a view from the park

A Visit from Adam Scott

2012-02-17T06:55:00.000-08:00

I promise I’m not going to regularly post about my dreams, but a regularly reported “side effect” (?) of pregnancy is vivid, often strange, dreams. Some are about the baby. Some are less… how do you say… innocent. Needless to say, I love having vivid dreams that I can remember even when they are about my husband and I being incapable of caring for our kid. And then there was last night’s dream, starring this guy:

It was definitely PG-13, not R-rated (sorry friends), but if dreaming about making out with Adam Scott is what I get for watching Parks and Recreation right before bed, well um… sign me up.

Oddly my husband was in my dream and gave me his blessing to go ahead with this questionable behavior, but hey, thanks Hubs! (In true Lou fashion, I immediately told MM about the dream when I woke up, which I’m sure he appreciated. I'm an honest wife like that.)

I’m not sure what it is about Adam Scott. I wasn’t a fan immediately, but he grew on me after watching him on Parks and Rec then Party Down on Netflix. I think his scrawniness and big head vaguely remind me of my first boyfriend, only a clean-cut version, which I guess is more my speed these days.

Whatever the case, I’d like to request that dream again. And I’d like to go back to bed now.

16 Weeks and Counting

2012-02-16T10:11:00.000-08:00

Pregnancy is a lot of waiting... waiting for your next doctor’s appointment. Waiting to feel the baby move. Waiting to show so people realize you’re pregnant and give you a seat on the bus. Waiting to find out if the baby is a boy or a girl.

So far, none of the above has happened to me, though it’s clear my stomach is getting bigger when I wear fitted clothing like my Lululemon Swiftly Tech Shirt (I hate to be “that guy who buys really expensive workout clothes,” but this shirt is totally worth the price, even though as a fitness instructor, I got it at a discount). I should really take some “bump” shots. I know, we hate the word bump. Whatever.

16 Week Appointment
This morning MM and I had our 16 week appointment, which was quick and dirty. We listened to the baby’s heartbeat (it was between 163 and 164), which is normal and healthy, and I had blood drawn for the second trimester screening. The results of the second trimester screening will be combined with the results of our first trimester screening, which were all very normal and gave no indication that we should be concerned about anything. Hopefully that will be the case again.

Looking Ahead
Hearing the baby’s heartbeat is really cool, partially because it’s nice to have proof that the baby is still in there since the signs of pregnancy are pretty minimal right now (for example, I’m not puking or desperately craving Arby’s roast beef sandwiches). However, it doesn’t compare to seeing the baby on the ultrasound. The next appointment, in four weeks, is a BIG one. At 20 weeks (the halfway mark of pregnancy), we should be able to find out if our little one is a girl or boy.

Any guesses? My mom is convinced it’s a boy because she’s certain that our very female-centric family will be turned upside down by the presence of a little boy. My mom also thinks she’s psychic, so there’s that.

Other Thoughts
Like I said, other than pretty much being able to (and sometimes needing to) sleep constantly, I’ve felt pretty good, which means I need to use this time to really get shit in order for when the baby comes. I’m trying to come up with household tasks that make sense to tackle now (stuff like cleaning out closets, obtaining certain pieces of furniture, getting rid of others), but I often end up over-scheduling our weekends and needing any downtime to sleep so I can function in social situations. That’s going to have to change!

One major item that needs to be checked off has begun: We have started our daycare search. At this point--and there’s probably no way this is changing--I am going back to work full time after my maternity leave. We have looked at two daycares and have two more to look at, but we’ve seen one that I’d be pretty comfortable leaving our baby at (as comfortable as I imagine I’ll be dropping a 12-week-old baby off with strangers day after day), but I might write a longer post about all that.

There’s much more to do, but right now I’m just glad the baby is doing well, and I’m feeling pretty decent.

Baby Dreams and Other Nightmares

2012-02-10T07:29:00.000-08:00

I started dreaming about our baby early on. It doesn’t happen often, but the first two dreams I had were basically about how MM and I would fail at parenting. Regardless of our real or imagined shortcomings as new parents, I kind of love having these dreams because I feel like, for brief moments, I’m “meeting” our little one. Of course, in addition to getting acquainted with baby, I’m also neglecting the baby, putting the baby in unsafe situations, forgetting that we have a baby, etc.

For ease of writing, I’ll admit that the baby in these dreams is always a girl (though I might have had a dream where an older boy was our kid). I think that is less because I am having a girl and more because I can only wrap my head around having a girl (which is why I’m pretty much convinced I’m having a boy). But for the sake of this “baby character” in the dreams, I’ll be using female pronouns.

In the first dream I had, we brought the baby home from the hospital, only to completely forget that she was there. I put her in a crib and went about my business forgetting to feed her, sooth her or otherwise change my routine to care for an infant. Every so often I’d be reminded by some divine dream force, that ‘oh right, I have a baby now,’ which lead to me continuing to ignore her. I’m not sure this scenario isn't possible in real life, but it didn’t exactly make me feel awesome.

The second dream was more detailed. MM and I decided to take our brand new baby to a big box store only to realize that we forgot to bring all of the ‘stuff’ you’re supposed to bring when you haul a baby out of the house. Things like (for instance) the diaper bag. When our baby ineviatably needed to be changed, MM and I headed into the store’s public restroom to manage the situation. Only we had no diapers. With the baby on the changing table, MM, always one to innovate, decided to try diapering her with a bib, which lead to me yelling at him about how you can’t diaper a baby with a bib (duh). Looking frantically around the bathroom for other sources of diaper-material (I mean, we were in a big box store... Target? Wal-Mart? We could have bought diapers), we left the baby alone on the changing table only for her to... you guessed it... roll off the table and on to the gross public restroom floor (and let’s be real, those Wal-Mart/Target bathrooms are always the worst).

Clearly, I have some doubts about our parenting abilities. Neither MM nor I has had significant experience caring for children of any age. Neither MM nor I has ever changed a diaper (unless you count MM’s attempt to diaper with a bib in the dream... I don’t). I have no doubt that we’ll manage. We’ve got to be as capable of any one of those 16 year olds on that MTV show. If they can do it, we can do it. And of course, we’ll take “how not to kill your newborn baby” classes, so we at least learn basic infant-care skills. We’ll be fine.

Right?

The good news is after several weeks of baby-free dreams, she showed up again lat night. And this time, we were mostly taking pictures of her and showing her off to friends and family. We weren’t really doing anything that proves we are ready for this whole parenting thing, but there was no neglecting, no forgetting we had a baby, no half-assed diapering solutions, no dropping her on the floor of a public restroom.

So baby steps, I guess.

Workout Review: The Perfect Pregnancy Workout DVD

2012-02-08T07:53:00.000-08:00

Even though I consider myself to be lazy, I’ve somehow managed to consistently workout since I started running (and started this blog) in 2006. Sure, motivation comes and goes, but for the most part, working out is part of my routine.

With pregnancy, working out is as important, if not more important, to stay healthy, strong and feeling as good as possible for as long as possible. Training for a long distance race right now isn’t in the cards, so I’m taking this opportunity to mix it up. I easily get two or three good cardio workouts in a week, as well as a prenatal yoga class, but my downfall, as it has always been, is strength training, which is why I invested in (and had the opportunity to borrow) a few prenatal workout DVDs. After they sat on my nightstand collecting dust for two weeks, I decided it was time to give one a try.

