. There must have been more than 100 people there. I kept messing up during jump roping and could definitely not do some of the moves at all, but I tried to follow what some of the people around me were doing. It was also very challenging in terms of my germophobia because I was using balls other people had just held or rolled around on, gripping jump rope handles that others had just gripped, and lying on mats that actually had splashes of other people's sweat on them. At first I had to keep telling myself that there's really no catastrophic disease that I can catch from someone else's sweat and eventually I just decided not to care. I think it was a healthy thing.

By the time I would figure out the moves half the time it was already time to switch to the next station and once I skipped a station on accident. It was very hard and very intense but also very, very amusing because I had no idea what I was doing and kept thinking of my friends. I first met Shelley, after all, under a tree in the second grade when we engaged in a rousing round of "I Like Coffee, I Like Tea," and Maryelizabeth will be very happy to know that there was grapevining. There was also a lot of yelling. People yelled throughout the class. Yelled in pain, yelled in triumph. Bizarre. (I wonder if there is yelling at Grace's boot camp.) It was an altogether different experience from running, obviously, and definitely a lot more fun.

Race report

The race ended up being a lot more fun than I ever thought it would be.

Basically, I worried about a lot of things in advance for no good reason.

The weather was perfect. It was probably the most beautiful day we've had this year. Sunny and breezy. Not hot, not cold. Just perfect.

I never had to use a porta potty. The lines were too long before the race started, and it only took one whiff of a set of porta potties along the route for me to make up my mind that there was no way in hell. And I never even had to go! It was like my bladder ceased to exist. It was amazing.

I never had to stop to walk. I ran very slowly, to the point where I was totally in the back with the walkers, but that's okay. I mastered the art of taking a cup of gatorade and drinking it without stopping even though it sometimes ended up all over my chin. I had it in my mind that I would run as slowly as I needed to go in order to not get so tired that I had to stop running, and it worked. I mean, I was tired, don't get me wrong, but I never felt like I was going to have to freak out and stop. There were high school and college students handing out gatorade every two miles or so, and a group of them started cheering as we approached, "Great job, walkers! Let's go, walkers!" Then one girl spotted me jogging at my turtle-y pace and yelled loudly, "And runners! Great job, runners!" That made me giggle.

My hips were a little sore, but they never bothered me the way they usually do. Maybe taking ibuprofin the night before and the morning of the race helped, as did possibly using this crazy thing on them the night before to try to loosen them up a little bit. So that was a relief.

At one point at about mile 10 while I was running around the bayou, a group of three little kids started storming towards me as if to tackle me, which was somewhat alarming, but they stopped when they reached me and stuck out their hands so I could give them high fives as I jogged by. That was sort of awesome.

There were groups of spectators handing out pretzels and little chunks of hamburgers and hotdogs and cocktails. (I passed.)

When I approached the overpass for the second and final time, James Brown came on and sang "Get Up Offa that Thing," which is the perfect overpass song. And between miles 11 and 12, Eminem appeared to sing "Lose Yourself," and those were my two favorite musical moments of the race.

(I had my shuffle in my pocket, having been persuaded by my sister the experienced racer that I probably shouldn't use it, but when I saw that 8 out of 10 people had them, I said screw it and decided to use it. I am glad I did. I can see what she's saying that it's not really good etiquette and that it isolates you and keeps you from experiencing the great outdoors and the atmosphere and everything, but I kept mine turned low enough that I could talk and listen when necessary to the nice woman around me who struck up conversations with me every now and then about her Alaska marathon and her plantar fasciitis, and I certainly wasn't running near anyone would need to tell me to move so they could run past me. I could still hear the cheers and whatnot, so that was good.)

Sometimes I would forget I was in a crowd. I belched loudly after gulping back some gatorade at one point, felt myself turning red, and yelped, "Excuse me!" to anyone in my vicinity who might have heard me. And when listening to "I Get Along" by the Libertines, I said aloud the lyric, "F*ck 'em," and then I remembered that some folks around me didn't have earphones in and could definitely hear me. I hope they didn't think I was talking about them.

I was getting pretty tired and sort of bored by about mile 9, so I decided to open a small packet of strawberry/banana-flavored phlegm (I mean carb gel) and see if that would give me some energy. I ate it in tiny little squirts for about the next mile, and it was pretty disgusting, but I do think it helped. It did not make me feel like Jackie Joyner-Kersee, but it put a tiny bit of pep in my step and I was able to speed up a little for the last mile or two, which felt great. As a whole, the race was infinitely better than any of my training runs. Those were mostly such drudgery, but this one never felt that way at all.

I was happy to see my boyfriend, who'd finished the race more than an hour before like the speedster that he is, up on a ramp at the finish line. I was also glad to have finished in under three hours. I ate some orange slices and a half a banana and drank some gatorade and just enjoyed the post-race sunshine and camaraderie and then we headed home.

I feel this strange need now to set another goal because not having one anymore leaves me feeling sort of out of focus. But I'm going to give myself a little time to think that one over. I turn 32 the day after tomorrow, and I think running in this half-marathon was a good birthday gift to myself. I might barely be able to walk today, but I did what I set out to do, and I couldn't have done it at 22 or 25 or 30, and so maybe 32 will be a strong and healthy and fun age of new goals to achieve and adventures for me. I hope so.

Running worries & happies

Here are some things I'm worried about relative to the half-marathon.

Fatigue: I don't know if I am strong enough to make it 13 miles. I've run 7 and 8 and 9 and 10 twice and 11 once and that's all swell, but by the end of those 10-mile and 11-mile runs, I was basically delirious and hallucinating, so I am kind of worried about 13+. How do people run whole marathons? I'll never know. I'm worried most about my hips because they've basically felt like they're bursting into flames by the end of my long runs. Maybe I should take some Motrin or Ibuprofen in advance? Maybe that will help. I have this stupid idea that it's wrong to stop to walk (except on a bathroom or Gatorade stop), and I am worried that I will feel like a failure if I just poop out and have to take a walking break or two. I have a lot of anxiety about this because I tell myself that anyone can walk 13 miles but that I've gone through all of this running training to actually be able to try to run 13 miles and that it will have all been a big waste of time if I have to take walking breaks. I know this is crazy but it's the truth.

Crowds: I've only run in one other race since starting all of this training last April, and we got lost and were 10 minutes late to the starting line, so I ran with only 2 other people, which was fun but was not exactly a good indicator of what it's like to run en masse. I'm kind of worried because I am technically running but will easily be slow enough to be grouped in with the walkers and I don't know, I'm just kind of anxious about the other people aspect of this thing. I would really like not to miss the beginning of the race this time.

Weather: The forecast calls for severe thunderstorms. I'm not the best runner in the most ideal, perfect weather, so this concerns me. I will plan to bring a hat to keep the rain out of my eyes. Surely the race will not be canceled due to weather. What would thousands of people in the streets in running clothes do in that case? I guess find some place to eat. Or get drunk. It rained for the 5K, but that was pretty much a drizzle by the time we got to the starting line. We were wet, but it's not like there was zero visibility or something. I'm not sure how I will manage my breathing if there is rain shooting up my nose.

Illness: My boyfriend's fighting a bad sinus infection and might not be well enough to run. This saddens and alarms me because I know he wants to and I want that for him, and I also want that for me because the thought of facing this experience alone makes me very scared.

The Bathroom Situation: I spend more time worrying about this than any other issue related to the race. There is no way I can make it that many hours and miles without stopping to use the bathroom. And I fear porta-potties more than just about anything on earth except for cockroaches. Bathroom germs are at the heart of my germophobia, and porta-potties are ground zero for the most disgusting bathrooms in existence. I can't even really think about it or I feel like I'm going to black out. I've thought about bringing miniature bottles of hand sanitizer or travel wet wipes in my pockets so I can at least clean my hands after going in there and having to touch the door handle. I know that this makes me very insane but I can't help it. I think about porta-potties and want to die. I tell myself that I can hold it for the duration, but I know that I am lying to myself. Ugh.

