Running, running, running, blah.

My training could be going better! I can't lie. Looking back to three years ago, I maybe missed two or three mid-week runs my entire training period, and for the past several weeks, I have done ... no midweek runs. It's kind of ridiculous to acknowledge this, but there you go. It's just the truth. I've not missed any of my long runs, but I know I'm missing plenty of mileage that I should be getting in there. Today's long run was without a doubt the worst long run this time around. It was another 90-minute run, and I only made it 8 miles, and it was just straight horrible. I am really glad I didn't stop and I'm also really glad it's over. It was in the upper 60s, cloudy and gray, with 90% humidity, and I was drenched with sweat and felt heavy and plodding and like the worst runner ever to hit the streets. Hating running, hating life. HATE! But it's over now, and onward I go. I think I need to actually start running during the week and actually hydrate during the long runs ... the guy leading my training group said we should get 4-8 ounces of fluids in every 15-20 minutes, and ... no. Never. So -- I should probably get on that. And I should probably stop eating pizza and drinking beer the night before a long run. Lesson learned!

That's all I have to say about running right now. I am totally bored by the topic these days.

The best thing that happened today was my trip to the farmer's market where I spent every dollar I had in my purse on brown jasmine rice, goat's milk yogurt (what?), grape tomatoes, a quart of strawberries (oh, sweet blessed beginning of strawberry season!), organic satsumas, broccoli, oatmeal wheat bread, and two dozen eggs. Totally worth it. This is what happens after watching Food, Inc.. You remember that it's better to hurl yourself out of bed on a Saturday morning to get to the farmer's market before the eggs sell out than to sleep in, and you stop at as many different booths as you can, and you just buy some fresh damn food. It's important.

Also important: The Gavin and Stacey Christmas special is now up on YouTube! It will probably get yanked soon, so catch it while you can. Part one is here, and it goes on for nine parts total. Unsurprisingly, it is one hundred percent delightful. Oh, how I love that show.

Quick check-in

Bleary-eyed beginning to the first week of the year back at work!

I want to go ahead and make a quick note of last week's runs ... I had a quick three-miler (by quick, I mean I did it in 30 minutes -- quick for me) on a warm and sunny day -- we're talking shorts and a sleeveless shirt -- heaven.

And then I had my long run, a 90-minute extravaganza. It wasn't altogether terrible ... it was in the low 50s and sunny and really quite beautiful outside. It didn't take me long to take off my hat and jacket and run in shorts and a sleeveless shirt again. I guess if I had a fave running outfit, that would be it! My slowest was mile four, when I felt quite tired, but the rest of them held pretty steady, and I ended up averaging out at a 10:47-minute per mile pace for the whole 8.34 miles. I feel okay about it, though I have to admit that by mile 7, I was somewhat delirious and the bottoms of my feet hurt a lot.

I kept passing a lot of the same people more than once, so I think a bunch of us were out there on longer runs that day ... everyone looked a little deranged, bloated, and hungover, to tell you the God's honest truth, which I guess is par for January 2. But we soldiered on, and I really do love that feeling of not being out there alone, running among the strangers whose faces start to become familiar week after week. Somewhat dismayed, though, not to have ever run four times in a week yet during this training period. There was a lot more mileage in the schedule I followed last time, but I feel like it's going okay anyway.

I think this is the week when I am finally going to have to break down and go to the gym. I just don't think I have the constitution (or the gear) to run outside in the 20s, which is what it's going to be in the mornings this week. Bless the hearts of all who run in this and much colder weather, but I am not one of you. So ... treadmill, here I come. Gross but necessary.

Not sure what else to say. I find myself without a new book to read so I'm diving back into The Hunger Games even though I just finished it. It's just that fun to read. Meanwhile, I'll just be sitting back watching hour after hour of No Reservations.

Patriotism

Where to start. I will get running out of the way. I made up last week's failed long run attempt again at the beginning of this week, and I actually made it the full 80 minutes, and it wasn't altogether horrible. I made it 7.4 miles (average per-mile pace of 10:49), and maybe I could have tried to go faster, but I was okay with it. I actually really sort of enjoyed miles four and five, no clue why. Tomorrow I'll run again on the last day of the year.

It's been a holiday season of movies for sure. It's Complicated was funny and cute, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that my very favorite person in the movie was John Krasinski (Jim Halpert), who pretty much stole every scene he was in, as I told mo, with his comedic adorableness. I didn't love it the way I loved another Nancy Meyers film, Something's Gotta Give, but I definitely had a good time watching it. Next was Nine. I have to say that I understand why a lot of people would not enjoy this movie and might actually hate it, but I liked it! Mostly I just liked Marion Cotillard, the most beautiful woman on planet earth, as far as I'm concerned. Her part, her first song, and her overall gloriously luminous face were the best things about the movie by a mile. (Hear the whole song here. Just trust me. It was gorgeous.)

Today I went to the big city with my parents and little brother to have a totally delicious lunch of crab gumbo, grilled shrimp, fish, shrimp etouffee, bread pudding with whiskey sauce -- pretty much straight ridiculousness. It was off the charts fantastic. We headed in the rain afterwards to a museum where we watched a new film and visited the exhibits. It was all very stirring, as you can imagine, and I think we all felt a bit raw emotionally on the drive home in the pouring rain. I made the mistake of trying (and failing) to articulate effectively some of my mixed feelings after seeing the movie and visiting the museum. About how it's hard for me to feel pumped up about America and victory while feeling overwhelmed, sick, and sad at the same time. About how everything and everyone now presents it as fact that we did the right thing in bombing Japan, but is that just spin to justify that we did it? Well, this did not go over very well.

I try to remember that my parents were born in 1946 and grew up with a different perspective on this, having parents and siblings who lived through it all. And I know that they think I Just Don't Get It. And I know that I don't. I have tried to get it, though, I really have. I took something like 27 hours of history classes in college, trying to understand. I spent days in Normandy (series of entries starts here) and at the Imperial War Museum in London and the Holocaust Museum in D.C., trying to understand. I dined at the same table as an English D-Day veteran and talked to him about it, trying to understand. I watched and cried through hours upon hours of The War, trying to understand. I have rented untold numbers of WWII documentaries on everything from the Battle of the Bulge (which basically caused me to have an emotional breakdown) to hidden Jewish children and Anne Frank and Hitler's final days to the Berlin Airlift, trying to understand. I was lucky enough to go on a special tour of Pearl Harbor, where I kept on trying to understand. Today was my third visit to this museum. What I'm saying is that I've tried to expose myself to lots of different avenues of understanding. But still. I do not.

It's just impossible for me to process. Maybe it's impossible for anyone to process, and maybe that's why it's all boiled down to we were right, they were wrong, the end. Maybe that's the only way that, as a nation, we could recover and heal from all that happened. My brother tried to tell me that I can't look at it through a modern filter, and maybe he's right. The wars of our lifetime have certainly not been not very clear cut, but back then, maybe things really were a lot more black and white. I guess we had to try to win by any means necessary because losing was too unimaginable. But I swear, I was permanently changed by The Book Thief. All I could think about during the film today when they showed the rubble of a bombed German town, the shell of a burning community, were the people who lived there, who probably were poor and starving and completely effed by the Fuhrer and now dead. And that ultimately it was his fault, not ours. And that ultimately the deaths in Japan were the psycho, un-surrendering emperor's fault, not ours. Right? I just cannot deal with the fact that so many regular, innocent people died who were just living their lives. And I can't even begin to deal with all of the soldiers and military people who died. I mean, I just can't. It actually sits on my chest like a weight, especially after days like today.