The Perfect Pregnancy Workout gets excellent reviews on Amazon, including several that contend that this DVD is appropriate for the intermediate and advanced exerciser--it's not some wimpy prenatal workout. The workout is 43 minutes with a five-minute warm-up, a 33-minute workout, and a 5-minute cool down. It is primarily a sculpting workout, with a decent amount of stretching, but no cardio. For this workout, I used a set of two-pound dumbbells, a set of five-pound dumbbells, a chair, and two big pillows from my couch. If you don’t have a carpet or rug to workout on, you’ll need a mat, and if you’re an intermediate or advanced exerciser, you can use a step (I didn’t have one handy), but you don’t need it.

Karyne Steben, a former Cirque du Soleil acrobat, is the instructor and narrator, and (according to the Amazon description), is “sporting a bikini to show off her third-trimester belly.”

I call that shorts and a sports bra, but whatever. Her narration is a little on slow and soothing side and combined with the meditate-y yoga studio music, it doesn’t really make you feel ready for an energizing workout. However, the plus side is that she’s totally not annoying like some other workout DVD instructors.

The warm-up
The warm up felt like a cool down to me. Some of the reviews call the workout “yoga based,” and it definitely has a yoga feel to it at the beginning. She also does some static stretches before anything else, which is a debatable practice in the fitness community. I don’t think this is too detrimental, but you have to be careful not to over stretch if you’re not warmed up.

The workout
Here’s what I liked: Beginning, intermediate and advanced modifications are provided, and I used all three. Despite the narration and background music, I thought the workout had a pretty good pace to it. I didn’t get bored, though I did get tired a few times. My legs, which are significantly stronger than my arms, were definitely feeling the lunging, squats, and leg lift series. There was also an abs section (which used to pillows so your heart stayed elevated while laying on your back), which I thought was appropriately challenging. And finally, the instructor did several sets of those all-important kegels. I don’t know about you, but from what I’m told, I should be doing kegels all the time, and I forget to do them.. oh just about... all the time. As weird as it might be to watch a DVD that’s telling me to squeeze my lady business, it’s helpful to have the reminder.

Here’s what I thought could be improved upon: There wasn’t a lot of time to set up for a new set of moves. She moves quickly from one exercise to another without any breaks or time to get the equipment you need. I felt that the arm work with dumbbells was lacking slightly. She did maybe three exercises with dumbbells (mostly shoulder work), as well as pushups and triceps dips, and arm circles for several minutes, which was incredibly difficult (seriously, the last move during the workout portion is arm circles, and it felt like they were never going to end). However, I thought the arm work could have been rounded out a little.

The cool down
The cool-down was pretty standard, and felt a lot like the warm-up. It did seem to end rather abruptly with the instructor saying to lay back on the pillows. I was all, “Yes, nap time,” but then I was confused that it was over.

Overall, I thought it was a solid sculpting workout and, with my limited prenatal fitness knowledge, seemed safe and effective. I did not break a sweat, but I probably would have if I had used a step and taken a few less breaks.

Kids Usually Don't Bite (and Other Lessons Learned While Teaching Zumbatomic)

2012-02-05T20:13:00.000-08:00

Well, that was only mildly terrifying. As I mentioned, yesterday was my first Zumbatomic (Zumba for kids) class. The good news: I lived to tell you about it, and I can honestly say it wasn't a complete disaster.

Despite feeling like I wasn't prepared, I went in with a simple strategy: Fake it 'til I make it. I think it worked.

I had nine kids in the class: a four year old, several six and seven year olds, and two nine year olds; and all girls except for one boy (who seemed to love the class). Knowing I had mostly girls, I was expecting a tamer group, ready and willing and attentive. I was wrong. Most of the girls knew each other, which made for a more enthusiastic and energetic dynamic, and a lot of questions and talking that I wasn't expecting. So... pros and cons to that unexpected twist.

Eventually, after decorating nametags and getting everyone into lines, we got started. I did a simple warmup and then a short lesson on cumbia, a style of dance from Colombia, teaching them three basic cumbia moves. Then, on to the first song.

Unlike regular Zumba, where participants follow you as you dance, you're supposed to teach Zumbatomic by breaking down the songs and practicing. I stuck to a maximum of three breakdowns, worried that anything more and I'd lose their attention. It went something like this: break down two to three moves, practice with the music, breakdown next two or three moves, practice with the music, break down last moves, preform the song in its entirety.

While I didn't quite lose them during the breakdowns, I did sense some restlessness by the third time we stopped. From now on, I'm going to stick with two breakdowns. Finally, we got through the song, and--curve ball--all of the students were exhausted and wanted a break.

Because kids are kids and apparently, you can lose their interest pretty fast, the Zumbatomic format includes games. Thinking fast before anyone else asked to sit down and take a break (seriously?), I said "How about we play a game?" Now that was a popular suggestion. On the fly, I went with "Duck, Duck Zumba," where the would-be goose had to do a dance move instead of chase the student. It worked well enough. Before I knew it, there was time for participation prizes (big hit!) and a quick cool down/stretch.

Here were my keys to a non-disastrous Zumbatomic class: First, I had a fairly detailed lesson plan, which I used about half of before I went totally off script. I hadn't really considered that I might need to veer off course, but when I needed to, I threw my best laid plans out the window. Like most things being prepared PLUS being flexible were key to keeping all of the kids at least partially engaged and happy. Second, I showed no fear. Even though I have absolutely no idea how to talk to kids or handle kids or teach kids anything at all, I acted like I did (mostly so the parents wouldn't be all "WTF?"). I think I played the part pretty well.

My biggest issue ended up being the two nine year olds who signed up late. After I had planned for a class of primarily six and seven year olds, I was sent an updated roster a day before the class with the new additions. At that point, though I was pretty sure my material skewed young for them, it was too late to come up a new plan. Sure enough, the nine year olds approached me after class, asking for me to play LMFAO and Rhianna in the next class.

Um... sure not.

I don't know about you, but I can't think of a Rhianna song that isn't about sex, and LMFAO's Party Rock would be OK, if there wasn't that part about them throwing money at strippers. I'm not scandalized by the fact that these kids listen to this music or anything, but with a row of parents sitting in the room while I teach mainly early elementary school kids a few fun dances, there is no way I'm going to use anything that could be deemed even mildly inappropriate. Sorry kids.

So my game plan for next class is to teach a reggaeton routine, which will (hopefully) satisfy all age groups and throw some Justin Bieber in during the games to keep everyone happy.

Isn't that Justin boy the one the kids all listen to today?

File Under: Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

2012-02-04T07:03:00.000-08:00

After teaching Zumba for about six months at a local non-profit fitness organization (that narrows it down a bit, yes?), I was offered another position with a nearby parks and recreation department. The new gig paid about three times as much and, maybe more importantly, seemed to be staffed by people who were… how do you say… sane.

So far, it’s been a good move. It’s a better fit for me, even though I’ll be handing my classes off to another instructor in about four months so I can focus on this baby thing that’s happening. However, in the fall, when I was new and eager to get started (and not yet pregnant), they asked me if I was licensed to teach Zumbatomic, aka Zumba for kids.