:::
Here are some things that I have enjoyed while training for this race:

Music: I've mostly listened to the same songs on my shuffle over and over, but I've never really grown tired of them. They're like old friends now. I hear the opening chords of Mike Doughty's "I Hear the Bells" and know that I can make it through that one because I love it so much. I feel like the guys in Green Day are my brothers, so familiar has Nimrod grown in the past few weeks thanks to copying my boyfriend's CD. "The Speed Test" from Thoroughly Modern Millie is a great running song because it gets faster as it goes and makes me feel like I can do that, too. There are so many, and they have really been my friends throughout this. Running has been very much a solo gig for me, not counting the panting comrades of the gym whose faces and sweaty strides I've grown all too familiar with, and these singers and songs have been totally my companions. I don't care how cheesy that sounds. I guess I might have to leave the shuffle at home if the thunderstorms really are that severe -- and I know many people think running with music in a race is really rude and dangerous anyway -- but that will pretty much break my heart.

Watching Good TV at the Gym: I've been pretty good at timing my trips to the gym for when I know I can get control of a TV that has a good show on it. I ran my first 8-miler during a Bravo marathon of Friday Night Lights one rainy weekend, which was fantastic. I've spent mostly every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday night there since Daylight Savings Time ended in October, so my viewings of things like Gilmore Girls and Friday Night Lights and Ugly Betty and The Office this season are totally linked in closed-captioned memories to those goddamn treadmills and the other people working out at the gym. I know which people like the fans to be on and which ones don't, I know the people who don't care what channel the TV is on because they're reading a magazine or talking on their cell phones, and I know which men to avoid like the plague because their sweat flies so furiously that it hits my eyeballs.

The Great Outdoors: Before the time change and on weekends when the weather has been nice, I've loved running outside. The egrets, the pelicans, the flowers, the other runners, the bikers. The old lady who walks her giant labradoodle who always, always walks with a small travel-sized green umbrella in his mouth. I wonder how he breathes or pants with it in his mouth like that, but he seems to take the job very seriously and be happy doing it. Really, the dogs have been enjoyable overall. I am lucky to live in an area that is pretty amazing for outdoor exercise, and I told myself that over and over when I would want to give up and would remember my sister up there in the tundra and how she'd really like to run outside in the winter but can't or her throat might freeze shut.

The Training as Its Own Reward: I think that is kind of a dumb way to put it, but that's just the way it is. Until last April, I had long been in a funk of no exercise. Ever. Zero. And I was miserable a lot of the time and wondered what was wrong with me that I could not bring myself to participate in this way of life that everyone around me seemed to do without giving it a second thought. I dragged myself to the start of Couch to 5K and then through One Hour Runner and then into the half-marathon training program and even though my body has not been magically transformed into some state of fiery physical fitness, I feel like my mind and my dare I say spirit have been transformed. Because I made myself do something that I knew I wouldn't enjoy and I didn't quit. And because sometimes I even enjoyed it a little bit. Not that often, but sometimes. And even though I have mostly not liked running, I know that it is good for my heart and my mind, and I like that very much.

:::
In closing, tonight's 2-mile run was the last one of my training, and it was pretty awesome. I felt energetic and happy and the weather could not have been more perfectly warm and cool and sunny. The best part was seeing a familiar car approach and recognizing my dad, who spotted me on his way home and stopped to say hi. I jogged in place and panted that I couldn't stop or I would never start again (true), so he just told me I looked great and outstretched his arm through the car window to hand me one of his homemade oven-roasted peanuts, which he was snacking on from a bag in his lap. Of all my running moments, that was definitely one of my favorites.

Meet you in the light

Okay. Weekend update. Life update.

On Friday evening, my boyfriend and I dined with friends and ate our weight in bread and pasta. It was a fun time.

We woke up on Saturday morning and did some errands ... went to the car repair shop, dropped off the lawnmower to be fixed, and other such thrills. We met up with a friend of his and his son after their early morning race and had coffee and giant muffins. Later, we went out to lunch and prepared for our long runs. He ran 12 miles, and I ran 11. I'm not going to lie to you. My sister told me that by miles 11, 12, 13 in a half-marathon, it just starts to hurt. And I've never made it past 11, but she is right. My feet and hips were just hurting and hurting hard. It was nice again to see my boyfriend running along the route at warp speed and to have him drive around to find me once he was done and showered and I was still plugging along to offer me some water and encouragement. Musical high points were Keane's "Bend and Break" and "Holiday" by Green Day. So thanks to Grace and Shelley for those great songs.

While trudging along near the end, I became plagued by doubts that I'll ever be able to run the half-marathon, but I guess I won't know until I try. It's a weird thing. I personally think that running this many miles at one time is kind of inhuman and insane, and I am not going to do it anymore once I've done the half-marathon. I want to keep running, but I am going to definitely stick with more reasonable regular runs of 3-4-5 miles. Once I get to 8 or 9, it's so painful and I get so delirious, but I really want to do the race. I'll be in the back of the pack, probably alongside the walkers, but I really want to try.

I also hope to diversify my exercise and do things other than running, like going to yoga and pilates and some of the wild cross-training classes with a hundred people in them that I see going on at the gym sometimes when everyone is working themselves into a frothy craze jump roping, riding stationery bikes, running suicides, and doing God knows what all at the same time. I want to stick with running, but I don't want it to be the only activity in my life anymore.

We collapsed eventually after our runs and decided to go see Volver because it would take little to no energy. I went into a feeding frenzy at the movie and ate popcorn with a giant box of Reese's Pieces dumped into it. I liked the movie more than he did; Penelope Cruz certainly was fantastic in it, as was everyone else. It was my first Almodovar movie, and I enjoyed it very much.

On Sunday morning, I attempted to make the cinnamon sour cream walnut coffee cake from Amy Sedaris' book, and it was fairly disastrous. I started making it when I was barely awake, and though it looked cooked on the top after 35 minutes at 325 degrees, when I turned the bundt pan over, it fell out in a big pile of goo instead of a lovely heart shape. UGH. I was so mad at Amy Sedaris! I cried, so upset was I. Then I re-read the recipe and saw that I'd misread it -- it was supposed to be 55 minutes at 350 degrees. So I cranked up the oven, picked up the blob of goo with my hands, threw it back in the pan, and baked it until it looked cooked. Some bites were salvageable; some tasted vaguely burned. Maybe I'll try it again someday, because I think it's probably really good when not totally effed up. I'm sorry for cursing you when it was all my fault, Amy Sedaris.

After that, I headed to a luncheon for my friend who's about to have her second baby. We ate shrimp and corn soup, chicken salad, mini-quiches, fresh fruit, strawberry cake, and various other delectable treats. We had a nice time. I am still full from what I ate this weekend. On Sunday night, I lay around like a sloth. It was the only thing I could do. The cats piled on top of me in commiserate slothitude and we watched the Grammy Awards and Brothers and Sisters.

While glad that they won so many awards, I was bummed that the Dixie Chicks could not be bothered to pull together in some kind of unified effort to present an articulate, organized acceptance speech. I know they had to give 5, but even for the first one, they were so totally not making it happen. Their performance was amazing. I mean it. Even though I've seen them perform that song over and over, they always look so totally into it and like they're singing it for the first time. Why could you not be so powerful in your acceptance speeches, Dixie Chicks? You would have come off a lot better as a whole. Seriously. You looked like kick-ass songwriters, musicians, and performers during the song, but you just were kind of clownin' during the speeches and clearly I am probably more bothered by this than I should be. (As for Brothers and Sisters, I think Rob Lowe and Calista Flockhart are very good actors who handle their witty repartee very well dialogue-wise but there needs to be more repartee and less kissing. It is wholly un-chemistry-producing and not believable. That said, I maintain that this show gets better every week and I am so excited to see Emily VanCamp join the cast in next week's episode that it's bonkers.)

Last night I watched This Film Is Not Yet Rated, which I definitely recommend.

The best news I have is that Mary Chapin Carpenter has a new album coming out on March 6, and Anne Lamott has a new book coming out on March 20. I cannot wait, I cannot wait, I cannot wait.

Souper

Monday. It is sunny! Sunny days have been so few and far between in the past month around here that I'm still kind of in shock when a sunny day appears.

To catch up:

On Friday night, my boyfriend and I got Thai take-out (cashew shrimp and red curry with chicken) and watched the first half of Slither. I rented this because I am very amused by James Gunn's MySpace page (particularly entries like this one detailing a recent trip to London), which I discovered because he's the husband of Jenna Fischer (Pam on The Office), whose MySpace page is also fun (like this entry in which she tells about her own history trying to make it as an actress).