And when I tried to explain this, the reaction was that I was simply wrong and we had no choice and we saved the world and that's that. And -- yes. I get that. Of course I recognize that unspeakable horrors and atrocities were being committed that needed to be stopped. Of course I am glad that we won the war and liberated the camps and ended the power of the reigning mega-crazies and appreciate the sacrifices made by millions and recognize, on some level, that we did what we had to do. But it doesn't make me want to stand up and cheer; it makes me feel like throwing up because all I see is the death and destruction. And I think what I did the worst job of explaining today is that while the movie was very cool and riveting, I don't like things that pat America on the back to the extreme about how right we were and are about everything and emphasize that we are the best country ever, because I get icky associations of "enemy" countries patting themselves on the back using the same reasoning about how they're right about everything and are really the best. It is like I am hyper-propaganda-paranoid. IS THAT CRAZY? I think maybe it is. I think this is what sent my family over the edge on the way home. But I can't help it! I think I am in the midst of a personal patriotism crisis! I am just trying to honestly reflect upon this and figure out what it all means. Maybe at the end of the day, part of being alive is being for your own country. Like how you're for the college football team in the town where you were born. Maybe it's just what people are supposed to do.

I think I'll just go watch this and cry some more.

Holidays so far

Let's get the running talk out of the way first. Since this week was the first week of four runs, I figured I'd get cracking as early as possible, so I left work early on Monday to head out for my 45-minute run. It's possible that a couple of hours were not sufficient time to adequately digest the giant amount of food consumed at my siblings' birthday lunch -- red beans and rice, hush puppies, both fried and marinated crab fingers, etc. -- BUT! I soldiered on, and somehow I ran 4.5 miles in 45 minutes. Yes, you read that correctly. For those following along, that is quite fast for me, to keep a 10-minute-mile pace for several miles in a row, and I just feel sort of proud about it. The perfect weather helped! In case I haven't mentioned it, the weather this month has been vile and disgusting 9 days out of 10, and this burst of sunshine and dry ground is just making everything so much better. I think that I am getting a little faster in part because I am being really conscious about relaxing my arms, almost to the point where they're more straight than bent at the elbow, which is weird, but it's working for me. On Wednesday, the run was really short -- only 20 minutes -- and I missed run three as it was set for Christmas morning and was literally freezing outside and I thought, "Eff it." Run four was set for 80 minutes, and I only made it three miles after yet another gargantuan holiday meal before just surrendering, walking to my brother's house, and asking him, defeated, to drive me home. And that's it on the running front. Tomorrow begins a new week, and I'm going to start it with the long run that was a bust yesterday. It's a process.

I finished reading The Daily Coyote: A Story of Love, Survival, and Trust in the Wilds of Wyoming by Shreve Stockton, and it's a mighty fine read indeed. I've been aware of her website for a long time, but somehow I missed that she'd published a book about her life with Charlie the coyote. Reading this book is making me feel all sorts of smooshy lovey-doveyness towards my pets. It's fascinating, and the photos are beautiful. Now I'm in the middle of Kitchen Confidential, and so far, so good. I also finished Catching Fire, the sequel to The Hunger Games, and it, like book one, was ridiculous. Ridiculously awesome in every way. What happens in these books is unbearable on many levels, but that's just part of what makes them impossible to put down. The fact that book three does not come out until August is causing me actual physical pain. I guess I'll just re-read the first two over and over until that day comes!

Now ... The History Boys. I'd heard of this play and movie but never knew much about it. Because everything lately comes back to Gavin and Stacey, I noted when listening to audio commentary of the episodes that one of the creators/writers/stars of the show, James Corden (Smithy), explained that many of Smithy and Gavin's guy friends were in The History Boys with him, so I rented the film. And I have to tell you, I really liked it. I had no idea that the play was a smash hit in London, then went on a smash tour, then was a smash Tony winner on Broadway, and then became a film, and that these cast members were together for years upon years playing the roles all the way through. The special features on the DVD are adorable and quite funny and touching, especially the tour diary. I'm very glad I saw this film.

On Christmas afternoon, as is a tradition, we headed to the movies. This year it was Up in the Air. I knew this movie has been getting raves, but I didn't know much about it. It definitely exceeded my expectations and proved to me that George Clooney is not only a first class dreamboat (which obviously I knew) but also a mighty, mighty fine actor. He was just incredibly good, and the movie was totally enjoyable even when uncomfortable and sad. Anna Kendrick: also fabulous. It was excellent, and I'd totally see it again. We were still in the movie mood that night, so we watched Up, which made me laugh and cry and was totally scary and traumatic and not for young children, I don't think. But totally and completely great nonetheless.

The holiday season thus far has been lovely. My mom outdid herself with the tons of delicious food, meal after meal; it was great to spend time and laugh with my sister and brother-in-law, who were here for Christmas; I had a great meal on a friend's birthday with the best Sazerac I've had in ages, which was somehow just what I needed on Christmas Eve-Eve; we all spent a ferociously stormy Christmas Eve morning feasting at my very favorite cafe, which was wonderful; my dad surprised us with tickets to today's Saints game, which was fun even though the ending was truly hein; (for the best piece I've ever read about the Saints, and maybe even New Orleans as a whole, read this article); there were moments of reconciliation. I'm looking forward to more relaxation and fun in the coming week as we all ring in the new year.

Alright?

I will now talk more about Gavin and Stacey. One of my favorite things about this show is how the characters will randomly burst into song, which is something that happens quite regularly with my own family and friends. There are tons of these moments on the show, more than clips exist online for, but here are a few of my favorite of these moments on the show, none of which are spoilerish in terms of plot: Smithy's big entrance, featuring the magnificent Pam. Uncle Bryn singing James Blunt in the car. (Oh my God, Uncle Bryn. Who is funnier, sweeter, more tragic in a way, and more ridiculous than Uncle Bryn? No one.) Smithy and Rudi rapping. I wish I could find the clip of Nessa and Bryn sitting at the arcade rehearsing "Something Stupid" and the gang singing Jack Johnson at a crucial moment I won't give away, and many more. And finally, in the spirit of the season, Smithy and Gavin doing "Do They Know It's Christmas?"

I really can't stop talking, at least in my head, like the characters on this show. A common Welsh greeting, apparently, is to say, "Alright, Stace?" and then the person responding will say, "Alright, Ness?" (I feel like I sound like Uncle Bryn when explaining something like this.) It is now how I want to greet everyone. Basically, I want to pretend that the entire world of Gavin and Stacey is real and that I live in it. I was able to find season three, so now I'm all done, except for the Christmas special, which is eluding me. I will not give up until I find it, though. (In case this sounds like an insane amount of TV, know that it's only 18 half-hour episodes, which is shorter than one season of an American show.) Basically, this show has made me laugh my face off and also get very moved at times, which is all I ask for in a show. I LOVE IT.

Other misc. things:

Four Months, Three Weeks and Two Days. I've been meaning to watch this for years, ever since A.O. Scott, whose reviews I normally trust, declared it his top film of the year a few years back. I knew nothing going into it. Um ... don't watch this movie by yourself on a cold and rainy night. That's all I have to say. It was harrowing. And horrifying, and bleak, and stark, and really scared the pants off of me in ways I can't really articulate without being spoilery about it. It might be a good movie, artistically speaking, and an important movie, politically speaking, but it's a movie I never want to see again.

The Hunger Games. The Hunger Games! I've been hearing all about The Hunger Games, but somehow it didn't fall into my life until now. On Gavin and Stacey, Gavin's mom, Pam, who is one of my favorite characters on the show and possibly ever in anything, exclaims, "Sh*t a brick!" when something truly major happens. And it was her voice, in her accent, that I heard in my head when finishing the book in bed late last night. "Sh*t a brick!" Like ... something major had happened, and that something major was reading this book and every single thing that happened in it. Major. Majorly exciting, majorly scary, majorly romantic, majorly awesome. I cannot wait to read the sequel. I am sh*tting a brick in anticipation.

And now for a running update ... feel free to skip if such things make your eyes glaze over. They practically make my own eyes glaze over, so I feel you. Yesterday wrapped up week 8 of training with a 72-minute run. I made it 6.62 miles. (10:45, 10:46, 10:50, 10:59, 11:14, 10:53, 10:33). I feel fine about it. After a week of no other running (I know) and a steady intake of cookies, brownies, turtle cheesecake, chocolate covered pecans, peppermint kisses, etc., I wasn't in the greatest condition for running and definitely felt it. But the day was the first truly gorgeous day we've had in weeks ... low 50s without a cloud in the bright, sunny sky ... so I vowed to enjoy the run as much as possible. When I felt tired, I told myself that I was basically running half a half-marathon, and with 10 weeks to go, that feels about right on track. I don't want to start going really far until the end; in addition to being probably physically impossible for me in this shape, it also seems anti-climactic. From here on out, the schedule demands four runs per week, and I'm going to have to be way more on the ball about actually running when I'm supposed to!