As it turns out, I am licensed to teach Zumbatomic. I decided to get licensed last summer because it seemed like an area that will take off given all the interest surrounding fitness and kids these days. But, like when I got my Zumba license, I didn’t exactly try to start teaching it immediately. Regardless, when the parks and rec department straight up asked me to do a winter Zumbatomic session, I enthusiastically responded, “Sure!”

It was November, and “winter” seemed like an abstract concept that may or may not actually happen someday in the vague, undefined future. (Yes, I know I’ve lived in the Midwest my whole live and “winter” should never be an abstract concept.) Not to mention that in theory (not in reality where I had to actually put a class together, practice, and then teach *gulp* children), I did want to try teaching Zumbatomic.

Right now, keeping my shit together for my regular Zumba classes is challenge enough, and part of me hoped that there wouldn’t be any interest and that the Zumbatomic class would be canceled. That was not the case. Nine (nine!) kids signed up.

Let’s be clear about one thing: I have no experience teaching kids anything. I have no experience dealing with kids in any capacity. (“But Lou, didn’t you babysit?” Technically yes. Approximately three to five times in my pre-teen life. So, for all intensive purposes, not really.) My mom, a retired elementary school teacher, thinks this will be great experience for me as it relates to that whole becoming a parent mess I’ve gotten myself into. Great experience for what? For when I give birth to a seven year old in six months?

The class is in two hours. Am I terrified? Not yet. My level of exhaustion this week has been pretty high, so mostly I’ve been sleeping vs. worrying about my total lack of preparation. (OK. So it’s not a “total” lack: I have a lesson plan, which gives me a fairly clear idea of how I’m going to fill 45 minutes. I practiced on my husband, who got a kick out of "acting" like a child. And if all else fails, I have a bucket full of prizes to help coax the kids into participating. And, if that fails, it’s going to be a loooooong 45 minutes.)

The good news is that I only agreed to teach this class for three weeks, to get an idea of what kind of interest there is and how the kids react to the class. After that, I only have to worry about my adult classes. Fingers crossed that I make it through in one piece.

Adventures in Prenatal Yoga

2012-02-02T10:13:00.000-08:00

One of my very good friends is about 12 weeks more pregnant than I am.

During the holidays, she and I decided to try a prenatal yoga class at Yoga Trek in Oak Park. At this point, my friend was well into her second trimester, and I was merely eight weeks pregnant. Despite feeling like I wasn’t "pregnant enough" to be taking the class, I wanted to try it and having a legit pregnant woman as my wingman made me feel like I had a reason to be there. I should have sported an “I’m with Preggy” t-shirt for the occasion. I’m sure my friend would have loved that. Do they even make those?

(For the record, I have never said ‘preggy’ out loud, or written it before now. I promise never to do that again.)

Anyway, the class… I was, without question, the least pregnant person at the class. I was so hardly pregnant compared to all the clearly-about-to-give-birth women that I asked the instructor if it was appropriate for me to even be there. Her answer was yes, but most women at my stage of pregnancy don't feel well enough to be working out, which is why it was unlikely that I’d see a lot of other ladies in their first trimester.

Did I feel well enough to take the class? Not really. But during my first trimester, I (somehow) managed to maintain my workouts between long sessions of couch moaning and full on puking my guts out. Sure, downward dog might cause some acid reflux, but what the hell, right? So I sat down on my mat and wondered of my bloated-ness might pass for being slightly more than hardly pregnant.

I’ve taken yoga on and off over the years, with varying degrees of success and enjoyment. Before I got pregnant, the yoga I enjoyed most was the kind where they crank up the temperature to 100+ degrees. Unfortunately, Bikram and other hot-type classes are not recommended for pregnant ladies because raising your core temperature can be detrimental for the baby.

I didn’t know what to expect from prenatal yoga, but I was pleasantly surprised this wasn't a too gentle, don't-break-the-moms-to-be class. I felt comfortable that I wouldn’t be asked to do anything unsafe, and yet I was challenged; I got to do several of my favorite poses, only slightly modified; and I definitely got a workout—in addition to all the great peace and clarity, yoga-y stuff. The instructor, also pregnant, provided lots of options for modifications based on your stage of pregnancy, which was helpful.

But even better than a workout, I experienced two unexpected benefits of deciding to attend prenatal yoga early in pregnancy. First of all, I spent much of my first trimester surviving. When you are focused on surviving--or at rather, when I was focused on surviving, the fact that I was growing a tiny person inside me was kind of an afterthought that, even when said out loud or considered, didn’t mean much. The quiet parts of prenatal yoga allowed me to focus on and become a little more connected with the baby.

The other (awesome) benefit was that prenatal yoga made feel better. First of all, I think one of the reasons I kept exercising during the first trimester is because while I was running or ellipticizing or lifting weights or practicing yoga, I felt almost normal. But for some reason, yoga had a lingering effect that the other forms of exercising did not. For a whole half day, then a day, then eventually two, after yoga, I felt less like a piece of crap and more like someone who could function semi-normally and without small bits of her last meal coming up every so often. I don't know if this seemingly temporary relief from morning sickness is a common benefit of yoga, but if it is, they should starts shouting it from the rooftops.

Unlike the city neighborhood I lived in, which is lousy with awesome yoga studios offering tons of prenatal classes, maternity boutiques, and other mom-to-be resources, finding this in the suburbs was a little more difficult. I’ve continued to attend this class and plan to for the long haul. Every week I feel like I talk to another new mom-to-be and learn something new about the journey I’m on. Plus this studio offers post-natal yoga and you can bring your newborn with you, as well as other events and workshops for new moms and moms-to-be. Oh, I’m finally not the least pregnant person in the class.

First Trimester Recap

2012-02-01T09:03:00.000-08:00

So now that the cat is out of the bag, and family and friends (as well as my boss and coworkers) know the BIG news, I can recap the first 12 weeks of this adventure with you.

MM and I found out we were expecting two days after Thanksgiving when we were in Ohio. After taking four pregnancy tests (yes, four)—and carefully studying each one with MM—we concluded that, no, our eyes were not tricking us, and yes, that was definitely the second pink line you hope (at this age/stage, maybe not at other ages/stages, amiright?!) to see on the test.

We somehow kept it quiet from my mom for another day before heading back to Chicagoland. We decided to do this because we knew our family would be coming for Christmas, and if we could wait it out, we could tell my mom and her husband, my sister and her husband, as well as MM’s mom, all at the same time for maximum baby news excitement.

For five long weeks, I managed to act “totally normal” on the phone and when making holiday arrangements even though the whole feeling-like-shit-all-the-time side effect of pregnancy was setting in big time.

For the record, the holidays are both an exciting time to find out you’re pregnant and a shitty time to be in the beginning stages of a pregnancy. I started to felt like crap on a stick around December 3, and it got progressively worse until after the New Year, magically disappearing on January 11 for good. I got tired eventually, but the crushing fatigue people talk about didn’t hit me until later. I, on the other hand, got a solid dose of morning sickness, which (stop me if you’ve heard this one) was really all-the-damn-time-sickness.

There was some puking. There was dry heaving (almost worse than actual puking). There was general queasiness. There was the unfamiliar (for me) feeling that I didn’t want to and/or couldn’t eat anything at all.

And when I did eat, I typically chose from the following four food groups:

White food (saltines, white bread, bagels, etc.)
French fries (also a white food, but I give them their own category)
Arby’s Roast Beef Sandwiches
Wendy’s Frosties

Those are food groups right?