On Saturday, we went to the library, had a good lunch of yummy sandwiches, and embarked on our long runs of the weekend. It was in the upper 40s outside and only partly sunny, but the small amount of sun and the fact that it wasn't windy out were enough to make it bearable weather-wise. (I know the upper 40s is not really cold, but I am a lightweight who's cold in the house when the heater is cranked up to 72 degrees.) I put on probably too many layers than necessary and headed out.

Surprisingly, this was actually a pretty pleasant run for me, or as pleasant as a 10-mile run can be. I plotted out a much better route than last time, allowing me the chance to stop for a quick emergency bathroom break at my brother's house and a guzzle of Powerade in my driveway. I was tired, and my feet hurt, but I never reached the absolute depths of despair like I did on my last 10-miler. It was very helpful and motivating to have my boyfriend speed past me at one point at the speed of light and to have him drive to find me once he was long done with his run to check on me as I chugged through the last mile or so. I even felt like I could have run 11 if I'd had time, but I didn't as we had massage appointments scheduled. The massage was great except for when she had me lie on the floor to step on my glutes. I told her they needed stretching, and she did a good job with that, but my pelvic bones were mashing into the floor and that was painful. Once I got up on the massage table, it was much better. I think I will ix-nay the floor work next time. I appreciate a massage therapist trying new techniques, and the glute work definitely helped, but the floor was just way too hard on my already super-sore bod.

After the massages, we stopped for coffee and headed home so I could start The Soup. I'd eaten it once before as prepared by Shelley and have always remembered it with great love. She sent me the recipe along with lots of moral support. For some reason the soup seemed like a scary thing to make, but it wasn't at all. And it was very, very, yummy. (See the short Soup photo set here; it contains the recipe.) For dessert we had vanilla ice cream with shavings of dark chocolate raspberry Hershey's kisses.

At some point we finished Slither. This is a very, very, very, very silly gross-out comic horror film, and I can't really recommend it for anything other than the fact that it might make you giggle with its grossosity. And the fact that it stars Captain Malcolm Reynolds. We also played a game of Scrabble, of course, and went out to take a few pictures of a burned church.

After he went home, I went to see a local production of Annie with my Maryelizabeth solely because we both grew up loving Annie a lot (her more, even, if that's possible) and her three-year-old is really into the movie. It was fun, but we were both rather appalled that Annie's hair was brown. No red wig. No washable red hair spray dye. No effort to remove the lines about her red hair from the dialogue. It was confounding and quite frankly upsetting. Maryelizabeth could hardly speak about it after the play, so flabbergasted was she. "I could have lent them my Annie wig from childhood," she lamented. "My mom still has it!" It is a sad day indeed when Annie's hair is nowhere close to being red. WTF?

I went out for sushi with a friend during the Super Bowl so I don't have much to say about it, other than this: to my friends Amy and Erin and other normal, nice, and sportsmanlike Bears fans, I feel your pain about your team's loss. I truly do. But to the Bears fans who sent nasty, hateful, and gloating comments to me after the Saints lost to the Bears -- and those who displayed their ugliness for all the world to see -- all I can really say to you now is right back atcha, you big mean jerks.

After sushi, I started Grey Gardens. I've been interested in it ever since seeing the divine Christine Ebersole perform "Another Winter in a Summer Town," a very beautiful song from the new musical based on the documentary, on The View. I haven't finished it yet, but so far, it's pretty damn riveting. It's hard to watch sometimes, but it's mostly just fascinating. I look forward to finishing it. And now if you'll excuse me I am going to heat up some soup.

But before that ... I want to share my new favorite new running song with you. It's called "Don't Know Why (You Stay)" and it's by a band called The Essex Green. I discovered it as a mention over at Sweet Juniper, and you can listen it in its entire swell glory right here.

Still love you, Saints

The Saints just lost, it's raining, and my man just left. All of those things suck.

I don't know what to do with myself so I guess I'll lie here and update. On Friday night, we ate Thai take-out and started The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. Mainly I was obsessed with The Bread that night, but more on that later.

On Saturday morning, we went out for breakfast and split banana pecan pancakes. We finished the movie, which was pretty good. Eventually we set out on our runs. He ran 8 miles in about 70 minutes, and I ran 10 miles in about two hours and 20 minutes.

Without dwelling on how stupidly slow that is, all I can really say about it is that the first half was okay but that as I got through the last few miles, I was more miserable than I can remember being in quite some time while running or otherwise. I can't really explain the dark place that I went to, how much I hated running at that minute, how much I hated grey winter days, how I felt hot and cold at the same time but mostly cold, how I wondered why I was doing something that I loathed so completely and why I wanted to subject my body to something that caused every inch of it to hurt, especially my hips which felt like they were dislocating from the rest of me, etc. It was so hard, and I was so spaced out, and I really thought I was going to just fall over and black out several times. I don't even know how or why I didn't quit.

Obviously, based on my time, I almost slowed to a walk by the time I neared the end, but I never actually started walking, and for that I am very proud of myself. Because by God, I wanted to. I really don't know why the ten-mile run was so much more difficult than the 9-mile. I do not know. But after yesterday's run, I seriously thought, "I am done." Done with running, done with training, forget the half-marathon, the whole thing. Because I never, ever, ever, ever wanted to do that again. I'm still not sure that I do, but I guess I'll wait until next weekend and see.

We went to the library later that afternoon and checked out Shoot the Piano Player, which we started last night and I think we were going to finish today, but I guess we forgot. We went out to dinner last night, sharing some insanely good pull-apart bread slathered in garlic, olive oil, and parmesan cheese, and he had steak and I had seafood cannelloni. Then we headed out to a party where my brother was playing. It was heinously crowded and smoky, but it was still a good time, mostly because my brother was awesome and seemed to be having a great time. I love seeing all of the young girls and guys (young meaning in their 20s) singing along with his songs.

This morning we had coffee with my dad and then headed home to hunker down for the game. My sister is in the Philippines right now working on a school project which is a great opportunity I'm sure but is way too far away from me, clearly. Insanely, she got up at 4:00 this morning to watch the Saints game, which was ON IN MANILA. I'm so sure. We chatted a bit online and I'm sure she is very bummed right now along with the rest of the state. Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. Well, the way I see it, they still had an amazing season, brought incredible happiness to their city, and can totally hold their heads high.

And as for the bread, it will probably just be easiest to direct you to the Flickr set chronicling the process. Start here. I'm off to feed my Saints sorrow by eating some right now.

Weekend update

I guess it's time for a weekend update. On Friday night, I drove to the city to have dinner with my boyfriend and his sister, who was visiting for the first time. We ate and ate and ate. Then we had gelato. Then we played Scrabble. The next morning, we had brunch and took a walk on the levee. The weather over the end of last week and the early weekend was unbelievable. Sunny and in the 70s. Bliss. That night, Maryelizabeth and I attended the wedding of J., whom we befriended in Latin class our sophomore year of high school. It's strange to think we've known him for 17 years. How is that possible? What the hell?! Then boy, now man, now husband, always friend. Life is crazy. He seems happy, and it was fun for Maryelizabeth and me to have a night out as each other's dates.

I got up on Sunday and headed outside for my first nine-mile run. It was no longer sunny and blissful. It was mostly grey, but it was still pretty warm. The first 4.5 miles were okay. Knowing that I'd planned the route to stop by my house to speed-pee and down some Powerade at the half-way mark was definitely psychologically helpful. My break clocked in at under two minutes, and then I hit the streets again. By about mile seven or eight, I started to seriously dissociate and it took on the out of body experience feeling. My feet were killing me. But I just kept telling myself that it was nothing and that I was not allowed to quit. So I didn't, and I spaced out to the point where I had to remind myself to watch out for cars. I could barely walk for the rest of the day, but I did it. I had a massage yesterday, and that was glorious. It felt like such a gift to my body. I asked her to spend extra time on my glutes and hips because they're wound up so tight that it's painful and I can't seem to stretch them very well, and my only complaint about the massage is that instead of doing deep tissue work with her hands like I'd hoped, she karate-chopped my butt and hips with her elbows. Other than that, it was decadent and very enjoyable.

I finished Letting Go of God, and I thought it was great. It made me laugh and think and was very moving at times. It brought me back to my childhood and my Catholic education in ways that I can't even articulate at the moment. Like Julia Sweeney, my memories of being raised Catholic and going to Catholic school are really mostly positive. I laughed and laughed at her memories and her re-exploration of the tenets of the faith and the Bible as an adult. She really did a brilliant job with this, I think. I liked it so much that I just ordered another monologue of hers called In the Family Way.