It's been a truly lovely weekend so far. A little sunshine goes a long way, it turns out.

What's occurrin'?

I've decided to try to start talking like Ness on my new favorite show, Gavin and Stacey. This means I will say things in a Welsh accent like "fair play," "tidy," "genuine," "well done," "crackin'," and "what's occurrin'?"

I am honestly starting to bore myself with the running entries so I'll try to keep this one short & sweet. Big surprise, I only ran twice last week. Again. I was set for a 65-minute run over the weekend but ran a five-mile race instead. It was in the low 40s and pouring down rain when I got up, but I knew my friends were going and I wasn't about to be the only one who stayed home. Miraculously, the rain slowed to a drizzly mist right as the race started. I ended up running the whole five miles with a friend, which was fun. I knew this route like the back of my hand, so it was nothing too adventurous or exciting, but it was great to have company and to notice on my trusty watch how we were speeding up a little bit pretty much each mile. (10:30, 10:30, 10:18, 10:17, 9:45). I feel good about my pace ... a little over 51 minutes wasn't anything record setting, and we came in very near the end of the pack, but I keep reminding myself that I'm getting faster, for me, and that's what counts. The only truly heinous part was soaking both feet in a very cold puddle about half-way through, but I toughed it out. I've never done a non-tri race without music, but iPods were outright forbidden, so I left it at home. (UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE. I'm just too much of a rule abider, I cannot help it.) It was strange to run without music, but I didn't mind it much since I was with a friend. It started pouring pretty much immediately after we finished, which put a damper on the post-race festivities, but overall, it was a good event. We milled around inside for a little while to visit, and I changed immediately after finishing into some smartwool socks and dry sneakers that I'd brought with me in the attempt to stave off the death cough that plagued me for several weeks after romping in the snow last year with wet feet, and so far, so good! This week, week 8, is the last with three runs ... it's 4 runs per week for the 10 weeks after this, starting with Christmas week, God help me. At least boot camp will be over! I've really enjoyed it, but I am tired, and I want to start sleeping past 5 a.m. more often than not.

It seriously rains every day around here lately. Everything is saturated. We are a moist, moist people.

What else? I finished Born to Run, recommended by Linda, and enjoyed it. I wish more of the book had focused on the Tarahumara because they were the part of the story that mostly interested me. I liked learning about some of the major characters in ultrarunning because they're quite a group, and all of the stuff about feet was interesting. Overall, while it isn't a perfect book, it's a pretty good read, and it definitely made me want to become a better runner. (I also liked this piece about running barefoot in Central Park. The whole barefoot running movement intrigues me, but I keep wondering, what about the skin on the bottom of your feet? Do you basically end up with hooves? No, thank you?)

I ordered calendars made from the beautiful photographs of my friends Jessamyn and romanlily, and they've both arrived. They're lovely, and I can't wait for 2010 so I can use them.

I went to my favorite local cafe three days in a row last week, which might be excessive. But if that many gingerbread au laits and peppermint mochas and pastries and good visits with good friends are wrong, I don't want to be right.

Dog update: The man I yelled at last week and his big dumb black dog were about to cross through my yard when I pulled in my driveway recently when coming home from work, so I just sat there with my car idling across the sidewalk staring at him so he'd see me and hopefully keep walking. He did. Yesterday morning, I happened to be in my room when I heard him telling his dog to "do his thing" in my yard again, so I banged on the window, waved, smiled, and yelled, "GOOD MORNING!" Once again he jumped out of his skin. He looked away and mumbled "Good morning" and hurried along. I mean, what is it going to take? Seriously? He's a little older than I first wagered, so maybe he's truly senile. Who in his right mind would take his dog back to a yard, clearly with no baggies in hand, where he's been spotted numerous times, been given the stank eye from both inside the house and the car, and even been asked rather vehemently to clean up after his dog? Encouraging his dog, "Do your thing"? Again? What is the world coming to? I can't even be mad anymore, it's too ridiculous.

Finally, design genius and overall nice Southern lady AB Chao (some of her work) stopped by yesterday with her cute husband and supercool daughter on their way home from winning a state football championship because they might as well be the Panthers I mean Lions. Basically, she told me how to live. As some of you know, she is good at this. It was a delight to see them all.

Now there is nothing left to do but finish up season 2 of Gavin and Stacey and company, my new best friends, and figure out some way to score the Christmas special and season 3 from across the pond. Luckily I have a mighty fine Irish friend who might be able to assist me in this endeavor. This show is really only about three things: family, friendship, and love. And it manages to be about them in a very hilarious way. And I love it very much. OH! And I started The Hunger Games, which I'm about a million years late in reading. And holy mother of heaven. It is so good! I can't put it down. You were right, everyone in the world.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 7, Run 1

Today's 35-minute run was pretty good. My legs were a bit tired from lunging a lot in the hour previous, though, and I cannot lie ... I ran the first 2 miles at a 10-minute mile pace, and I was very winded by about 2.5 miles in. I slowed down enough, my legs feeling sluggish and heavy, that mile three was clocked at 11 minutes. I think maybe what I need to do is just slow down to 10:30 and keep it kind of even if I'm supposed to be running at a steady pace that day. (Which I was today.) Maybe I shouldn't be winded doing 10-minute miles, but I totally was, and sweat was raining down my face! The great news is that my shins did not hurt at all! New shoes FTW!

Part of the enjoyment of today's run was the weather. It was a decent morning ... still wet and muggy but at least not cold or dumping rain, which it has been lately. Everything is so humid that the knob on my backdoor is dripping wet from condensation and there are basically surging swimming pools of condensation all over my carport. The windows are all fogged, etc. The sun was actually shining, though, so that's amazing. It's weird to think it was 71 when I got up this morning at 4:55 and that it's supposed to get down to 36 tonight. Weather is such a roller coaster around these parts. I guess we just have to go with the flow.

So ... in short, my 3.36 miles came in with an average overall pace of 10:25-minute miles, which I feel okay about. The longer distances are coming, and I need to start mentally preparing for them.

Today's Best Running Song: Drunken Lullabies. Oh, how I love that song. (Thanks, mo!)

Running & misc.

Week six of running training consisted of only two runs. (Sigh.) But onward I go. The second run was meant to be a 5K race, but considering that it was dumping freezing precipitation, I opted to stay home. It would have been hardcore and all, but there's something to be said, I think, for staying well. My third (really second) was a sixty-minute run on the first day of decent weather around here in days & days. The sun was out, and it felt like a miracle. I bundled up but had removed my jacket and hat and gloves by the end. My pace was just under 11-minute miles on the average, and I made it 5.47 miles. Not as fast or far as I would have liked, but I honestly had to give myself a talking-to during the run. I kept feeling very bothered that I am not (and might not ever be) as fast as some of my running pals but I just tried to tell myself that I'm not competing with them and I'm only competing against myself to try to get better. Which I have. So I tried to take some pride in that instead of lamenting that I'm not super speedy. All in all, it was an utterly gorgeous day & an utterly gorgeous run. New shoe report: My shins felt surprisingly okay during and after the run, but for the first time, as soon as I slowed down to do my walking cool-down, my knees ached like crazy. Not sure it was the shoes or the three previous days of squatting and lunging like a lunatic at boot camp. They feel okay today, thankfully. I've never had knee problems and don't want to start now! Best Running Song: I Gotta Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas, mostly because it made me think about this.