I could barely stand to look at vegetable (unless that vegetable was in the form of a fried potato). And my regular cooking repertoire? Out the window. I have never not wanted to eat in my entire life, so this was an entirely new experience. And all of the holiday parties with fun appetizers and fancy desserts? On most occasions, I didn’t even sample the goods.

Though my diet went downhill dramatically during the first trimester, common sense and most “experts” will tell you that it’s better to eat from the above four food groups than not at all and, considering how I felt, my choice was: Junior Roast Beef Sandwich or nada. Sometimes I chose nada.

Christmas was both awesome and rough. All the food and eating events were enough to make me feel ill without taking one bite. But being able to tell my family, in person, and not over the phone, was priceless. We gave our family Christmas cards to announce the news:

I had these custom made on Etsy by heathergearhart.

Actually it's July, but I had these made before we found out our official due date. We also added the ultrasound photo to the blank space on the left.

My sister and her husband actually arrived first and knowing that I couldn’t keep the news in for long, we gave them the card in the car after picking them up from the airport. In hindsight, this was a bad idea, because the subsequent screaming and excitement nearly caused Joey to have an accident. We told my mom and her husband later than night and, because my sister already knew, she was able to stealthily film the whole thing without my mom noticing. I will eventually upload that video, but it’s a lot of crying, screaming, laughing (mostly my sister cackling in the background) and “I knew it!” coming from my mom.

Moms always know it.

After the excitement died down and the family left, I luckily had another whole week off work, during which time I nearly exclusively laid on our couch and moaned. I think having nothing to do, while it was a welcome break, actually made the icky feeling worse. But by the time I came back to work on January 3, the symptoms were beginning subside. On January 11 (my 11th week of pregnancy), a switch was flipped and the morning sickness disappeared entirely. The fatigue definitely hit me around this time, but my first trimester experience taught me something about me: I’ll take a 7:30pm bedtime over dry heaving in the shower every morning any day of the week.

That seems like nice visual to leave you with, doesn’t it?

On Being Back

2012-01-29T06:01:00.000-08:00

You might be wondering why I chose now to return to A View from the Park after a rather long on-again-off-again hiatus. I never wanted to quit blogging, but I’ve felt as though I’ve been stuck in a world filled with writer’s block.

Back in the day (what now, five and a half years ago?), I used to eat, sleep and breath writing about running. You couldn’t hold a conversation without me mentioning this blog (or running). Hardly a thought went through my head without it sounding as though it was the perfect opening line to a new post. I loved this blog.

But I was also horribly bored and miserable at work and still in the process of finding my way in Chicago.

A lot has changed since then, and as something like an adult life began falling into place for me, my desire and inspiration to write started to wane. But as I lost my grip on this, a lot of great things happened… I met the ladies who would become my closest friends in Chicago; I began dating the guy who would become my husband; I started a new job that ended up being a great job; I got engaged and subsequently married; MM and I bought a house, renovated it, and moved to the suburbs (which was followed closely by adopting a dog); and I began fulfilling some of my non-running related fitness goals. Sometimes I feel like taking on those new, more pressing projects (wedding planning, house renovation, choreographing for Zumba) zapped my creative energy, leaving little inspiration for extracurricular activities like writing.

Nonetheless, I’ve always wanted to get back to a place where blogging ranked high on my list of favorite hobbies, where writing a great post made me happy. Truth be told, I’m not sure I’m there, but I’m going to try.

So why now?

Mostly because I’m pregnant (I know, I totally buried the lede), and I know this is a time in my life that I’m going to want to have a written record of. I’m not a good personal journal keeper. I know if I ever ended up with one of those pregnancy books where you write in milestones and stuff, I'd forget about the fact I owned it within a week. With blogging, I like the “idea” that I’m writing for an audience (however small) for whatever reason, and so, I’m back.

But let’s not gloss over the OMG PREGNANT part of this post.

Here’s the deal: I am 14 weeks pregnant, officially in my first week of my second trimester. I’m due July 29, 2012. Yes, we are going to find out if it’s a girl or a boy, mostly because if it is a boy, I need time to process that. More than anything, I want a healthy baby (and I feel more strongly about that every time we see or hear the baby), but having grown up in a female-dominant family, I struggle to picture myself with a baby boy. If we’re having a boy, I want to see that, get used to it, get excited about it.

That covers the big three right… How far along are you? When are you due? Are you going to find out what you’re having? Trust me, there’s more to come.

Unexpected Message

2012-01-24T11:14:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning to an unexpected email from a friend of a friend. Truth be told, I remember the friend, and I remember the party, which was in the summer during marathon training in 2008. I don't remember getting on my "Running Changed My Life" soapbox, but let’s be honest, it's not exactly a leap to believe that I might have said something like this:

Hi Lou,
I am a friend of G's and we met a few years back at a party at her house. At the time you mentioned to me that running had changed your life. For some reason that comment stuck in my head, along with the fact that it seemed crazy. [Bolding added for emphasis :)]

But then I started running in August and I realized recently that you were right. :D

So I wanted to say thank you for making that comment! I will be running my third 5k in March and hope to work up to a 10k at some point.

I hope your 2012 is off to a wonderful start!

PS Reebok Real Flex shoes = my new absolute favorite!

Awwwwww... This really brightened my morning. It also made me a little sad that my passion and drive to train for running events has been a bit eclipsed by a little thing called LIFE getting in the way (wedding, moving, etc.) as well as my focus on teaching Zumba; however, I have never stopped running, nor have I stopped enjoying running, and I hope that eventually I’ll have the motivation and desire to train again.

So I wrote her back:

Hi!

It's nice to hear from you. I remember you and that party. I think that was the weekend I slept for like 18 hours at G's house (I blamed it on eating encased meats, but it was more likely from marathon training). I'm glad to hear that I no longer sound/seem crazy (G may have a different opinion on that). :)

It's always exciting when someone catches the running bug. I've slowed down a bit in the last year. My husband and I moved a year ago, and training seems to have taken a backseat to getting the new house in order and other life events. I have continued to run--outside even in the winter--at least once a week, and I'm contemplating signing up for some spring races.

Your email made me smile this morning, so I appreciate you sending it. Good luck on your race in March and definitely train for a 10K--you'll love it. If you ever have any questions or anything, not that I'm an expert, but I'm happy to give any insight. Or if you just want to share your running trials and tribulations, I'd love to hear about those as well.

Things That I Love: Burritos

2012-01-23T14:25:00.000-08:00

You know what I love? Did the title of this post tip you off?

I love burritos.

I am pretty open to a wide variety of vegetarian, chicken or pork varieties, but my favorite burrito is pretty lame: It’s a vegetarian black bean burrito (no peppers), rice, corn salsa, a little bit of sour cream, a little bit of cheese, lettuce, guacamole on the side from Chipotle.

Mmmmm... Chipotle.

But there’s a serious problem with Chipotle. That little (OK, big) vegetarian burrito with mostly (ahem) seemingly healthy ingredients tops out at over 1,000 calories, and while that’s OK some of the time, it’s not OK all of the time like I would like it to be.