Last night, we gathered at my parents' with Thai take-out to celebrate my mom's birthday. As usual, there was much football talk. They weighed in on their opinions; my parents seem to think he did his job here and we can't begrudge him his desire to succeed somewhere else, no matter where it is; my brother's girlfriend said she doesn't care what he does but is disgusted by the way he leaves other people to clean up his messes; my little brother could do nothing but turn red, shake his head, and mutter, "Judas."

In other football news, people are so excited about the Saints that you can feel this sort of underlying hysteria boiling underneath the surface that could explode at any moment. Everyone's disappointed that we're playing in Chicago instead of in the Dome, but my little brother observed that so insane would be the experience in New Orleans that sheer mutiny might break out and maybe it's for the best that the city is not subjected to that at this time. But who knows? I fear the effect of the snow and cold on our players, but my dad said in his way that is somehow both steely and rabid, as he stabbed at his pad Thai, something like, "Do you think our guys, knowing they are playing for the Super Bowl, will be cold? They will be on fire." Awesome. (And by the way, Anonymous, did you really think I would post your rude comment about the Saints? Maybe if you'd left your name, but of course you didn't. Give me a break.)

The weather is now ass. I know I've no room to complain compared to what the rest of the country has gone through this winter and what still lies ahead, but I can't deal with the high temperature of the day being in the 30s and rain, rain, rain, rain, rain for days on end, which is what we're facing this week. It makes me unspeakably morose and yet again I wonder how my sister and Shelley can survive in the northeast without taking permanently to their beds. I was so in love with my bed this morning that I thought, "I could stay in you all day. I really could. I have never been so warm and comfortable. Flannel sheets are the world's best invention. Bed. Love. I love you, my bed. Love love love. I never want to leave you. You are my soulmate." But I got up and shivered through my cereal and bundled up and headed out. Again, I know this is faux winter to many, but it's winter to me, and I hate it.

I was so glad when Ugly Betty won the Golden Globe, and I cried when America Fererra did. I think it's great that everyone seems to be talking about what a great message this show has in terms of people, especially women, having more to offer the world than what they look like, but I wish that more people were talking about how this show is a lot more than that "message." It's really mostly just highly entertaining and completely hilarious. I saw Michael Urie, who plays Mark, who I think is my favorite character, on The View recently, and he was so delightful. (I love this photo of him and Becki Newton, who so deliciously plays Amanda, posing in character.) This is a great show, but don't be put off by the reports that it's all about some kind of sociological moral. It's also sweet and funny and over-the-top and I love it.

Do It for Jason!

Running's been tough lately. Tougher than usual, even. Sometimes I wonder why I keep doing something that is fundamentally not enjoyable to me. I keep telling myself that the training is its own reward and that I've come too far to quit now. Thankfully, Friday Night Lights came on during my run last night, and it's so damn inspirational to me that it makes me feel like I could run forever. I tell myself, "Don't you think Jason Street would like to be running right now? Get over yourself!" and other such ridiculous statements of the pep talk variety.

I was home for the second half of the episode and was startled to find tears exploding from my eyes not once, but twice. Incidentally, Pajiba just named it the best new show of the season. I don't always agree with Pajiba -- they inexplicably liked Brick, for example -- but they got this one right. I love this show. You can still watch every episode online, but that will probably go away soon. (Note: I wrote recently that Bright Eyes' cover of "Devil Town" by Daniel Johnston appeared on this show. I thought it was Bright Eyes because that's what the closed captioning said. But it turns out that it was Tony Lucca doing a cover of Bright Eyes' cover.)

In other news, I like the song "How to Save a Life" by the Fray. (You can watch the video here. And the Grey's Anatomy version of the video here.) I'm a little sick of it at this point, but I still listen to it if it should come on the radio, which, let's face it, it does all day long. The only problem is that there is some kind of chimey sound in the song that is identical to my cell phone ring so I can't listen to the song without thinking my cell phone is ringing down in the bottom of my purse. Even if I remind myself emphatically as the song starts, "That is not going to be your phone ringing, it's the song," I always think it's my phone ringing. It is kind of maddening and makes me feel like I'm going crazy.

Also, I have been a lifetime lover of snack mix. I excitedly explained to Shelley each of the ingredients in this snack mix, which I just discovered at the grocery store. (Pretzel sticks, pretzel twists, melba rounds, cheese nips, Crispix, and Quaker Oat Squares.)

She sighed, satisfied, then said, "Someone knows who you are. And what you needed."

I'm not sure how we got on the topic, but recently we were reminiscing about our once-fervent love for Michael W. Smith. We went an Amy Grant concert with our moms and my sister in the eighth grade, and he was the opening act. We thought he was just dynamite back then. And ... here he is. In all of his vesty, denimy, mullety glory.

Damn You, CamelBak

I've just returned from a disastrous run during which I attempted to use a CamelBak fanny pack contraption. What a fiasco. I couldn't get it to fit properly, and it kept riding up around my waist instead of around my hips and was bouncing around atop my tailbone and causing shooting back pains. Awesome. I was supposed to run a 10K this weekend for my long run to end week 9 of my training, and instead I ran under three when last week I was able to run eight. Failure to be certain. But for some reason I can't bring myself to care. It's rainy and dreary outside, and all I feel like doing is lying around in sweatpants watching season two of Cold Feet and eating coffee ice cream straight out of the carton.

Aside from the run from hell, it was a nice weekend. On Friday night, I made shrimp pesto pizza for my boyfriend and sister and pretended to be an actual entertainer as inspired by my Christmas gift of I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence. We started A Scanner Darkly, which was so irritatingly confusing to me that I started to pass out in involuntary protest. On Saturday morning, we went to the farmer's market for muffins and to the sporting goods store and to lunch, where I had the slimiest gumbo ever. It was like the chef blew her nose in the bowl and called it a day. I heard somewhere that if you don't cook the okra properly, it results in snotty gumbo. Clearly this chef needs an okra lesson. B. went on a run while I sat outside with the dogs and read The Wonder Spot (another Christmas gift) which I can happily report is much better than Melissa Bank's first book. We finished A Scanner Darkly, which I still didn't understand by the time it ended. After watching some special features, I liked it a little more even while realizing that a MAJOR plot point flew completely over my head. Oh, well. We played a game of Scrabble and eventually headed out to see Children of Men, which I did not love quite as much as Kymm did but which certainly made for a good night at the movies.

For breakfast this morning, we ate eggs with cheese and roasted red peppers and biscuits and orange juice squeezed with my new juicer. Another game of Scrabble was played, and coffee was purchased at the Starbucks that seems to be staffed by increasingly inept morons. Wrong-sized drinks, clots in the cream. Tasty.

My sister left today, and it is weird that she is gone. I know she has a life of her own far up in the frozen tundra, but it's always nice to know she's nearby. I'm glad we got to spend time together over the holidays and spend time together on New Year's Eve, just like we did in 2004 and 2005. I will miss her and hope she stays warm.

Many waters

Many waters
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

This is what my backyard looks like right now.

I'm not really sure what is causing this flooding as it only started raining last night. In six and a half years, I have never seen my backyard fill with this much water. It's kind of scary.

I just got back from running 8 miles at the gym. My plans to run outdoors were obviously thwarted by the weather.

It was difficult, but I was definitely helped along by songs from a new running mix I got for Christmas and the Friday Night Lights marathon on Bravo. There's nothing to keep my sad, slow ass chugging along like seeing Coach Taylor yell at his players as they ran wind sprints through the mud and rain, "Champions don't complain! Champions never quit!"

I can't believe that tomorrow is New Year's Eve.

Yes, my name is Johnny Wishbone

Another weekend gone by. On Friday night, I drove to the big city, ate a spinach salad with walnuts and feta and red onions and raspberry dressing, and watched a little bit of An Evening with Kevin Smith before we had to turn it off. I like Kevin Smith, but I do not like shots of overly enthusiastic fans in any kind of video. Music concert, lecture series, whatever. Spare me the extended footage of audience members applauding, "woo!"-ing, guffawing. Hate.