When I got home, I set about stringing up some Christmas lights, made difficult by the fact there were large piles of dog poop scattered about the front yard. I had a suspected culprit in mind as I've seen the same silver-haired man urging the same big black dog to "do his thing" in my yard not once but twice. The first time, I was too shocked to react. The second time, I heard him through the window, so I flung open the blinds and stared at him, meeting his eye, hoping that would discourage him from coming back. I was just telling my dad last night about this man, which of course thoroughly annoyed him in that protective dad ass-kicking kind of way. This morning, I woke up early but wasn't quite ready to leave the warm fuzzy cuddly cloud of bed, so I lay there finishing The Canning Season (lovely) and I heard him again! I peeked out slyly and saw him in my next-door neighbor's yard and as he made his way across her driveway to mine, standing smack in the middle of my yard in front of my window urging the dog to "do his thing," I snapped my blinds open, knocked loudly on the window, plastered a smile on my face, and shouted without really thinking, "Sir, can you please start cleaning up after your dog? I keep stepping in his poop! Thank you!" He jumped about a foot in the air, gave a little startled and apologetic wave, and dragged his dog away, looking horrified. I really did not want to be rude to an elder, but give me a break! I really wanted to throw my robe on and chase him down the street with my box of poop scooping bags and helpfully inform him that they're only $5 at Walmart, but it was cold and by then he was long gone. I feel strangely guilty for fussing at him, but I really tried to do it nicely, and those piles of poop are really big! What is so appealing about MY front yard? It's neat, trimmed, edged, mowed every week, and I had freshly strung Christmas lights shining in the morning sunlight! Does it really invite this same man over and over to not only allow but encourage his to dog poop in it? Of all the yards in all the world? And why in the actual middle of the actual yard and not the patch of grass between the street and sidewalk? Why all up in my grassy business, right by my freaking house? I just do not understand this.

Meanwhile, I've finished season one of Gavin and Stacey on DVD. It's a BBC comedy/drama, and season one is six half-hour episodes of hilarity and delight. I enjoyed it so much. I watched all the behind the scenes stuff, and as usual, they made me like something I already liked even more. So sweet, so naughty, so funny, so romantic, so real. I was eager to get season two, but it has no release date yet in the U.S. I am bummed about this and will console myself by trying to incorporate more Welsh slang into my vocabulary.

Giving thanks

Phew! Finally catching my breath after a whirlwind Thanksgiving holiday, which included stints in D.C., Connecticut, and New York in varying degrees. I've never not spent Thanksgiving near home with my whole family, so it was a bit of an unconventional adventure. It was great to spend time with my sister and her husband and his family, though, and experience a touch of winter and their traditions. It was never too terribly cold with the exception of one day when we walked down to a very pretty, very chilly beach.

We had Thanksgiving dinner at a magnificent home that made me feel like a very patriotic American and sing songs from the musical Ragtime in my head. (In 1902, Father built a house at the crest of the Broadview Avenue hill in New Rochelle, New York, and it seemed, for some years thereafter, that all the family's days would be warm and fair ... Fine weather, isn't it? Isn't it? Now that we're out of the city, isn't it? Nothing like the city ... Safe? Yes, everything's safe in New Rochelle ... )

As for running ... after completing four solid weeks of running training, week five (Thanksgiving week) was basically a bust except for a short but lovely run when I was away. It was lovely because I got to run over paths and bridges that looked like this:

And that wasn't even the only spectacular park we visited! We also went here:

What is better than a bunch of trees and lakes and hills and the sun shining through the branches at a state park in Connecticut on the second to last day of November? Nothing. Nothing, that's what!

Week six of training got off to a late start today ... it was very cold and windy and gray and wet this morning, with the misty drizzle basically drenching every inch of me by the time I was done. It was only a short 20-minute run, but I think it was about all I could handle after getting a bit derailed. I'm not too worried about it, though. I got some new shoes (inspired by Linda) and they felt okay. (I got the black and gold ... the color options in my size were limited, and this choice made me feel Saints proud.) I think the run was too short to fully evaluate them. I guess my shins will probably decide in the end, just like they do everything else! (My watch hasn't worked for the last two runs, so I hope I'll be back on track with keeping up with my pace and distance soon.)

I've been doing a lot of reading ... that's one great thing about traveling long distances. I finished An Abundance of Katherines and Paper Towns by John Green (both of which I hope to write about soon) and The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing: Traitor to the Nation (volumes one and two), a staggering reading experience that I wrote about over here.

My greatest TV surprise lately was accidentally stumbling upon Indigo Girls: Live at the Roxy on Palladia, a channel I didn't even know I had. I take this is a special cosmic gift since I just happened to see it when scrolling through my guide and it was on that very night and doesn't appear to be airing again any time soon. It just came out on DVD, so it's available for purchase, but I got it for free in all its HD glory! It features many performances that I've watched over and over on YouTube, as well as World Falls and Closer to Fine and Cannonball and Last Tears and Don't Think Twice, It's Alright, all with my beloved Brandi Carlile. I mean, Shame on You? The Wood Song? What more could a girl want? The whole thing is just heavenly.

(In other TV news, Ugly Betty and So You Think You Can Dance and Parks & Recreation and Modern Family continue to make me happier than anything else on right now. I'm so behind on Friday Night Lights that I can't speak to it at the moment, but I'm sure once I catch up it will be at the top of the list as usual. And the fact that Chuck returns next month ... forget about it. I can't wait!)

Meanwhile, I'm back at boot camp, and you know it's been too long since you were last there when the teacher whips out the orange cones and the first thing you feel is irrational hope that she's brought candy since they're the same orange color as the wrappers on all those Reese's peanut butter Christmas trees you've been eating. Oops.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 4, Run 2

The second run of week 4 was a 30-minute run. This is the most tired my legs have been since starting the training program. My calves were so sore that I honestly think they forgot how to work. I just could not get moving ... my pace was lousy and I was just lurching around like I was half-lame. In the work-out of the early morning, I could barely balance on some of the moves ... I was just wobbly. I know my legs were very fatigued, and maybe I shouldn't have tried to run at all, but I did.

It was in the low 40s again, but I was pretty warm in my layers. The water was extra beautiful today ... covered in mist that made everything a bit mysterious. All the different birds were out, which was as dazzling as ever. Even the pelicans, though, largely failed to buoy my spirits or my legs. It was just a struggle. I only made it 2.45 miles (12:15-minute mile average pace) ... I mean. Yeah. That is not great. But ... at least it's one more run under my belt.

Today's Best Running Song: Don't Know Why (You Stay) by The Essex Green. As noted last year, I first discovered this song via Sweet Juniper a few years ago, and my life has been all the better for it since. This song makes me feel like I could run forever. It might have been the only excellent thing about today's run. Good thing it's mighty excellent.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 4, Run 1

So ... today began week 4 of half-marathon training. Three down, 15 to go! I set off at about 6:30 in the morning; it was 42 degrees out, which is probably the coldest outdoor run I've ever done (I know, I am a wimp!) ... but I was already plenty warmed up and delirious so I just went with it. It was a 30-minute run, and my legs hurt, and I only made it 2.75 miles (average 10:56-minute mile pace), but it was great to have it over and done and be totally done with my day's exercise before 8 in the morning.

The pelicans were out again and as usual knocked my socks off. I'm not sure what else to say about it except I drove back to see them and made myself late for work trying to take pictures of them with my cell phone like a dork.

I've decided I really am going to try to do most of my runs outside this winter ... in previous training experiences, I've mostly gone to the gym to use the treadmill when it's in the low forties or below, but today showed me that I can do it. I might not be able to do a proper burpee or hold a side plank to save my life, but I can wear some layers and deal.

It's fun to see the same familiar faces around the various routes in the morning. We smile and wave sometimes in recognition. It's nice.

I feel pretty good stamina-wise; it's just my darn legs hurting me, especially my shins, so I don't want to go too full out. Hopefully they'll start feeling better.

Today's Best Running Song: Let It Ring by Amy Ray. First heard this song in concert earlier this year, and it's been a running staple ever since. It makes me feel strong and brave and makes me wish people would just act right and be fair and believe that one day they will. Let it ring, let it ring, let it ring.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 3, Run 3

It's been a hard week for me. I feel like I need to go ahead and give a big disclaimer that I am well aware that "hard" is relative. I'm not suffering from the flu, carrying a baby, taking care of a baby or two or three, or going through anything that anyone would consider "hard." But nonetheless. It's been hard. Very little sleep for various reasons and all of the accompanying ridiculousness -- you know how you have those days when everything that can be broken, dropped, spilled, run into, tripped over, or ruined is just that? I was just stumbling, bumbling, and fumbling around all week. Broken dryer, broken iPhone, broken spirit over epic battle with the electric company. The pelican runs and the concert were definite high points, but overall, my eyes stung with tiredness and I made a mess of just about everything.