A few years ago, a friend sent me a black bean burrito recipe that I never tried because I typically refuse to buy tortillas least I eat the entire package in one sitting. For one reason or another, this has changed, and my ability to pace myself with a package of 10 flour tortillas has increased, so I finally dug up the recipe in my email and gave it a shot. I realized quickly that it is only a minor revision of this Allrecipes.com recipe, aptly titled: Delicious Black Bean Burritos. Says the recipe contributor, "These burritos are soooo good, you'll want to have them every night."

She (or he, I guess) was correct. After making these for the hubs and myself last night, I do want to eat them again... like, right now.

For the record, I cut back on the amount of oil (2 TBSP isn’t necessary) and the amount of cream cheese (I used about 2 ounces). Then I added chopped avocado, a small amount of sour cream, and lots of mild salsa. The burrito didn’t last long enough for me to take a picture.

Slow Cook

2012-01-18T18:28:00.000-08:00

I’m always trying and subsequently failing to make my life more functional, which is why the slow cooker (or “crock pot”) has always appealed to me. The only problem, my hand-me-down crock pot had a cracked lid, which I learned after attempting to cook with it several years was probably contributing to my inability to make anything decent in the damn thing.

So I bought a new one and set out to prove that it was in fact the dysfunctional crock pot making the sub-par meals and not the dysfunctional cook. After approximately four and a half minutes of research on Amazon, I settled on the Hamilton Beach 33967 Set ‘n Forget 6-Quart Programmable Slow Cooker.

Here’s a tip that everyone already knows: Do not buy a slow cooker that does not have the programmable timing feature. No matter how much you want to be home exactly eight hours after you walk out the door to go to work, you will not be, even if you work in a highly functional, humane environment like I do.

My beautiful new kitchen appliance arrived almost immediately (it arrived the next day even though I chose the free shipping option and before Amazon indicated that the product had left the warehouse—not sure how that little shipping miracle happened), and I immediately began sucking up precious work hours searching for glorious toss-in-and-go recipes.

Slow cooking is all the rage these days (not really), but there’s been a resurgence—now that I think about it, this is probably mainly due to people looking for new ways to make their job title “stay-at-home-blogger.”

Even with all of the resources, just like before, most of the meals I attempted were rather bland or just OK, which when you have 8-10 servings (you can’t really make a crockpot meal for two), OK does not cut it. It started to seem like the secret to crock pot cooking was to use several cans of over-processed, sodium-rich cans of cream of [insert vegetable or meat] soup, which I like to refer to as “death soup.” Not really though.

Then I found a high-rated tortilla soup recipe at AllRecipes.com. Generally I don’t like All Recipes because it’s information overload. Too many people go batshit changing everything about the recipe then post a review saying they loved the recipe but changed a dozen things and suddenly the only thing that has stayed the same about a soup recipe is that fact that they threw a bay leaf into the stock. But this recipe seemed to get a lot of “made the recipe as is and it was great,” reviews, so I took the plunge:

Slow-Cooker Chicken Tortilla Soup

My first attempt was tasty, but then, I decided to take the recipe into my own hands. My biggest complaint: the consistency was not soup-ish enough for me. The broth was more chunky that I prefer and I wanted it smooth. So I came up with a plan that added a step to the process of preparing the ingredients, which totally is against the point of a slow cooker meal, but was so worth it:

Step 1: Prepare the broth.
1 (15 ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes, mashed
1 (10 ounce) can enchilada sauce
1 medium onion, chopped
1 (4 ounce) can chopped green chile peppers
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups water
Approximately 2 cups of chicken broth

Add all ingredients to a food processor or blender (or you can do what I did which was put it all in a big mixing bowl and get out your immersion blender because it excites you as a kitchen appliance). Blend (or process) until smooth.

Step 2: Add all other ingredients to your slow cooker.
1 pound shredded, cooked chicken
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 bay leaf
1 10-ounce package frozen corn
1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

Step 3: Pour the broth into the slow cooker over the other ingredients. Set it on low for eight hours.
The proof: My husband and I went through approximately six of the eight servings of this soup in one day. In my opinion, you can skip the frying of the tortillas in favor of some broken tortilla chips and as much avocado as your little bowl can handle.

As my 20-something coworker would say, “Shit is nom.”

Translation: That is good shit.

Hello Again

2012-01-13T07:04:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends and Strangers from the Internet,

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

Please excuse the new posts showing up in your Google Reader (or other reader). I'm bringing blog posts from Reading Cookbooks (the URL no longer exists) back over to A View from the Park. My intention is to start blogging again, and what better place than here, where it all began. But in the meantime, I want to make sure everything that I've put out there on the Internets is in one place.

Lots to come so please stay tuned!
Lou

Resolutions Recap, Part I

2011-11-04T18:38:00.000-07:00

Maybe I’m jumping the gun a bit, but with as fast as the days move lately, my mathematically-sound guesstimate is that 2011 will be over in approximately 15 seconds. With November here, I’ve become increasingly reflective--blame the weather--and I’m thinking a lot about what I have learned this year AND what I want to work on moving forward.

I did have resolutions in 2011, and I’m glad to say that somehow--this will come as a shock--I managed to fulfill at least one of those. And, it turned out to be the least likely of the bunch: Learn to enjoy my current job in marketing at The University.

Maybe it’s just because I put it out there into the Universe, but (huge surprise) I didn’t have to work too hard to make this happen. A lot of things shifted without me doing the shifting: Some coworkers moved on and new ones were hired; I actually made some friends at work (sounds pathetic, but it took awhile); I took on a lot of new responsibilities and became (a lot) busier; and I finally had opportunities to get to know my boss better.

Prior to this year, I knew I had it good at The University--from a work/life balance, functional workplace perspective. But while I was thankful for those things, I also kind of hated it. Even in spring 2011, my job depressed me. I felt stuck.

And then, sometime during the summer, I realized that I felt different. Not only did I not hate it anymore, I was kind of enjoying it, and I had finally stopped trying to come up with a Plan B. Now, I find myself telling people what I do with some enthusiasm (?!?!?) and how lucky I am to be in such a great work environment. I find myself looking at job openings not because I plan on leaving (I may never leave), but because I feel like maybe this isn’t the end for me in this field, maybe there is a next step--a step up.

Here’s the truth: I will probably never LOVE marketing with a burning passion. But I’ve found the that enjoying my job did provide me with at least one of the benefits I was hoping for--a little more focus outside of work to make some of my other goals happen. Rather than constantly being preoccupied with researching the path to a new career... um... path, acceptance of my current job, gave my brain some room think about how to make one of my other resolutions happen: Become a part-time Zumba Fitness instructor.

More on that later..

Resolutions Recap, Part II

2011-11-04T13:00:00.000-07:00

Maybe there’s a little chicken versus egg going on here, but the point at which I started liking my job pretty much coincided with the point at which I became a Zumba Fitness instructor. But let’s first recognize what this really means... I not only managed to fulfill one resolution (the one about my job), I fulfilled a second one: Start teaching Zumba.

I was pretty serious about this goal last year, and yet, I didn’t actually think I would follow through. I’m a slow like that. Part of me dragged my feet because, you know, I have a full-time job and generally busy life. But that was an excuse.

There are a lot of Zumba instructors out there. Why? Because, as with many standardized and branded group fitness classes, it is freaking easy to get licensed to teach. And Zumba just happens to be really popular right now. Getting started seemed like it would take a lot of effort, and putting effort into things is not actually something I’m good at.