On Saturday morning, it was off to the French bakery for a muffin and croissant. We bought a Christmas tree and went to split the planet's best barbeque shrimp po-boy. We went to the mall, which was hellish, of course, to buy a gift card for the intern at my office who's graduating, then to Border's, then to meet my parents for coffee but not really because they got stuck in traffic and didn't make it, and started a game of Scrabble before heading out to dinner, where the wait was long despite reservations but the food was very good. The house salad was especially tasty, as was the butternut shrimp bisque, into which I dipped much bread.

The next morning we went out for Christmas lights and put them on the tree and I headed home around lunchtime and set out for my supposed six-mile run which ended up being a 3.5-mile run. I was having a hard time and kept slowing down and slowing down until I realized, "Hey, I'm walking." I kept on walking and didn't finish the run. It might have been the heat or running outside again after a two-week stint running indoors or the fact that mentally I knew that I'd already run 6 miles the Sunday before. I don't know. It was the first time in all of this training that it was body over mind and I was upset about it at first but have now let it go and plan on running my 19 miles this week come hell or high water.

Alert. Alert! Bravo is airing the first ten episodes of Friday Night Lights, marathon style, on Saturday, December 30. My evangelism relative to this show is perhaps growing tiresome but I don't care.

And here's another alert: You can watch three episodes of thirtysomething on YouTube now. I have done searches for this show since forever and now look, there they are: "Separation," the episode when Nancy and Elliot separate; "Legacy," the episode when Michael and Elliot's plane almost crashes so Michael and Hope start drawing up a will, Nancy and Elliot are getting back together, and so forth; and "Mr. Right," the episode when Melissa and Ellyn do video dating, Ethan has to kiss Cinderella in the school play, and Melissa meets Lee. Excellence all around. I now see that you can buy this show on DVD here and here, both of which might be sketchy as the show has never been officially issued on DVD. I'm thinking of buying it from the first link; is that insane?

I caught part of Eddie Murphy on Inside the Actors Studio tonight and was reminded of how often my brother, sister, and I used to watch the first two Beverly Hills Cop movies when we were young. I remember how hard they made my brother laugh. For having parents so holy, we sure did watch a lot of filth. I think the trick is having holy parents who can still find amusement in the likes of Axel Foley.

Pink roses

Sometimes I feel like if I don't write about my weekends that they'll be lost somehow.

On Friday night, there was sushi. And, of course, the watching of Battlestar Galactica. On Saturday, there was running shoe shopping, beignets and half-cafe au lait/half-hot chocolate, a stop in my favorite store, a visit to the library book sale where I bought this CD for a dollar, a visit to this store where I accidentally plopped a giant blob of lotion all over the floor, a work fish fry, Vietnamese food, and Wordplay, which was very geekily enjoyable. On Sunday, there was a homegrown orange for breakfast and a game of Scrabble where I got the X, Z, J, Q, and all sorts of other high-scoring consonants so I actually won the game. Then I went on my first five-mile run on a cold sunny day. I was very glad to have my new headband/ear-cover thingie or I think my ears would have frozen and shattered onto the ground. I have no idea how I'm going to run 16 miles this week considering it's Tuesday and I haven't started but I suppose I'll make it happen somehow. Along with a six mile run at the end of the week but I'm not thinking about that yet.

What I'm thinking about is how I have a sudden new obsession with baked Cheetos, how sad and moving Anne Frank Remembered (that I watched Sunday night) was, how very good Case Histories is, how Zuko smells lately like he rolled in something that died which is possible considering the deer legs that were being tossed about to and fro in my backyard by the neighbors until I left them a very nice note asking them to please keep the frightening hoofed meaty limbs to themselves because they are in fact super gross, how Marley spends entire days with her entire body buried under my comforter in a hidden lump of warmth and purriness, how Khaki refuses to get down from her cat bed unless it's time to eat, how totally awesome the James Taylor Great Performances show was on PBS and how I cried at the end when they sang "Shed a Little Light," how Daisy just wants to curl up on top of the pillow that sits atop her crate in ball of shivering my life is so hard-ness, how I don't understand why it was 23 degrees here this morning and 40 degrees in New York City, and how happy I was made earlier by the appearance of pink roses in my office in recognition of two December fifths ago being the scary but exciting blind date I went on with the sender of the pink roses.

I've never really been a huge James Taylor fan the way my sister is a huge fan. I've always loved "Carolina in My Mind" and an old live version of "That Lonesome Road" but I've never really known much about him except that most of his music seemed kind of, I don't know, milquetoastey. But after watching this show, I think I am digging him on a deep level. I mean, maybe there's nothing wrong with singing songs about how we should shower the people we love with love and show them the way that we feel.

Two deer legs and a partridge in a pear tree

People always say that things look brighter in the morning because they do. I woke up this morning after dreaming of deer parts all night long -- seriously. I set out for an early morning run even though it was 34 degrees outside convincing myself that my very expensive running pants would keep me warm but they certainly did not and I only lasted about two blocks before running home and driving to the gym for my 3.5-mile run. I hate running inside, but what're you gonna do? Anyway, so I got home, felt emboldened by my run, and decided to go on a spy mission and peeked into my neighbors' (college boys) yard and saw that it, too, held a deer's leg. So I figure that they gave one to their puppies and decided to toss one over the fence for mine, too. To which I can only say thanks but no thanks. I definitely got myself worked into a frenzy last night, concluding that it could only be the remnant of a Satanic animal sacrifice ceremony. Lord. I talked to a co-worker about it this morning who said that her husband always gives deer legs to his dogs after hunting. "Fur and all?" I gulped. "Fur and all," she assured me. My boyfriend said last night that there was probably a simple explanation, and, as usual, he was right.

Haul Out the Holly

I'm sitting here at the coffee shop on a spectacularly beautiful afternoon. Looking back, I've mentioned the Broadway Cares: Home for the Holidays CD (that Melissa sent me a few years ago, God love her) several times before, but I'm not sure I've stated emphatically enough that everyone needs to have it. Every song on it isn't perfect, but the ones that are -- they are breathtaking. Liz Callaway and Ann Hampton Callaway, Christine Ebersole, Lillias White, and Audra McDonald, you are breathtaking. And Patrick Wilson, no song in recent years gets me more in the Christmas spirit than your exuberant, joyful, wonderful rendition of "We Need a Little Christmas." We do, Patrick. We do.

It's been a lovely week, really, since returning from vacation. Thanksgiving was nice, if on a smaller scale than in past years due to Katrina having wiped out our previous stomping grounds of every Thanksgiving I can remember since birth. After gorging ourselves on turkey and everything that goes with it, my boyfriend attended this event for the first time, and it was very cool.

This weekend, we went out to dinner on Friday night. I had shrimp and pineapple and vegetables over rice and he had a vermicelli salad with sugar cane-skewered shrimp. We went to the farmer's market on Saturday morning, having breakfast pizza and grits and a biscuit. We went to Best Buy and fooled around with some digital cameras, went out to lunch, wandered around the mall, played a game of Scrabble where he came close to breaking 500 points for the love of God, and went to see the matinee of Stranger than Fiction, which far exceeded my expectations and which I enjoyed completely. Then it was time for Thai take-out and the rental of The DaVinci Code, which basically bit the big one. We also finally finished Big Love, and I am looking forward to season two.

This morning was coffee and muffins and I went on a 4.5-mile run, completing week 3 of half-marathon training. Running continues to be bitterly difficult, but I am forcing myself to soldier on. The only things I like about it are listening to good music, having some good thinking time, and feeling afterwards like I've accomplished something. I'm still totally taking it mile by mile, run by run. I try to focus on the breeze and the beauty of being outside, but mostly I think, "Ugh, I hate this," as men, women, and children smoke me one after one. I try to tell myself that it's okay to be slow and steady. I'm not quitting, I swear to God, I am not quitting.

While driving home from Thanksgiving, I listened to the soundtrack of The Sound of Music in its entirety. It was strange to realize that as I listened and sang along to every word, a sort of DVD commentary was running through my mind, only instead of being like the director or actors talking about making the movie, it was my own memory talking to itself about what it was like to grow up watching the movie. During "I Have Confidence," I remembered how I would act out the song by swinging rectangular couch cushions around as my version of Maria's suitcase and guitar. I remembered how Liesl and Brigitta's voices were always my favorites. During "My Favorite Things," I remembered how I always wished I could have bed covers as thick and miraculous as Maria's beautiful gold comforter that seemed to stand three feet tall when folded over. How my mom always cried with Captain von Trapp appeared and sang, "I go to the hills when my heart is lonely," and when Maria took over for him when he couldn't get through "Edelweiss" without crying himself. How before we had a VCR and only watched it on its yearly TV airing, I always fell asleep before the end, and how I felt like I got kicked in the stomach the first time I saw Rolf say, "Lieutenant, they're here!" I love this movie forever for always.

