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December, 2012

  1. Not dead yet

    December 29, 2012 by Laura

    I love how since the advent of Facebook, I experience my life through the filter of “in what fascinating and witty way will I describe this particular experience of my life?” I think it makes me a better communicator (To everyone except the people I actually talk to, but that’s another topic, and it won’t make me thinner healthier. Except when I blog instead of eating, which makes me feel like an athlete and a starving writer. Love that. And yes, I do think in dependent clauses).

    I “ran” again today. Childhood friend Penny informed me, “I did that once. It gets better. I stopped at week 4 tho… ” so that was encouraging not really. I like it when people say things like, “You could do a 5k tomorrow if you had to.” No I couldn’t. First of all, I am now running 60 seconds in a row, and my lungs are trying to escape the confines of my ribcage, my esophagus is peeling, and I have cerebrospinal fluid leaking from my ears. And under what circumstances would I have to run a 5k tomorrow? That would be the day before St. Patrick’s Day 2013, when I am signed up to do a 5k, a date deliberately chosen to coincide with the end of 10 weeks of training for a 5k. How much more evidence of my out-of-shapeness do you need? Don’t answer that.

    As the day has worn on, I have become acutely aware of the ball socket joints of my hips. I think it’s run of the mill and not time to replace them yet.

    While the exercise portion of this has already started, the full-on clean living doesn’t start until 2013. There are ingredients to purchase, ingredients to use up, beers not to be shared… Dinner menus to plan… Have I mentioned my weariness of dinner?

    This time around I am really going to be leaning on you to keep me going. I think I lack the crazy evangelical Nutritarian fire that burned in 2010-11.

    Does anyone need a bridesmaid?

  2. Running on empty

    December 28, 2012 by Laura

    Let me start this post with a simple question: Who the hell brought caramel flavored chocolate covered cashews into my home? There’s a mutineer, and I will have his head.

    As promised, I started my run program today. When I started blogging 2 years ago, I could give up anything: Chocolate, cheese, bread, booze, you name it as long as I could sit in my chair and check my blog stats every 3 minutes. I would not give up my sedentary lifestyle. Now, I’m going to try to kick it up a notch. I just want you to know that in real life, I would never say, “kick it up a notch.” If you said it, I would stop listening to you, because I think it sounds stupid. But right now, I think it’s funny. Yesterday I called my cousin Eric to ask if he wanted to do this half marathon too. Somehow, when he said the longest he’d ever run was 7 miles, I told him it was “time to kick it up a notch.” I sounded possessed, I think. Now I can’t stop saying it in “possessed by a trainer” voice. “C’mon People, lets’ KICK IT UP A NOTCH.” See? Possessed, I tell you.

    Yeah, so, today I kicked it up a notch, which, as we already know, means I stood and moved forward for 30 consecutive minutes. I am following the C25K program (or “Couch to five kilometers” for those who still like words). Here’s what I like about the program: you ease into a doable exercise thing. Sixty seconds of jogging here, 90 seconds of walking there, before you know it, you’re practically Uta Pippig, but without the blood and poop (Boston Marathon 1996 reference. God I feel old). What I don’t like: getting out of bed on a non-work day before 8 am to go out and run. And by “run” I mean make funny little joggy motions with my legs while wearing new running shoes and Lycra tights. I’m out there on the badly paved, dangerously canted road, running past neighbors I don’t know, trying to look like I’m not dying, because I have no ID on me. Each little 60 or 90 second increment becomes it’s own little mind game.

    Me running with 20 seconds left: Oh my God! 20 more seconds?? Fuck, I’m going to die.

    Me running with 5 seconds left: Oh thank God! Only 5 more seconds! Fuck, I’m going to die.

    Me walking with 20 seconds left: Oh thank God! 20 more seconds! Fuck, I’m going to die.

    Me walking with 5 seconds left: Oh my God! Only 5 more seconds?? Fuck, I’m going to die.

    I had basically rolled out of bed, snarfed down my coffee, avoided my kids, and out the door I went (now I have George Thorogood in my brain). No breakfast, no water, just winging it. Also, I have a cough. And it was kind of cool from minutes 7 to 14 maybe. Wintery day, up with the early birds feeling all superior ‘n shit. At some point I had to spit, and that was just embarrassing, because I didn’t really get a clean trajectory. Not good. Finally as I was in the last eight minutes or so, I was starting to feel like I’d get through, but then the chorus of “Whipping Post” by the Allman Brothers started going through my head. Probably not the best choice for the playlist.

    There are people who don’t believe that I am as positively non-athletic as I am. That’s because I am a total poseur. I have a bunch of gear, and I really do like watching almost all sports in a general girly way, and I have slept with hung out around athletic types (I even married one eventually!). I’ve ridden my bike around Lake Tahoe and backpacked all over the place. I used to be a snowboarder too. Ten years ago, I vowed to have a daily exercise habit by the time I was 35. Did that! And I might still be a little active if it weren’t for those meddling kids. They’re ruinous. But they should have a mom who is healthy. I’m going to see if I can’t get myself into the shit hot shape I was in for 15 minutes 10 years ago. If not for myself, then for the children.

    Isn’t this totally inspirational?

  3. It’s that time of year again…

    December 27, 2012 by Laura

    when those of us with inconsistent habits (or a habit of inconsistency), few formal goals, a propensity for indulgence and sloth, and a love of dairy fat, wheat and feeling a little tipsy start feeling badly about ourselves. We next make wild promises of self-improvement in an attempt to rectify the situation or to at least appear to make an effort. Memberships are activated, athletic clothing is purchased, kitchens are purged. Menfolk weep at the sight of cured meats, cheese spreads, and nut brittles being packed off for work break rooms.

    Since my last post, I have spent most of my days trying desperately to fit back into my size 12 jeans. Size 8 (ok, 10) was just attracting too much attention from the cougar hunters. It’s embarrassing having all those 28 year old dudes staring. Dale had to punch someone, and well, I thought I’d better just eat chocolate croissants and keep the peace. It was a sacrifice, to be sure.

    But last week some delighted old bag in the cafeteria asked my 44 year old self if I was, “in a motherly way.” After I slapped her dentures across the room (in my mind), I took my pickle-enhanced lunch to a dark, lonely, corner table and took stock. No I didn’t. I just ate a bunch of chips and felt bad about my abs. I didn’t take stock at all. I kind of whimpered a little bit.

    But then I remembered MY BLOG! (Well not just then, just then my ridiculously short 30 minute lunch break ended, and I had to haul my pregnant-looking ass back up to the ICU to care for my obese patient.) I remembered how much I love writing about how healthy I occasionally am. So I’m back! Yay me!

    Okay, here’s where I’m at, as they say in places where it’s okay to talk like that: I have signed up to run a half marathon on August 25, one day after my 45th birthday. I am signed up for a 5k on St. Patrick’s Day and am looking for a 10k in there somewhere. I cleaned out the kitchen of all things non-Nutritarian (remember, that’s my deal), and I bought a bazillion dollars worth of running shoes and Lycra tights (which really means one pair of each). C25K starts Friday. I’d start today, but I have a tebbible code id by dose.

    So, you want to know what’s for dinner tonight? Teriyaki Chicken drumsticks (gotta use up some stuff), Black rice salad, and Brussels sprouts. At least the kiddos will eat the chicken.

    Year end stats: 5’4″, 156 (ish), and 0 miles. By this time next year, I’d like to be 5’7″.

    Happy New Year!