Here’s the other “excuse” I used to drag my feet: If I was going to be a group fitness instructor, I wanted to do it right. What a lot people don’t know about their friendly neighborhood Zumba instructor is this--there’s a decent chance he or she isn’t actually qualified to teach a safe group fitness class. Being “licensed to teach Zumba” just means that you paid money to take an eight-hour Zumba class, and now you’re legally allowed to use the brand name.

While what constituents actual qualification to teach is probably debatable, there is an industry standard: a nationally recognized group fitness instructor certification. Obtaining this is much harder than obtaining a license to teach Zumba--it involves studying for months (at least for me) then taking, and hopefully passing, a very long test. This process is called learning stuff and proving it (that’s the technical term).

A major part of my resolution was to pass the American Council on Exercise’s (ACE) group fitness certification exam. And after many months of trying to learn the science I never learned in high school or college (or grad school for that matter), I took the test, and by some small miracle, I passed.

I actually started teaching a few weeks before that momentous occasion, at a fitness organization in my neighborhood. It turned out that not much was required to get to gig. They just kind of gave it to me, which was weird then, but makes a lot more sense now that I understand that organization I work for is a little wackadoo (that’’s a whole other can of story that I will not open up on you now).

The point is, somehow I can check another 2011 goal off as complete. And, better still, I’ll be starting 2012 with a new Zumba job, one that I auditioned for and was offered fair and square, which, nice bonus, pays a little more.

The real bonus is that my Zumba job keeps me a little more focused at my real job. It was a place where I could channel my previously displaced restless/creative energy, which was previously aimlessly meandering around the Internet trying to come up with a plan for a new LIFE. It turns out, I really didn’t need a new life, I just needed a new hobby.

Of course, there were a few resolutions that were, um, less successful... stay tuned...

Conversations with a 20-something

2011-10-05T13:03:00.000-07:00

The following gchat is real and has only been edited to maintain anonymity and support the theory that we can both spell. My lovely mid-20-something coworker gave me permission to post this, so I'm not being an asshole here or anything. I think she's hysterical, and she helps to keep my mind sharp by speaking in an acronym-rich young person code that I barely understand. But she explains it to me because she's cool like that. Oh, and fair warning, I'm still talking about my tortilla soup. Without further ado:

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
want to go?
http://www.groupon.com/deals/gl-real-housewives-the-venue?c=all&p=9
Sent at 11:57 AM on Tuesday

me:
I'm surprised they can get people to spend $26 on that shit
Sent at 12:42 PM on Tuesday

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
terrible

me:
when are you going on your drunk bus tour to the farm?

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
this sunday!

me:
awesome
let me know how it is
bc we're going next saturday*

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
ya im excited!
day full of presh shit
Sent at 12:47 PM on Tuesday

me:
i am really excited about that place
i hope it's good
and not a mess
Sent at 12:48 PM on Tuesday

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
DOPS
day of presh shit
Sent at 12:49 PM on Tuesday

me:
i like that one

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
ya i kinda do too
just made it up

me:
my tortilla soup is amazing
so good

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
send me a recipe!
i need to make some new stuff

me:
http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/slow-cooker-chicken-tortilla-soup/detail.aspx

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
a slow cooker is crock pot right?
we discussed this

me:
yes

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
k

me:
we did discuss

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
need to get one of those
crock pot is brand

me:
yes
here's the one i just got
i really like it
http://www.amazon.com/Hamilton-Beach-Forget-6-Quart-Programmable/dp/B001AO2PXK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1317750788&sr=8-1

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
does that mean i’m getting old
when i get excited about appliances
looks rich

me: it's less than $50
it's really nice
so far i have not found fault with it

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
nice
thanks for sending
is that soup fkr?
reminder: fkr=fat kid represent

me:
i dont understand the question

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
is it fat
or pretty heathly

me:
i would say it's pretty healthy
but it tastes like restaurant soup
Sent at 12:56 PM on Tuesday

Anonymous 20-something coworker:
NOMONOMNOMNOMNOM

*When you're in your 30s you plan a family outing to a farm to pick apples rather than take a party bus there.

First Vegetable from the Garden

2011-07-21T11:11:00.000-07:00

I made food!

The Seedlings

2011-06-06T11:26:00.000-07:00

After a long weekend in St. Louis filled with family as well as Zumba activities, MM and I returned to our home (and our dog). I decided it was time to get the seedlings into the ground.

Raised bed #1

Organization is not really my strong suit when it comes to... um.... most things. My garden is no different. With the exception of the herbs that I transplanted from pots to the ground, and the tomatoes, which I purposely kept separate, I have no idea what is what in my garden.

Raised bed #2

I guess if I manage to not kill everything, we'll find out what I planted.

ACE, the certification

2011-05-17T11:05:00.000-07:00

Two Saturdays ago, on May 7, after several months of studying, I took the three-hour, 150-question ACE group fitness instructor exam. I took the test at the same time as a handful of other people, all taking either the group fitness exam or the personal trainer exam. One by one, every other person plowed through their test and left the room. Two-and-a-half hours later (and alone), I finally clicked the button verifying that I was done.

Was I sure I was done? Yes. I was D-O-N-E.

And by some miracle, I passed—and by a decent enough margin that I’m convinced I might actually know a fair amount of the material.

Now, with my nationally recognized ACE certification and my two Zumba classes a week, I’m feeling a bit more confident about this whole group fitness thing.

The question is what’s next? Or at least that’s what it feels like the question should be.

Sure, I have a full-time job and the Zumba market is heavily saturated, but there seems to be small windows of opportunities—maybe even medium-sized windows. What I’d like to do is spend every minute exploring those opportunities, but alas, duty (and a paycheck that pays the bills) calls.

I’m trying to figure out which way to go: Lobby my boss to let me complete a physical education bachelor’s degree (which would require some work flexibility, unlike the evening master’s programs), or go full speed ahead with the group fitness instructor thing.

I really don’t know what to do. Part of the reason I took the time to become an ACE-certified group fitness instructor—and many Zumba (and other specialty teachers) do not have a nationally recognized certification—is because I believe in being qualified, through education, to do what you’re doing. In my opinion, this becomes even more important when you’re dealing with people’s health and wellness.

So, in THEORY, I’d like to go back to school and have a related bachelor’s degree under my belt. I also proved to myself, in studying for the ACE exam, that I am capable of learning the science—a confidence boost if nothing else.

And at some point, I need to make a choice because if I go back to school for this degree, it will be the last time I ever go back to school.

Watch It Grow

2011-05-16T11:27:00.000-07:00

One of the big bonuses of moving out to the suburbs is having a yard, and (if spring/summer ever makes it to the Chicagoland) I am really looking forward to planting my first vegetable garden. But, as with most things that are new to me, the world of gardening initially seemed complicated and mysterious.

I started with a book called “Small Plot, High Yield Gardening,” which was helpful for some 101 information about growing seasons and vegetables that are typically easy to cultivate, but it quickly got into topics like raising rabbits so you can use their waste as fertilizer and that just seemed beyond the scope of what I was willing to put into this whole gardening thing--at least the first around.

No, really what I was looking for was low-risk, high-reward gardening--the type of gardening that requires me to plant some seeds and water them every so often. So, no rabbits for me this year, I just want to be able to walk outside and pick some tomatoes or peppers or whatever for a salad.