I'm reading The Thirteenth Tale right now, but I'm having trouble getting through it. I think it's because the last book I read was Behind the Scenes at the Museum and I loved it so much that whatever follows it is just going to suffer in comparison. I would almost rather read it again than anything else, that's how much I loved it. Last night when we were at the bookstore, I had to stop myself from buying every Kate Atkinson book on the shelf.

And now it is getting chilly, and I must leave.

Tell me what your favorite holiday CD is if you have one to recommend.

Weekend

Favorite
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Ah. Weekends.

Friday night, I drove to the big city, dined on sushi takeout and hazelnut gelato (thinking of Kymm and our virtual milkshake date), and watched part of the pilot Big Love before deciding that I'd rather go to sleep than see Bill Paxton's bare buttcheeks again. Saturday morning, it was to the French bakery for an apple turnover and almond croissant and to my favorite store for various cards. We went to lunch at the home of the world's perfect barbeque shrimp po-boy. They hollow out the bread and shove shrimp inside until they are overflowing in their buttery, peppery sauce of sensationalness. Lots of moaning accompanies the eating of this po-boy. I think it might be one of the best things I have ever eaten.

Lunch was followed by Scrabble on the front porch. We were neck and neck, but my boyfriend came out on top. I think it was 340-something to 330-something in the end. The afternoon included a coffee run, a short siesta, and the ordering of shrimp pesto pizza. That night my boyfriend's band had a gig, and they were awesome. I stayed up until 2 in the morning for the first time in I can't even remember when.

We ended up watching the first two episodes of Big Love before the weekend is over, and I like it so far, Bill Paxton's too frequently exposed hiney notwithstanding. After coming home on Sunday, I did a huge grocery shopping trip and ran 4 miles. It was not easy after the late night, but I pulled it off somehow. I took a long bubble bath, lay on the couch under a blanket with the kitties, read Gilead, made some rice-a-roni, and basically passed out.

And that was my weekend.

I'm happy to report that you can buy my favorite brand of cards in the world online. You can find them at All Posters. Which is swell. But they're expensive there and it's not that easy because you have to scroll through other cards that are completely sucky. Like this weird one with some mice on it. But I was overjoyed to discover that you can also buy a value pack of them here. Mine arrived today, and they're designs I've never seen before in a store or for sale on another site. I don't care that they require 13 cents of extra postage because of the square envelope or that my post office lady fusses at me every time because it's such a headache for her. I adore every last one of them.

It's coldish and rainy and icky here tonight. I hope the sun comes out tomorrow. I guess everyone hopes that. My friend with whom I shared a love for Annie in childhood that remains strong today has a nearly three-year-old daughter who is now getting into the movie. That kills me on about every level possible.

:::

About this time in ...

2005

11/1:

And then you can walk past some very stinky refrigerators sealed up with duct tape and some people sitting on their front porches with their dogs on probably the cutest Uptown street you've ever seen to that old pizza place your sister took you to and you can wave away the flies and eat some damn good pizza with four different kinds of cheese on top. And in this little way, life is goes on.

2004

11/2:

My respect for my parents is infinite, and no election will ever change that, and I was pleased that none of his reasons was simply listed as "TERRORISTS" or "THE LORD!"

2003

11/6:

I was just watching my brother and I was so proud of him that I clapped fervently and cheered after every song like a complete dork, sloshing my Miller Lite onto my matriarchal sandals.

2000

11/1:

Somehow, in my life, it's a song that has never gone out of style. Out of date. I guess its theme is similar to my theme. Which is probably just sad.

Heart Like the Sea

For the past month or so, I've run exclusively outside. I like the trees, the clouds, the birds, and all that naturey goodness. It's harder on the feet and joints and everything, but it's so pleasant. I especially enjoy running past an old lady and her poodle who never appears without a folded up umbrella in his mouth. Even on sunny, clear days. I guess he just likes to carry it. I don't know how he really pants properly with his mouth closed, but they seem to have a system going. I try to imagine Daisy or Zuko performing a duty with such obedient efficiency and I have to laugh. This morning I got up early and went to the gym to run two miles, and it was sheer misery. I was sweating like a lunatic, there was no air circulating in the room, and it was like running through stagnant muck. Even watching Angel didn't help. I dread having to run in there during my half-marathon training and will avoid it if at all possible.

I am still really liking Gilead. And can I please just take a moment to speak again about Friday Night Lights? This show is so good. As much as I love my other shows, it's so damn refreshing to watch something that's not set on an island or in space and that isn't about solving mysteries or heavy on the camp. It's just about real people in a real town. I can't even tell you. I love it so much. If it is canceled, I will be sorely, bitterly sad about it. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose. When reading those words on the page they sound so cheesy but when the coach said, "Clear eyes, full hearts," to Jason Street as he lay in that damn bed last night and Jason said, "Can't lose," I wanted to sob. Maybe I even did sob a little bit. If you're not watching this show, you are missing out.

Tonight I watched The Making of Miss Saigon. And let me tell you -- enjoyable. From the auditions, to hearing the composer and lyricists bang out the songs and attempt to sing them instructively for the cast (that is always hilarious to me for some reason), to when the company all sits down together for the first time and introduces themselves, to the initial rehearsals, to all of the technical stuff like the lighting and the sets and the props, to Jonathan Pryce clapping his hands in the middle of a number to yell that some piece of the set was moving and being totally pissed off about it, to listening to the super-powerful chorus as they practiced "This Is The Hour" and having my TV speakers nearly blow up with the awesomeness, to being reminded how much I did not like the original Chris or Ellen, to director Nicholas Hytner completely flipping out and screaming that they had a f*cking show to open -- fantastic! It doesn't touch at all on the Jonathan Pryce controversy (a Welsh actor playing an Asian character), surprisingly, but it's still a mighty fine behind the scenes look at the show. I can't really form an opinion on the allowing of Jonathan Pryce to play the Engineer when he is clearly as caucasian as you can get and that seems really ridiculous -- there is something so brilliantly riveting about his every move, gesture, and sound that I am blind to any opinion except that he is perfect. I realize that might be very wrong of me. Anyway, I wish there were documentaries like this for every musical ever made.

Oh, my God. It's too good to be true. I loved this show with my entire seventh grade heart.

Catching Up

I guess it's time to catch up.

Let's see ... my sister arrived late last week, and we descended upon the parental abode for dinner on Friday night, everyone bringing his or her favorite take-out. We ate Thai; my brother's girlfriend ate sushi; my parents ate homemade tuna salad. Comically, my little brother showed up not with food but with a big box of beer.

On Saturday morning, my boyfriend and I went to the market for giant muffins, and then he went running while my sister, my brother's girlfriend, and I went to hear my mom give a little talk on the importance of silence in our lives. She encouraged us to turn off the radio, turn off the TV, and not be afraid to be quiet sometimes and listen to what life might try to tell us in the silence. This was compelling, especially in light of all of my thoughts after reading Eat, Pray, Love. I think I want to become a meditator. Seriously. My mom did a great job, as always.

After the talk, I went on my long run of the week and somehow managed to run 4.4 miles. I have no idea how. I like this running program because every week ends with reaching a personal best. It's always made easier by a beautiful day outside. I got home, and we rushed off to our massage appointments. Massages are important.

Then it was to the coffee shop with my sister for a game of Scrabble and a disturbingly gross decaf cafe au lait.

That night seemed like a good movie night so we went to see The Departed, which was FANTASTIC. It's not really my kind of movie, but it was so exciting and everyone should see it. Leonardo DiCaprio has somehow transformed himself from the wormy days of yore and is suddenly strong and manly. Everyone in it does a great job. It's a highly entertaining movie.

Last week, I used my new detergent to wash basically everything in the house. I thought it smelled pretty good. My boyfriend sniffed my sheets suspiciously and declared that they smelled like hamsters. Namely, the cedar chips in a hamster's cage. I defended the detergent. "It's supposed to smell like vanilla and lavender!" But after further sniffing, I conceded that the sheets did rather smell like cedar chips. So much for the blissful aroma of the new detergent. No. It makes my bed smell like a rodent's lair. (Weirdly, I still kind of like it. Perhaps it's the fond memories of my childhood hamsters, Spaghetti and Meatball.)