Which is why this morning's run was a welcome relief. I knew I had a very busy day ahead -- working on a big school project (taking a 10-minute break to write this entry), washing tons of laundry and drying it at my neighbor's house because my dryer won't start, baking pumpkin pecan muffins for a co-worker who had surgery last week, and just basically trying to get myself together for what is going to be another exhausting (but hopefully better) week ahead.

I did my grocery shopping first thing to get that over with and then set out for a 40-minute run. I made it 3.68 miles at a 10:52 average per mile pace, which could have been better but could have been worse. What felt good was going faster the second half of the run than I did the first, which is unusual for me. I had a lot of trouble getting going, but about 20 minutes in, I started feeling somewhat stronger and better about the whole scenario. It was a beautiful and perfect sunny morning, and I decided I might as well try to somewhat enjoy myself.

Overall, I feel good about it, and I feel good about having decided to start training for the race 18 weeks out. It's such a long time that it takes a lot of the pressure off, and I don't feel too rushed on building up to the long runs on the weekends.

Today's Best Running Song: Don't Stop Me Now by Queen. This band wasn't a big part of my childhood ... I only first heard this song in this spectacular wedding video, and now it's one of my very favorite running songs. I cannot help but feel happy when I hear it and like I could run on and on and on.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 3, Run 2

This morning's run was my coldest so far of my training. "Cold" = low 50s, which I know many of my running pals out there in Chicago & Seattle will scoff at and rightfully so. But it is what it is. I was already very warmed up, though, when I hit the road, so it was no big deal.

It was another pretty slow-placed run ... 25 minutes, 2.11 miles, 11:40-mile average pace. My legs were in a good amount of pain from lunging their little hearts out, so I just kind of took it fairly easy and tried to run on the grass as much as possible.

I don't even know what else to say about this run except for (broken record) PELICANS! It is hard to explain what the sight of all these pelicans is doing to me. Did you know that the underside of the wings of these big, bright, white, gorgeous pelicans is dark black at the tips? And that in addition to giant white pelicans, there are tiny, minature baby pelicans? I swear, I would run every morning of my life at this ridiculous early hour just to behold the splendor of these pelicans. They'll be gone soon enough, but I will never forget what it has felt like this week, running alongside them.

I tried to find a good picture of what they look like ... this comes close ... multiply the ones in this photo by about 100 and that's what it's like ... this video is also a nice capture of the pelicans in action ... and here's a nice slideshow. And here are a few more shots of what they look like all huddled up together, which is how they've been lately. Seriously, they are too much! I am so in love with them that my heart can barely take it. If I slow down a little to get a better look at them or to linger near them a little longer, so be it! They are worth it.

Today's Best Running Song: Moulin Rouge finale.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 3, Run 1

The first run of the third week of training was a bit unusual in that I set off for it after having gotten up in the middle of the night for a bout of intense exercise prior to running. So I was a bit sore & delirious. But not in a terrible way. Sure, it was a 20 minute run and I only made it 1.7 miles (11:43 pace), but that was okay. I wasn't in a hurry. I couldn't feel my legs, I sort of felt like I was totally out of my body, the wind was whipping, the sun was rising, and best of all, the birds were out in full force. Hundreds and hundreds of them.

I'm not a birder, but I've determined that there were snowy egrets, great egrets, lots of various ducks, blue herons, gulls, cormorants, and Lord knows what else of every shape and size and color flying and swimming around. Apparently it was breakfast time, and the wings were a-whipping and the birds were a-diving and it was all just so glorious.

Best of all, though, were the pelicans. These pelicans! They just kill me! Year after year, these white pelicans kill me. They are so big and mighty and graceful, and when they're together in a huge group, like they were today, it's almost unbearable, the beauty. As I jogged along the curve of the water, they were gliding in the same direction, and I was just hypnotized and mesmerized and overwhelmed with glee.

First, they were just moving along peacefully in a group of what must have been a hundred or more, and then they started bobbing their heads under water in unison, almost like they were dancing. A woman and I passed each other and basically just laughed out loud in shared disbelief of what we were seeing.

Meanwhile, dozens of pelicans flew directly overhead, and seeing their giant wingspans floating and circling above and then their flapping descents on to the water's surface ... seriously, it was too much. I basically had to stop and run in place at times because I didn't want to miss a moment of it.

I realize this is more about birds than it is about running. But that's what today's run was for me. Sometimes being out there for a run is more about what's going on outside of us than inside of us. Or maybe sometimes those are really the same thing.

Today's Best Running Song: "Viva la Vida" by Coldplay. I know it's the most overplayed, overblown song in the universe, but I still love it.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 2, Run 3

Today's third run of the week was scheduled to be 35 minutes. It only lasted 20. Oops!

It was almost 80 degrees outside, which in some months would be mild and fantastic, but I think I've been spoiled by the somewhat cooler temps lately because it felt like approximately one million degrees when pounding the pavement in the full sun.

Even Zuko was slowed down by it and didn't seem to be enjoying himself as much as usual. I started feeling really barfy and almost like I was going to pass out by 2 miles in, so we just walked the rest of the way home (about 1.5 miles). Part of my feeling of sun-stroked parched-ness might have been attributable to the many slices of lemon rosemary bread purchased at the farmer's market this morning that I consumed prior to the run. Oh well!

My average pace was 10:20-minute miles. I don't know how I keep ending up in the tens, but alright!

Today's Best Running Song: My Eyes from Dr. Horrible.

Highlight of the Run: Big, beautiful white pelicans! They make me very happy.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 2, Run 2

Ah. The gloriously manageability of a three runs per week schedule! It is delicious.

This was my first morning run since daylight savings time started ... it was 49 degrees out, which I realize is balmy to many people, but it felt plenty cold to me. But I soldiered on and it was actually quite lovely. Obviously you warm up very quickly, and it was a clear and very pleasant morning.

I did 2.41 miles in 25 minutes at a pace of 10:22-minute miles, which felt okay! I have to say, I do feel like I am pushing myself pretty hard at that pace. I hope to get to a point where it just feels a little more relaxed and normal. Although -- maybe these runs aren't supposed to feel relaxed and normal. Maybe they're supposed to make me breathe hard and make my legs ache -- maybe that's the whole point. Anyway -- I look forward to my last run of the week being smack dab in the middle of the day on Saturday or Sunday.

Today's Best Running Song: I Get Along by The Libertines.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 2, Run 1

This week I'm starting to use a training schedule devised by the leader of a training group I joined. Instead of mileage, it's based on time, which is a method I haven't followed since C25K and One-Hour Runner back in 2006. So it will take a little getting used to, but I'm trying to be open to it because I'm sure there's a method to the madness. Also, it only has 3 runs per week for the first 8 weeks of training, which I suspect will be a welcome relief once boot camp starts and my body is beaten to a daily pulp.

The first run of the week called for a 20-minute run at a steady pace. I'm not sure what happened, but I ran 2 miles in 20 minutes. I've never run a 10-minute mile in my life to my knowledge, so that was surprising. I attribute this to two things: (1) An insane dog named Zuko was setting the pace and (2) I think psychologically 20 minutes felt so much shorter than a usual run that I just went a little faster than I usually do. I know that it's an average pace for a lot of people, and even quite a slow pace for many, but I am just not a 10-minute miler. So I am a little bit in shock.

This was also my first run in the dark. I bought a very stylish and becoming glow in the dark reflective vest and a blinking red light to clip onto Zuko's leash, so I felt visible, and I know these routes like the back of my hand, so I felt pretty sure on my feet, but I can't say I loved being out there in the dark. I suspect I'll end up doing a lot of runs during the week at the gym. Even though I dread the gym-induced case of Hot Face that I always get and the sweat flying off the brows of my treadmill neighbors and hitting me in the face.