Feeling overwhelmed about the whole rabbit poop/fertilizer thing, I wasn’t really sure I’d get it together for a garden this year, but that’s one of the pluses (?) of living in an area where it’s still basically late winter--lots of extra time to plan your garden. Lucky for us, with that extra time we were able to wrangle the help we needed to push us to get started. When my family was in town a few weeks ago, my mom’s husband helped MM and I build raised beds for the backyard, and he bought us this cool growing kit from Burpee.

I’ll be honest, I was a little skeptical of this whole seed-starting growing kit business. It seemed maybe like something that wouldn’t actually work, but low and behold, two weeks after planting, I have seedlings for cilantro, oregono, cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, and lettuce. Sometimes I just stare at the plants for 10 minutes or so, amazed that they are not dead yet. The fact that these seedlings have grown and continue to grow, noticeably it seems, every day, is a real moral booster for my gardening efforts. It feels like something may actually come of this experiment.

The Newbie

2011-05-05T11:14:00.000-07:00

For a long time, I looked into becoming a group fitness instructor even before I had a decent track record with fitness. Why? It always seemed like a really cool job to me. From time to time, I’d research this possibility, and the whole thing seemed very complicated. A lot of gyms require that you have a general group fitness certification from a national governing body, like ACE (American Council on Exercise) or AFAA. I didn’t really get what I would be able to do with this certification, other than say “Hey there, I’m certified to teach at your gym.” But to teach what?

I considered getting certified to teach Spinning because most gyms do not require their Spinning instructors to have the general certification. There was one small issue with this plan: I really didn’t love Spinning. From time to time, I enjoy a Spin class. I like the amount of sweating that happens in a Spin room, but it’s just not my thing.

Then, I talked running buddy Meg into trying a Sunday morning Zumba class at our gym in January 2010. It was the fastest hour of exercise I had ever participated in. I wanted the class to last longer. I wanted to dance more. Without question, I had found my thing.

I’ve been certified to teach Zumba since July 2010, and it has taken me a long time to get around to doing anything about getting a class. I did have the opportunity to audition for a Zumba class in the fall, which did not go horribly, but clearly did not result in me getting a class. I had no idea what I was doing (I’m not sure I have much of an idea of what I’m doing now), but I did learn from that experience. First and foremost, I learned to SIMPLIFY.

This year, I really wanted to make the whole Zumba thing happen, but honestly, I wasn’t sure I had it in me. Well, I lucked out. The local YMCA—which is approximately six blocks from my house—offered me the opportunity to teach two Zumba classes a week. The truth is, I did not have to work terribly hard to get these classes, but because of that I feel like I have to work even harder to prove that I deserve them.

I’ve been a bit MIA these past few weeks because I’ve been preparing myself to teach. Luckily (and somehow), I had about two-thirds of material ready to go, the bad news was that I still needed to learn a few songs in order to fill an entire class (gotta love the 45-minute format, so much easier to prepare for than an hour). There were a lot of early mornings in the dance studio at the Y practicing over the last week or so.

My first class was Tuesday night. I had prepared myself for a low turnout, but ended up having 11 people show up, which was approximately five times more than I was expecting. Not bad. After mild panic that plagued me throughout the day leading up to my 6:30pm class (not a lot of focus at work that day), I actually made it through my class with few hiccups and definitely no major meltdowns. I knew my music better than I realized I knew my music. And people seemed to enjoy themselves overall. Hey, no one walked out. That’s a decent sign, right?

It’s been a weird couple of months as evidence by a number of posts I have written. I have arguably not been having the easiest go at life lately. Frankly, I’ve really needed something. Something to focus on that is not work related. Something to help me feel more rooted in my new community. Something to get excited about it. I think, in life, sometimes something comes along that is exactly what you need when you need it. This is one of those times.

Update on Pet Ownership

2011-04-26T11:16:00.000-07:00

I have to tell you, when we first got Barkley, even though I really, really wanted a dog, I was terrified that we had made a major mistake and turned our lives upside down to cater to the whims of an animal who would destroy our home, our possessions and ultimately, our marriage.

Yes, melodramatic. But the fear, which I didn't realize I had until Barkley came home with us, was a direct result of a dog my family had growing up that managed to do all of those things, very nearly, before my parents finally gave up the fight, and were forced to give him back to the shelter. Basically it was the sanity of the family or the dog. And the dog went.

For the first couple of weeks, Barkley wanted to mouth and nip when playing, a behavior that's not desirable, but pretty common in puppies and young dogs. He'd jump up to greet you. And he was a little on the crazy side when playing fetch in the yard. He ate a couple of Harry Potter books when we let him roam free while we were gone. Every time he displayed one of these behaviors, which I associated with the behaviors of a "bad dog," I was fearful we had made the wrong choice.

But then I realized a few things. First of all, Barkley is a dog, as in, not a human. We made some adjustments. We decided to crate train him. We went to obedience school. And we (MM, Barkley and me) settled into a routine.

Spring Has Not Sprung

2011-04-18T06:57:00.000-07:00

For those of you who are lucky enough to not live in Chicago, you’ll be glad to know that where you live it probably did not snow last night. But here in Chicago, we had a dusting of white snow on the ground this morning, and I wore the big coat, the big scarf and a winter hat to work today. And no, we’re not in some time warp that has forced us to relive February over and over again; it is pushing late-April here just like it is where you live.

I am so beyond over it, it’s not even worth saying that I’m over it.

I really thought this weekend was the turning point. It was not warm, but it was sunny, the air was crisp and it was good enough to take advantage of the outdoors. Oh well… someday it will be warm again… anyway, moving on...

Yoga Zone
I have continued to attend yoga class one day a week, but I’m starting to think it’s time to add another class to my routine. I am still loving the CorePower Studio where I began taking Hot Yoga when we moved to the burbs. I went to Hot Power Fusion last night, which is a combination of Bikram poses, sun salutations and some core strength moves (sorry if my yoga lingo is lacking) done in a heated room, and had an amazing class. I don’t know if it’s because the classes are a little less crowded than the studio I took at in the city, if the instructors are a little more my speed, or if the room is just better ventilated, but I feel like I have improved leaps and bounds even with only one class a week, and I am much more focused in this studio.

New Beginnings

2011-03-01T11:29:00.000-08:00

I am thrilled that March is here. I’m hopeful—fingers crossed—that the worst of winter is behind us (but you never know in Chicago!), and I’m grateful that the sun is still out when I get home from work. It’s not quite spring, but the signs that spring will in fact come again are finally here.

Winter in Chicago is kind of becoming like my yearly gynecologist appointment. Every year it gets worse and I swear I’ll never go through it again. But ultimately, I don’t have a choice. So instead, I grit my teeth and hope that ends quickly and isn’t too uncomfortable.

How’s that for a Tuesday blog!? Let’s talk about lady parts.

But not really.

Moving on... MM and I have signed up for a meat CSA that starts this month. I signed up several months ago (before we even moved I believe) for this new service. I am super excited about it especially now that our neighbors gave us two pork chops from their meat CSA as a thank you for doing them a favor this past weekend.