Sunday is kind of a blur. My boyfriend left. I think I did some chores and grocery shopping. My sister came over that night to watch last week's Grey's Anatomy.

On Monday, I felt not at all like running after work but went out anyway for the first run of the last week of the one hour running program. It was a pretty mellow 30-minute run.

Last night, my sister and I went shopping for work-out clothes and I somehow spent $46 on a pair of Adidas Climalite running pants which she insisted were a good bargain even though they are possibly the most unflattering pants I will ever own. Then we got sushi take-out and watched this week's Heroes, a show I'd never seen before. It seems pretty good.

I had bizarre, complex, detailed teaching dreams all through the night last night. You know, the kind where you show up for school without lesson plans, not knowing where your classroom is, not knowing when your planning period is, having never seen a map of the school, having not set up your classroom to your liking, where your students have faces and personalities that somehow your mind has made up and they tell you things like you should stop pacing so much and stop wearing skirts to school because you have ugly knees. In this dream classroom, there were curtains instead of walls so the students would slip in and out of class before I could really see what they were doing. And it was a private school so I assumed they would work really hard and be really well-behaved. But they weren't. They were just mean. Teaching dreams are terrifying. They really are.

In other news, I've decided that a bowl of grape nuts with banana slices might be the world's perfect food.

Egrets

Not a bad view while running
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

My favorite part about running these days is running past the egrets as they settle on the tree branches in the lake for the evening at sunset. I wish there were a way for me to capture how white and glorious they are. I love them. I will be sad when Daylight Saving Time ends and it's too dark to run outside after work anymore. I'll miss the egrets in their trees.

It should be a nice weekend. I'll go on a 54-minute run. My sister is here. My boyfriend is coming. The sun is out. The air is cool. All of that is good.

Brotherly Love

This morning I woke up early and ran 3.5 miles. That is the longest distance I have ever run without stopping in my entire life. It was cool, and my ears hurt because I think I've inherited my mother's ear freeze affliction. But I ran, and I watched the sun rise in the sky, and I listened to Annie Get Your Gun and thought about how Irving Berlin was a brilliant lyricist, and it was swell.

My little brother called me today to talk about last night's Grey's Anatomy and asked what I've been up to. I told him about my morning run, and he said, "HOW far?" And I said how far. And he said, lowering his voice into stunned whisper, "Eliza. That is awesome. You are a maniac." And he sounded so awestruck that it made me feel very proud of myself. He is good at making me feel good.

Sometimes I wish I could run farther and faster, but then I remind myself that I've only been doing it for six months. 3.5 miles is a perfectly respectable distance to get to in that time period when starting from the couch, right? I have to believe that. Of course, I have to more than triple that distance in the next five or so months, but I have to believe I can do that, too.

My brother also announced to me that he hopes he never gets so out of shape that he has to stop drinking Coke. "I love it so much," he reported.

Lake Run

This afternoon I was feeling sluggishly slumpy and surly and sapped. I felt exactly not at all like going running, but I forced myself to go because I couldn't just sit around being morose. So I went on a 2.6-mile run outside, and I am glad I did.

Highlights: what the clouds looked like in the setting sun, bikers zooming by in their crazy biking outfits, people walking their dogs, dragonflies, the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, and egrets. Lord above, the egrets. I spotted an egret sitting quietly on the edge of the lake when I was having a low moment and thinking about how much I hate running and just wanted to go home and make rice krispie treats, and it was such a serenity-inducing sight that I thought, "I love you, egret. I love all egrets. Thank you for being alive and sitting by the lake."

Then I turned the corner and saw more egrets than I could ever possibly count. They flew in big groups making circles in the sky, and they covered several trees in the water so the leaves weren't even visible. All I could see were egrets. Some slowly stretching out their wings on the branches as if working out the kinks after a long day, and some already with their heads bowed and buried into their necks, seemingly sound asleep. I wished I had my camera so I could show you what that looked like. They were beautiful. If I'd had any breath to spare through my panting and heaving, they'd certainly have taken it away.

As I plodded along, I passed so many other joggers and walkers and bikers, young and old, men and women, in groups and alone, and I wondered what they were thinking about, who they were. I wondered which ones had to drag themselves off of the couch to get out and exercise when they'd really rather be at home watching Reba reruns on Lifetime, which ones were out there because they truly love to work out, which ones were just walking as an excuse to be outside on such a beautiful evening, which ones were training for a triathlon or a race, which ones were having stomach cramps from eating a metric gutload of roasted vegetables in the past 24 hours, and which ones wiped tears from their cheeks today because early this morning their dear friend had a healthy baby girl.

Monkey Mind

Like most humanoids, I am burdened with what the Buddhists call the "monkey mind" -- the thoughts that swing from limb to limb, stopping only to scratch themselves, spit and howl. From the distant past to the unknowable future, my mind swings wildly through time, touching on dozens of ideas a minute, unharnessed and undisciplined. This in itself is not necessarily a problem; the problem is the emotional attachment that goes along with the thinking. Happy thoughts make me happy, but -- whoop! -- how quickly I swing again into obsessive worry, blowing the mood; and then it's the remembrance of an angry moment and I start to get hot and pissed off all over again; and then my mind decides it might be a good time to start feeling sorry for itself, and loneliness follows promptly. You are, after all, what you think. Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions.

Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

So true. So true.

In the last five seconds, I've thought of anxiety over work assignments, my boyfriend's cat, running, and candy corn.

I wake up every morning after spending the latter part of the night (like, the last few hours in bed) alternately sleeping, dreaming, and thinking about every random thing possible to think about. Why Jennifer Connelly was so thin when she won the Oscar. Why Jennifer Connelly won the Oscar. Why I didn't recognize anyone on Saturday Night Live this past weekend except for Amy Poehler and why I had never heard of the musical guest. Why the song "Chasing Cars" makes me cry sometimes. Why my butt is so flabby. Whether our hotel in Cancun will be a rip-off. What in the world is my older brother doing with his life. Is my sister okay. What is my little brother going to do when he graduates from college. Are my parents sick of pet-sitting every other weekend. Are my pets going to be poisoned by the chemicals the exterminator sprayed this morning. Was I wrong to hire an exterminator for the first time since living in my house for 5.5 years because I was so utterly freaked by seeing a baby roach crawling over my dish rack on the kitchen counter and was it wasteful to promptly throw said dish rack away. Are the puppies next-door okay. Why waste time making homemade cookies when store-bought cookies are so good. How lazy Americans are to have moved past the brainless ease of slice-and-bake cookies to now have provided for them refrigerated cookies already shaped and simply broken apart and baked but God those cookies are so good aren't they. Whether I'm flossing correctly. Is the amount of dust and pet hair under my beds and furniture unhealthy. Are my dogs happy. Are my cats happy. Is there already mildew growing underneath my new bathtub caulking job. How can Alan Chambers believe what he does. Are the places the dogs have chewed off the house going to make my house rot from the outside in. Are the broken places along the fascia where I never caulked after the hurricane filled with mold that is going to eat my house and poison me. Will I ever get to replacing my shitty, shitty, shoddy sliding glass door or will it take Zuko finally breaking it down. Do dogs pee on my newspaper on their morning walks before I pick it up in the morning. If there is a God, am I going to hell. Is there a God. Is North Korea going to be the end of the world. Will the war ever end. Will I finish the half-marathon. Will the Democrats take Congress.

Tonight I went on a 2.25-mile run through my neighborhood. The high points were Roddy McDowell singing "The Seven Deadly Virtues" from Camelot, Jerry Orbach singing "Be Our Guest" from Beauty and the Beast, and Rod the puppet singing "My Girlfriend Who Lives in Canada" from Avenue Q. And stopping to pick a needle of rosemary from someone's front yard and holding it to my nose during my cool-down walk to Mary Chapin Carpenter.

The quote on my calendar this month:

When you arise in the morning, think of what a privilege it is to be alive: to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love. Marcus Aurelius

This is what I need to embrace when I arise in the morning. Instead of feeling weary and beaten down and unrested even if I do feel that way. Instead of feeling like I've just been through a battle with my sheets and my pillows and my mind. I am privileged. I am lucky. To breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love. To sing, to read, to write, to run. Every day started thinking that way will be a better day. I try. I hope.