Today's Best Running Song (also known as one of my top running songs of all time): Get Up by Bleu.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 1, Run 4

Magnificent. That is the only word to describe the weather on this sunny, 65-degree day. Thanks, November first. You are awesome.

I am typically a better morning runner than later in the day, but I waited until mid-afternoon to go today, partly because I had a busy day happening. I set off for my first four-mile run since last fall with a little bit of trepidation, but I need not have feared the distance! It turned out to be this week's most enjoyable run so far.

I followed a route I haven't been on since last fall's training (unless I was on a bike). I had to adjust my vision a bit to take in the familiar landmarks and scenes at such a slower pace than what I saw when whizzing by them over and over on my bike. It was nice to be back on this route on foot, because it's one I've run a billion times in the past, just not lately ... there were lots of people out, and that always puts pep in my step. The sun was blasting but it was comfortably cool and I don't even know what happened, but I felt pretty strong and dare I say happy.

The guy leading my training group said the best possible terrain to run on is trail, which I take to mean grass? Dirt? I'm not sure, but luckily there are a good number of grassy or dirt patches along this route, so when possible, I stepped off the sidewalk or street to run on that slightly springier surface, and I definitely think it helped to prevent some shin/calf pain. It also felt sort of adventurous to have to do tiny little leaps over tree branches and feel acorns crunching underfoot and whatnot.

My average pace per mile was 11:28, and I am perfectly fine with that for now. After all, this week I ran 12 miles. Last week, I ran 3. The week before that, and many weeks before that, I ran zero. So how can I not feel good about that?

It felt great to finish the run and stretch in the sunshine with this view. Delightful overall.

Today's Best Running Song: The Speed Test from Thoroughly Modern Millie, which will probably only appeal to the showtune lovers in the house. The song speeds up as it goes along, and it is super fun to run to!

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 1, Run 3

Today's 3-mile run was fueled by pure aggravation! Apparently this makes me run fast, because I did it with an average pace of 11:05-minute miles, which is very speedy for the likes of me.

How do I know my average pace? Well, that would be thanks to my new Garmin watch ... one of my triathlon gal pals highly recommended it, and Linda has it, too, so I took the plunge. I have no earthly idea how to work most of the features, but the very basic ones (time, distance, pace) seem doable enough for now.

I was aggravated because I spent two hours today driving to and from a very cool sounding estate sale that apparently did not exist ... I carefully followed the explicit directions, and I arrived at what can only be described as a shack/junkyard, where four muddy, barefoot children confirmed that the address listed in the ad was their house. "There ain't no sale here," they assured me. "But let's check with Maw Maw." Maw Maw confirmed: no sale. I'm not sure what happened, but it was kind of a pain. Oh well! At least I had some good tunes to keep me company on the way to the country and back. I consoled myself by stopping at a neighborhood garage sale and buying myself a fake orchid and a fake gold necklace.

I think I also went a little faster today because I was being dragged by Zuko. I ran with him a lot over the summer as part of Project Exhaustion to get him over his OCD leg licking, and it totally worked. However, I haven't taken him out in a good while, and I noted the other day that he's started again, this time on the top of his paw. I was a little worried that it would hurt him to run on it, but he seemed as jazzed and spastic as always and totally unfazed. I have no idea if I'll keep taking him running with me, but I enjoyed it today, even when he'd try to pull my arm out of socket when chasing a flock of ducks into the lake or a squirrel up a tree. The sky was totally sunny and cloudless and beautiful, and I definitely got tired -- shins and calves, mostly, as usual, but it felt good.

Meanwhile, I think another friend might be training for the race ... this makes me very happy.

Today's Best Running Song: Dying Day by Brandi Carlile.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 1, Run 2

Today's 2-mile run wasn't too bad! The weather is perfect, the sky was still blue, and there were cute dogs a-plenty being walked round and round. Plus, I saw a chicken. An actual full-grown chicken, walking around in the middle of the street a block from my house, pecking at the ground.

My calves are definitely very sore, but I'm trying to stretch the bejeezus out of them post-run.

Even though I'm planning to follow a time-based rather than a mileage-based training schedule this time around, I didn't receive it until today, and since I started the week with mileage I'm going to finish it that way. I'm just kind of a mental case that way. I finished in 22:30, which is about right for me right now. Slow and steady and all that jazz. (P.S. I'm also posting over here.)

Today's Best Running Song: Kick Drum Heart by The Avett Brothers ... my heart like a kick drum, my love like a voice.

1/2 Marathon Training: Week 1, Run 1

Mamma Mia! Here I go again. That song came on during my run tonight, and I thought it was very apropos.

All I wanted to do when I got home today was change into my pajamas, settle in on the couch with a big bowl of my mom's strangely delicious carrot salad, watch this morning's season 7 Bravo reruns of The West Wing, and then transition into the first competition night of season 6 of So You Think You Can Dance to find out what in the heck is going on with Billy Bell. You know, really productive stuff.

But I told myself it would be dumb to squander one of the last evenings of the year when it would be light outside after work, threw my keys down when I walked in the door, changed immediately into my running clothes before I could change my mind, and hit the road.

It wasn't an easy three miles. I was tired after two, and I felt myself actually feeling hungry. I guess my decadent sliver of quiche and amazing pear tart and latte that I had for lunch from my favorite cafe were not the greatest fuel for running. But I soldiered on. The sky was beautiful, the runners and dog walkers and bikers were out in full force, the egrets were gliding over the water, and all was peaceful.

I started thinking about the word "squander" and how if I am ever sitting before James Lipton and he asks me the Bernard Pivot questions, "squander" is definitely in the running as my least favorite word. Squandering is just not a cool thing to do. Squandering good will. Squandering money. Squandering fitness. Squandering time.

The first 3-mile run of my training took me 36 minutes. I can only get faster from here. (I hope.) These next 18 weeks are going to get ugly. The strategy I've always tried to use, which I'm going to try to use this time, is one breath, one step, one run, one aching calf, one Kelly Clarkson song at a time.

Today's Best Running Song: "My Life Would Suck Without You."

Plans

The only thing I didn't like about Bright Star was that it made me hate a character played by Paul Schneider, otherwise known as Lars' kind brother in my beloved Lars and the Real Girl and Mark Brandanowitz on Parks and Recreation, which surprised no one more than me by turning into one of the funniest shows on TV. (I thought it was really dumb last season when it started, but now it makes me laugh a lot, and I love it.) I do not need Paul Schneider to put on a Scottish accent, wear strange plaid jumpers, and be mean to Fanny Brawne. I need him to be adorable, which he is. (Not that adorable on Parks & Recreation: Bright Abbott. I blame Anna Faris.) It's not that Paul Schneider wasn't good in the movie -- he was, and the realization he comes to in the end is very moving. I just wasn't crazy about his character. Or his outfit.

I'm only about 40 pages into Looking for Alaska so far, but I can tell it's going to be special. I love knowing this about a book when I still have most of it left to read.

Had a lovely get together today with ladyloo, whom I'd never met before. She is delightful, and we ate an abundance of pastries.

The big news around these parts is that I received notice about registration for an upcoming half-marathon that I was not even considering registering for until I noted that it is taking place on my 35th birthday. 35. 35th birthday. This is not really something I had visualized, and suddenly it is right around the corner. Well. It took me about five minutes to realize that one way to avoid deranged feelings of woe about this number that is supposed to arbitrarily mark some point in a woman's life span -- and one way to enjoy life more in general, which I always do by leaps and bounds when I have some sort of fitness event to train for -- would be to sign up for a half-marathon that day! So I did.

And I know I'm a big talker, and I decided to do this last year, too, and I quit after nine weeks of training. But all I can do is decide to do it and have every intention of following through this time. Happily, some friends are planning to come down and do it, too, and some of my triathlon gal pals are signed up, too, which is fantastic.

(If you want to come, too, just come! This is an event where thousands of people come, and it's expected to be bigger than ever in 2010. There is room for everyone. Also, to clear up any confusion, this does not actually happen on Mardi Gras weekend ... that's two weeks earlier. If you don't like running, there are people who walk it. Or people who cheer on the sidelines. So ... that's an option! I don't want anyone to feel left out, is all I'm saying.)