Weekend

It's early on Saturday morning. I couldn't sleep anymore so I got up and came outside to sit on my patio wrapped in a blanket. It's sixty degrees outside but feels like downright winter compared to the ninety-five of this week. The dogs are finding sunny patches of grass to wrestle in. Somewhere, church bells are ringing to mark the hour. The dog nextdoor who looks like Charlotte's Elizabeth Taylor is yapping. It's a pleasant time. Just waiting for my boyfriend to wake up. Making a playlist for this weekend's 45-minute run. I lay in bed awake last night stressing about it. The longest I've ever run is 38 minutes. I skipped last weekend's 41-minute run because we were out of town. I know I can do it. I put Tracy Chapman singing "Don't you know you better run run run run run run run run run run run ru-un?" on there for the first time. Tracy and this cool air will help me along, I think.

:::

Now it's Sunday evening. The dogs are chowing down on some treats. I'm back on the patio. It's cool again. The birds are chirping. The puppies in the next yard are frolicking. It's nice to be outside and to be alive.

I had my 45-minute run yesterday. It felt surprisingly easy. I didn't know if it was the beautiful day or being outside or what but it wasn't nearly as difficult as running inside on the treadmill is. We went back in the car to clock the mileage of my route and it was 3.15 miles. Which explains why it didn't feel so difficult. Because I was taking, like, 15 minutes to run each mile. Which feels sort of pathetic, but it also felt great. I wasn't straining or feeling miserable. Maybe I should slow down on the treadmill, too. Who knows?

It was a nice, relaxing weekend. On Friday evening, we went to a restaurant written up in a local magazine to check it out. I'm glad to know there is such a restaurant (authentic Latin American food, not Tex-Mex) in town, but I don't think we'll be going back. It wasn't so tasty. On Saturday morning, we split an apple cinnamon scone and a blueberry muffin and went to the library. We played Scrabble outside at the coffee shop. I broke 300, and he scored ridiculously higher than that as usual. We checked out several Yucatan travel guides at the library, so I pored over those during the game. One of the books came with a map so we studied it and tried to figure out our route and how many nights we'll stay in each place and so forth. I'm really looking forward to it. (We're only spending one night in Cancun and want to stay somewhere fancy. Does anyone have any experience there with the Ritz, Le Meridien, J.W. Marriott, or the Fiesta Americana Grand Coral Beach?) For dinner, we got Thai take-out and then watched Thank You for Smoking. Which was good but not great. Katie Holmes was highly irritating. Joanie Stubbs was unrecognizable.

This morning, it was another scone and another muffin and the Sunday paper and last night's Ebert and Roeper, featuring a shockingly annoying guest reviewer. Richard Roeper possibly tried but ultimately failed to disguise his contempt for her idiocy. (Speaking of guest hosts, folks at The View, please do not hire Shon Gables full-time. She is very unlikeable. Her questions to Meg Tilly were jarring and downright insulting. She talks too much and comes across as totally fake. Bad move, The View! Please.)

This afternoon, I trimmed a bunch of bushes outside in the yard and scrubbed bathtub grout. It was not so fun. Then I watched Sorry Haters, which was disturbing but very good. Sometimes I can't believe how talented an actress Princess Buttercup turned out to be.

Oh, and Battlestar Galactica! Of course we watched the season premiere. (To follow: nothing super spoilery, but it's vaguely spoilery.) I am really having trouble not laughing every time Fat Apollo's giant head appears onscreen. I thought the season premiere was great. It's a big adjustment, though. The show has changed so much since the beginning. I'm not really used to the beards, the bloat, and all of the changes. I still love it, though, and I'm so glad to be finally watching it on actual TV for the first time.

I must now retire and read Introducing ... Sasha Abramowitz.

Links and Tips

Here are some links:

Evany linked to Julia Sweeney's blog recently, and I have now read her archives in their entirety. She is a wonderful writer. I love what she has to say. Her writing is brilliant and funny and full of science and pop culture and ideas about the universe and being a performer and a mom. I can't wait to get her new CD, Letting Go of God. I am in love with her.

My other favorite new (to me) site is Andrea's, which absolutely gives me chills with its beauty and wisdom.

Tsotsi is a pretty good movie (it won the best foreign language film Oscar this year), but I've decided I can no longer watch Baby In Peril films. I become fixated on the baby and can't focus on the idea that the baby is not actually in peril because this is make believe and it's probably a doll or a computer-generated baby half the time anyway. I worry that the baby is hungry, dirty, missing his mom and dad, cold, hot, scared, or all of the above. It's too much to take. And I don't even have a baby. (I mainly wanted to see this movie because of the awesome speech given when it won the Oscar.)

And this made me teary.

I'm now going to post my tips for the running program I did. This started as an e-mail to a friend who's just starting out. I'm no expert on anything, but this is how I made it through the program.

SHOES: Buy some good shoes. Go to a running store. Like, that only specializes in running shoes and running gear. Tell them what you're doing, and tell them you need them to watch you walk (or even jog around the store, mortifying, I know) in different shoes and tell you what kind you should get. Like, they looked at the shoes I wore in the store and noted what part of the heel was more worn down, that kind of thing. Everyone's feet are different and the way everyone's feet hit the ground = DIFFERENT. This is crucial. I spent something crazy like $150 that day, but I think it was good, because I was like, "Shee-it. I can't quit after spending this kind of dough."

SOCKS: Buy some good socks. I have these in white low-cut. I LOVE THEM. I have sweaty feet normally unless I'm wearing sandal-y shoes, but my feet stay dry as a bone in these.

TIME VS. DISTANCE: I was confused at first, along with many on the Cool Running message boards, because it says "time" or "distance" but the consensus on the boards is that beginners should run for time, not distance, because doing it for distance is just too hard. (In other words, say you're in week 4. And it says to jog 5 minutues OR 1/2 mile. I jogged 5 minutes. Which is way, way less than 1/2 mile for me. Get it? This is a FINE way to do it.) Even though 30 minutes for me by Week 9 did NOT equal 3.1 miles (5K) (and still, in fact, does not, for that would be about a 10-minute mile, and hello, no), I had no trouble running that distance when the time of the race came. Word on the street is that you don't usually make it to the actual race distance in training and that you just count on adrenaline and excitement to carry you through to that distance on race day. I scoffed at this notion, but apparently it's the truth.

MUSIC: Here's what you need to do: Whether you're running outside or on a treadmill, you need to program songs on your iPod to match the time of the running segments. This is easy to do. When you're in iTunes, right click the song and select "Get Info." You can adjust the start / end time of the song this way. That way, if you need 90 seconds of a song, you can make your song last 90 seconds. THIS IS KEY. Watching your watch or the treadmill for the time segments is NO WAY TO DO THIS. Let your songs keep the time for you; when one ends, you know that the segment is up and it's time to go to the next segment. I picked upbeat tempo songs for jogging and more mellow ones (not, like, BALLADS) for walking. This is the best tip I got of any when I was doing the program. (If you have another kind of mp3 player, you can probably do something similar.) (Shawn sent me this link that gives you a way to make timed playlists, too.)

CHEAT SHEET: I also printed out the instructions for the week on a little index card cut into a tiny square that I could keep in my palm or pocket or on the treadmill to refer to -- I don't have a good memory for things like this. This really helped, especially in the beginning.

SPEED: For the love of all that is holy, go slowly. I still jog at barely above a walk. I'm not kidding. It's the only way if you're a beginner. THE ONLY WAY.

TREADMILL INCLINE: I was instructed to put the treadmill on an incline of 1.0 or so in order for it to simulate running outside. (Apparently the treadmill on zero incline is way too flat / down-sloped to be like the real world.) That way once you get outside you will not go crazy. I did this from the beginning and think it helped.

The key thing for me was taking it one running segment at a time. If I thought ahead to the next one, or to the next day, or to the next week, I wanted to keel over and die. I was like, okay, I can totally make it through 3 minutes. That's just one Kelly Clarkson song. Of course I can!

I'm now doing a one hour running program which will then segue into a half-marathon training program. The only reason I'm even attempting that training is that I hope to just take it one step at a time. I never thought I'd make it through the 5K program, but I did. I hope that this training will work the same way. My favorite song to run to lately is the theme to The Greatest American Hero. I highly recommend it.