I know that the flurry of the excitement of deciding this yesterday will fade as I decide I hate running like I always do, but sometimes you've just gotta say WTF. In a very self-centered way, I am thinking of it as a great big birthday party for myself, ringing in 35 with a big bang in the Big Easy. Hopefully thinking about it this way will help me to actually show up!

Meanwhile, I also signed up for a 10-day, pre-dawn boot camp. I think maybe I have lost my mind.

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.

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.

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!

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.

Updating on a cold, rainy night.

I'm going to go ahead and shoot straight with you. The weather is heinous. It's 42 degrees outside and raining but it feels like -42 and is so vile it could potentially make my mood vile as well, but I am newly resolved not to be in a vile mood anymore!

I have been in a vile mood for several days. I have been very ants in my pants about the contractor coming and finally replacing my Gustav-damaged ceilings. I feared sheetrock dust exploding into every corner of the house, totally disrupting the pets' lives, and not being able to shower because the bathtub would be full of fallen insulation. After tossing and turning all night, I finally threw myself out of bed pre-dawn and covered beds and shower heads and counters with plastic and moved rugs and hauled crap around trying to move as much as I could out of the way of the onslaught of mess and pain. Only to have the contractor's dudes arrive, take one look at the ceiling and make one quick crawl around the attic and declare that I don't even need new ceilings! What? Yes. No. I should just treat them with something and repaint them. Oooookay. I know this is good news, but it is not what I was told before and it kind of made my head spin after preparing mentally all these months to spend the money and face the mess. They said if the mold didn't grow back after I cleaned it up then it wasn't moldy and all the brown spots are just stains. They said everything in the attic is dry. Well, eff me! Okay. I am going to treat this all as a good thing and count myself blessed.

Right now I am sitting on the couch in sweats eating wheat thins, baby carrots dipped in zesty lemon hummos, and scrambled eggs and cheese. This is a very comforting dinner. I am listening to Sufjan Stevens' Christmas music which for some reason I am only listening to for the first time this year, and I could not possibly love it more. My absolute favorite is "Holy, Holy, Holy," which is a hymn, not a Christmas carol, as far as I'm concerned, but I still love it. I have now listened to it approximately fifty times in the past 2 days. I made copies for my sister, a girlfriend, and both of my parents. It is making me really happy. I don't know the first fat thing about Sufjan Stevens, but apparently I love him. I am trying to figure out who sings the backup harmonies on this song, but I have no idea. Anyone?

I'm not sure what else has been going on. Work is kind of zany for me this time of year because of a holiday project. I got a little overwhelmed with my last week of school work but at this point I am over that. I finished When You Are Engulfed in Flames yesterday, and I am already nostalgic for it. I can't stop baking mint chocolate cookies. I took 9 days off of running and started it up again last week. So far, I have not died, though I have on occasion felt like I might. I am very excited to see Milk and Slumdog Millionaire. I put up Christmas lights! They are very pretty. I am afraid of both fire and electrocution, so this was a big step for me. I blithely hung them up many years ago when I first moved in, but I've avoided it in recent years because I am a big fraidy cat, but I just went ahead and did it, and they look beautiful and nothing catastrophic has happened yet. I am going to take this as a good sign for the holidays ahead.

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.)

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:

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.

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?

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.

Weekend update

What is better than a sunny Sunday afternoon? Not much.

It's been a nice weekend. On Friday afternoon after work, B. and I met downtown for sushi at a place we don't go very often. There are always lots of women in Carrie Bradshaw clothes, the music is bumping and loud, and the servers rush you out of there like their hair is on fire. But we were basically the first people there, so we took our time a little bit and enjoyed the terrace view, our wine, our scotch, our shrimp and eggplant miso, our seaweed salad, and our sushi rolls. We got frozen yogurt on the way home and watched Friday Night Lights, which I still love no matter how off the rails it might be going this season.

Yesterday morning, we got up pretty early. I went to the gym and did day two of week two of Couch to 5K and headed to lunch with my girlfriend. We shopped around a little after and exchanged late Christmas gifts. It was nice to see her. Then I went to a gathering of school friends, whom I was glad to see after the holiday break.

Dinner last night was uneventful leftovers, but the entertainment was eventful. It was Stardust, which I knew nothing about other than that Pajiba named it one of the best movies of 2007 we probably didn't see and that my little brother thought it was good. And it was. It was so good! It was just delightful and fun and very pretty to look at. It also did what I previously thought was impossible and that is make me like Claire Danes again. It was a movie miracle! She won me over in her first five minutes. Everyone in the movie was great. Just when I thought the cast could not be improved upon, up showed Ricky Gervais. Just kill me now.

The one thing in the movie that drove me a little nuts was the familiarity of some of the score. I was like, I have heard this before and it is driving me bananas! You can hear the little snippet that made me bonkers here. And I could not figure it out. And finally B. threw out, "Battlestar Galactica?" Whose title sort of sounds like Back to the Future. And I realized, eureka! That was it. (The first 25 seconds or so of that clip.) Anyway, other than that, the movie did not drive me crazy at all except for maybe with happiness.

This morning I went grocery shopping and did day three of week two outside, which was downright blissful because the weather continues to amaze. Then I went to paint some pottery with my favorite four-year-old, who announced as she madly splashed her ceramic plate with color, "I CAN'T STOP PAINTING." This is my last non-school weekend for a while, so I'm glad it's been so lovely.

Here are my playlists for week two, days two and three:

Piddle, Twiddle And Resolve/Till Then ~ 1776
Blame Canada ~ South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut
Pavement Artist (Chim Chim Cher-Ee) ~ Mary Poppins
What Would Brian Boitano Do? ~ South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut
We're Not Sorry ~ Urinetown
Broken Heart ~ Motion City Soundtrack
Closer To You ~ Brandi Carlile
All I Want Is You ~ Barry Louis Polisar
The Story ~ Brandi Carlile
Who's Got a Match? ~ Biffy Clyro
Eyes ~ Rogue Wave
Shake It ~ Metro Station
Follow Your Heart ~ Urinetown (mainly for the part at the end when Hunter Foster knocks "laughter and glaaaaadness" out of the park)
School for Monsters/The Money Song ~ Avenue Q

Dear Prudence ~ Across the Universe
Run, Freedom, Run! ~ Hunter Foster (Urinetown)
So Nice So Smart ~ Kimya Dawson
All My Loving ~ Jim Sturgess (Across the Universe)
I've Got the World on a String ~ Michael Buble
Singin' In The Rain ~ Gene Kelly
When Your Mind's Made Up ~ Glen Hansard & Markéta Irglová (Once)
The Nicest Kids In Town ~ James Marsden (Hairspray)
Busted Afternoon ~ Old 97's
Kind Of Hope ~ Pilot Speed
Happiness Is a Warm Gun ~ Joe Anderson (Across the Universe)
You Can't Stop The Beat ~ Hairspray
Everything ~ Michael Buble
I Will ~ The Beatles
The Story ~ Brandi Carlile

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.

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 Some More

I am feeling like I don't have much to say right now so I'm just going to start writing and see what comes out.

On Friday, I worked a half-day so I could spend the afternoon with my sister. We went shopping and drove around town listening to Mary Poppins and Avenue Q. It was great to spend some time together on a sunny day.

That evening, my boyfriend arrived and we went out for dinner and ice cream. We watched Battlestar, of course. We went out for breakfast on Saturday morning and to the library and then to the book festival, which was nice. We went to a panel with three cool authors, and I got to meet M.A. Harper. She saw the book in my hand and asked, "Where did you get THIS?" because it was her first novel and wasn't for sale at the festival and I told her I've had it forever and that it's one of my favorites and that it made me feel proud to be a Southern girl when I wasn't feeling very proud of that and she said it made her feel that way, too. Then a woman sitting nearby pointed out the dedication and said, "That's me! I'm her sister." It was nice. We ate crawfish pies and a pulled pork sandwich and a pink lemonade sno-cone. Later that afternoon, we played Scrabble and watched a little Moonlighting on DVD. He left, and I went to hang out with my sister. We ate some leftover pizza and she got organized for her trip home.

Early the next morning, I drove her to the airport and went grocery shopping and then I finished up the one-hour running program by going on my one-hour run. I cannot lie. It was eternal. It felt infinitely longer than the 54-minute run of last weekend. I came in at a little under 5 miles, which is how far I estimated I'd go, which was fine. I keep telling myself that it's about endurance, not speed. My legs are still a little sore, but I'm ready to run 3 miles tomorrow. I think.

After running, I stopped at the coffee shop for a granita and headed to the outlet mall where I spent an insane amount of money on new winter clothes like magenta cords and an abundance of sweaters and a very cute tan corduroy jacket with faux sheepskin. Then came the project of reorganizing my closet and bagging up clothes to give away in order to make room for the new ones. I mowed the grass when I got home and then basically collapsed for the duration. I woke up at 3 in the morning and read a lot of Gilead, lent to me by Shelley. It started off pretty slowly, but it suddenly became wonderful in the middle of the night, and I can't wait to read more. I love the moment when a book suddenly turns from something sort of dull to something beautiful and you think, "This could be really good. This could even be great."

I love Ugly Betty. I love Ugly Betty. I love Ugly Betty.

A lot.

I'm thinking of looking into doing a sleep study. Does anyone have any experience with one or know anything about them?

This is a boring-assed entry if ever I read one. Thank God Friday Night Lights is on tonight. Really.

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.

Caulking Chaos

I watched Six Degrees last week; I won't watch it again. I found it irritating even though I really like Jay Hernandez, Hope Davis, and especially Campbell Scott. Brothers and Sisters didn't do it for me at all, so I'm also scratching that one off the list.

It's strange how little TV I'm watching this season. Studio 60 (I liked it A LOT), Veronica Mars when it starts, Gray's Anatomy, The Office, and Battlestar Galactica when it starts. Oh, and I'm still recording and watching The View every day just because Rosie makes me happy. I've found that watching really good TV makes me much less tolerant of TV that falls short of my judgment of what's excellent. You know? After barreling through the second half of season two of Battlestar, I'm thinking about it so much that last night I dreamt that Lee Adama got onstage drunk and sang "Shiksa Goddess" from The Last Five Years. It's penetrated my psyche in that deep and bizarre a way. (Don't read the rest of this paragraph if you don't want to be spoiled.) There were a few episodes in this batch that I thought were downright lame (especially the one about Apollo and the hooker) (and I wasn't crazy about the one about Scar) (and don't even get me started on my intense dislike of the Apollo / Dualla "relationship"), but there were parts that knocked my socks off. I lay on the couch and wept during the scene described here. Tears dripped off my face onto the throw pillow. It was just one of the finest things I've ever seen. I LOVE THIS SHOW. And I cannot wait for October 6.

I had a lot on my plate this weekend. My boyfriend worked each day, so I vowed to be productive. Friday night, I cleaned my house and went grocery shopping. On Saturday morning, I took my filthy dogs to the vet for a bath, went shopping for do-it-myself supplies, went on my "long" run for the week (38 minutes around the neighborhood), picked up the dogs, and prepared dinner. He arrived, and we went to the coffee shop and had muffins, coffee, a walnut rugelach, and some frozen lemonade and played a game of Scrabble during which he almost broke 400 points and I broke 300, so it was a good game. That night, we ate this pasta and this salad, and YUM. (Note: I made the pasta sauces in advance as suggested; I only used one tablespoon of chile paste in the pasta instead of two and it was still very spicy; I used orange juice concentrate instead of Grand Marnier because a bottle of it costs $35; the salad dressing is extremely thick, but do not be frightened; and I toasted the almonds first because I think that brings out their flavor much more. Both were great recipes, I thought.) We went out to a show that night where there were lots of young manorexic boys with beards and tight t-shirts and ate vanilla ice cream with strawberries and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.

On Sunday, I re-caulked my bathtub. Which was my do-it-myself project to end all do-it-myself projects. My old caulk was nothing short of disgusting, and I figured, how hard could it be? I'll tell you how hard it was. It was very freaking hard. The old caulk was misery to scrape off despite using a gel that is erroneously labeled as a caulk "remover" (HA!), my weird carpal tunnely knuckle that had been doing so much better turned the size and color of a plum, and I probably did permanent damage to both the tile and the tub by scraping like a complete out of control lunatic. Once I scraped off all I could scrape (the caulk between the tub and the floor was particularly un-scrape-able because it was all mixed in with the cement grout of the ceramic floor tile -- horrible), I sprayed everything with Tilex, let that set for a while, and scrubbed everything with a toothbrush until I felt like all of my fingers were going to become dislocated. I let that dry for a few hours with a fan and then set forth with the caulking gun, thinking that nothing could be more difficult than the preparation. Right? Wrong. So very wrong.

I wanted only a very small hole in the top of the caulk tube, but I had to keep cutting it bigger and bigger in order to reach the top of the canister so it could be pierced with a nail. Even when using a really long nail, I had to go down so far that my hole, instead of being pencil-sized, was more like dime-sized. Yeah. It was so big that the caulk was flowing out of the tube when I wasn't even squeezing the gun, so I had to hold it between my legs upright and wipe it with a paper towel constantly or it would spew forth like a tube of toothpaste that was being stepped on. So much caulk gooped out when I was dispensing it around the tub that smoothing the line was just ... unholy. Nightmarish. I'm not even sure that I made good seals. I got silicone caulk all over myself, all over the tiles, all over the bathtub. I even got it on my glasses. And I forgot to fill the tub with water, which supposedly you're supposed to do, until I was almost finished. So I just filled it then and hoped for the best. In short, I've decided that time is more valuable than money and that I would have rather paid someone $1,000 to do this job and do it right, and then I could have spent my Sunday sitting at the coffee shop with my new book from the beautiful Grace that I already love instead of undertaking this monstrous project. Do-It-Myself -- I'm over it. Never again. Never again.

I finished All the King's Men, and it's exquisite. (No spoilers to follow.) It's wordy and sometimes rambly and takes a long time to get where it's going, but when it gets there, whoa. It's fantastic. It's strange because once I got really into it, I stopped thinking about how it's based on my state and true history and just got into it as a mighty fine book. This book is as much about ideas as it is about action, and I liked the ideas a lot. Jack Burden can be very annoying, and sometimes you just want to tell him to shut up and get to the point already, but the way he, as a narrator, contemplates life and goodness and sin and the past and the future is sublime. I highly recommend this book. It didn't win the Pulitzer Prize for nothing. (Read what the ever-wise mo pie thought about it here.) (Also spoiler-free.) I haven't seen the movie yet; the reviews have not been promising. Fred Willard, who was Roeper's guest reviewer this week, gave it two thumbs up, though! And if it's okay by Ron Albertson, it's probably okay by me.

(Here's a link to the article in The New Yorker profiling David Milch and featuring quite a bit about his relationship with Robert Penn Warren. In it, Milch says, "Mr. Warren spread out pretty much all the literary artifacts of American culture for me to study, as part of my working for him on that history of American literature. And in that I found the refraction, the perspective that I needed, to give me access to play the cards that I'd been dealt." Fascinating! Fascinating.)

As for running, I've come to my senses and have decided to forego training for a marathon and train for a half-marathon instead, along with a few friends. It still seems like an impossible distance for me right now, but it seems less impossible than a marathon would be. As my sister said wisely, half-marathon training doesn't take over your whole life like marathon training does, and the distance is a great achievement while still being short enough that it does not make you feel like dying when you are doing it. And I'm all for that. So ... I'm going to finish up one-hour-runner (I'm starting week 6 now) and then figure out when I should start officially training for the half-marathon. Woo! My mom, as she did when I told her I was training for a 5K, sort of laughed disbelievingly, like she was humoring me, like, "...okay. Good luck with that." Not in a mean way, just in an "I'm so sure, I'll believe it when I see it, for I know you, my lazy child," sort of a way. But I will show her! I will. I will show everyone. Most of all me.