OMG. These were the best pork chops I have ever had in my life. I honestly did not even know that I liked pork chops, and seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever made them myself. I settled on this Spicy Peach Glazed Pork Chop recipe because I had all but one of the ingredients on hand—though I later realized I had apricot preserves, not peach preserves. I used them anyway, and this recipe was A-MAZE-BALLS.

The service we’re getting is called Honored Prairie. I looked into several meat CSAs and after reading through all the farms that participate in the Honored Prairie CSA, I decided to give them a shot. They are brand spankin' new, so we’ll see if it works out or not, but I didn’t have to sign up for several months or anything. If it doesn’t, we’ll move on to another CSA.

Yesterday, I admitted to my running buddy that I don’t want a race on the calendar right now. I sense that neither of us completely have our heads in the game, and I think it’s truly time for a break without just pushing back the schedule to another race. As weird as it is to not be training for something, I think I am finally ready to have a more varied workout plan that includes strength training, more Zumba and some yoga. When you put a race on the calendar it’s difficult to find the time to do it all. Sometimes, something has to give.

It’s more than that though. In a month or two I might feel differently, but right now, I’m enjoying being at home and getting to know my new neighborhood. When the first thing I do on the weekend is get up on Saturday morning and drive back into the city to run along the lakefront in shitty winter weather, I feel a bit of a disconnect to what is important to me right now. Once the weather is nicer, I know I’ll feel differently about the short trip to the lake AND I’ll be able to explore the good running paths closer to my house. I think I just am looking for that balance, and right now, I don’t feel like I have it.

And so there you have it. It’s March. I’ve been honest with myself and my running buddy. Just in time for spring.

Weekend Warm Up

2011-02-21T06:47:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, running buddy Meg and I ran four miles on the lakefront path. While it wasn’t the greatest run for her, it was good for me. It was sunny and the air was crisp. The temperature, while still cold, wasn’t too bad, and it was nice to be outside. Overall, I was happy with my “long run” of the week.

On Sunday, I decided to ditch my usual Zumba class (which is actually now called “Dance Cardio” because the instructor sort of does his own thing) and use my Groupon for Core Power Yoga. They have an hour-and-a-half hot yoga class on Sunday mornings, and I have wanted to get back into a routine with yoga.

I don’t have a long and storied history with yoga. Prior to trying Bikram this past summer, I took various types of yoga classes a handful of times over the last decade. Nothing stuck. In fact, I was mostly disenchanted with the whole “yoga thing.” I never left feel like I got a great workout—a little stretched out yes, but not a workout—nor did I ever feel extremely meditative or at peace or whatever else it is that you’re supposed to feel when you do yoga. Rather, yoga usually just gave me a headache, so I never really understood what the big deal was.

However, as lazy as I can be, I tend to like the idea of extreme fitness (distance running anyone?), and trying hot yoga (or Bikram, depending on how hardcore your studio is) appealed to me. So I tried it. And I liked it. I didn’t fall in love and become a devoted practitioner of Bikram or anything, but this kind of yoga I understood—the sweating is cleansing; I felt incredibly stretched out; and I felt like I was pushing my body in a safe space where I could mess up, fall over, or take a break if I needed one.

Leaving the city meant leaving a lot of familiar things behind, including Bikram Yoga Andersonville where I went on and off through the fall. In the suburbs, things are a bit more spread out and my neighborhood does not cater to trendy fitness businesses, so I researched my options and found Core Power Yoga in a neighboring burb.

Core Power Yoga is a more trendy yoga studio than Bikram Yoga Andersonville. The Andersonville studio is pretty bar bones and pretty serious about the practice. Core Power offers multiple types of classes, including hot yoga classes. On the weekends they have a more traditional Bikram class that is an hour and a half long, but during the week, the hot yoga classes are only an hour.

My Sunday class was pretty traditional. I was glad to find that I basically knew what was going on, and though the instructor used a few names for poses that I didn’t recognize; ultimately, they were all the same poses.

The Core Power studio was either a few degrees cooler or less humid than other Bikram classes I’ve taken because it’s the first time I have made it through an entire class without feeling sick or dizzy or having to sit down. At Andersonville, they emphasized stillness between poses, but here, she encouraged us to shake out our legs or arms after a pose if we needed to. While I still felt like I got a serious yoga class in, I liked that it was a bit more relaxed about the stillness thing… or maybe I’m just not a good yogi. But my favorite part of class was at the end (of course) during final savasana when the instructor came around with cool, wet washcloths, which she pressed into our foreheads (you could opt out of this if you didn’t want your space to be invaded). It sounds like a small thing, but after an hour and a half of sweaty yoga, it was way more awesome than I was expecting. And, I noticed that it cooled my body down in a way that I hadn’t experienced before, and I left feeling refreshed and ready to get on with the day—not sick at all!

Overall, I really enjoyed the experience. In fact, without expecting it, I think I may have found a better yoga studio match for me and I’m looking forward to trying out some of their other classes. My Groupon gives me five weeks of unlimited yoga, so I’m going to take advantage and get to know some other types of yoga during this time as well.

Our New Addition

2011-02-20T06:55:00.000-08:00

For those of you who haven't heard the exciting news...

Meet...

Barkley!

Yes, MM and I have a new family member. We met him at an adoption event on Saturday for a rescue group called Magnificent Mutts. Most of the dogs at the event were puppies, but Barkley was so sweet and calm, I gravitated toward him right away. We think he's a flat-coated retriever mix, and they told us he's about a year old.

Barkley is adjusting well. We're pretty sure he was a family dog prior to ending up in a kill shelter in Kentucky. We have no idea how he got there, but we're glad he was rescued.

Honestly, I can't believe how lucky we are. I know if we had walked away--even for an hour, just to think about it--Barkley would have been adopted by someone else. He tends to be pretty relaxed, but is very social and playful with people and other dogs, but he seems to know the difference between his toys and, for example, my slippers.

He's also potty trained beyond anything we could have hoped for. He actually woke MM up in the middle of the night because he needed a potty break. He hasn't had one accident inside, which is kind of mind boggling, but I'm crossing my fingers that this sticks. We are still going to take him to obedience school because, despite he's sweet disposition and pretty good manners, he doesn't seem to know any standard commands, nor does he seem terribly inclined to listen to us (lucky for us he's really not getting into much trouble and he's probably still learning his name). He pulls a little on his leash and jumps sometimes when he's excited to meet someone, which are behaviors I'd like to see curbed. But overall, he's got the sweetest disposition and just wants to be loved. Basically, he's exactly the kind of dog we were hoping we'd find.

We're officially pet parents!

The Test

2011-02-17T06:57:00.000-08:00

Back during the New Year’s Resolution posting craze, I mentioned that one of my big focuses for 2011 was to become a Zumba instructor. To get this rolling, I need to get certified as a group fitness instructor.

Getting certified seems to be a daunting task. First of all, there are a few associations that certify, and there’s really no definitive information out there as to why you should choose one over the other. Generally, most gyms will accept anything that is considered to be well known, like ACE or AFAA. Second, this is expensive. There are some cheaper options, but ultimately, you’re buying textbooks and paying to take a test.

After much deliberation, I settled on the ACE exam. In order to motivate myself, I scheduled the exam for May 7, which seems like it’s a long way off, but it isn’t.

The material—a 400+ page textbook—is far more challenging that I expected. There are a wide-range of group fitness instructors out there, so I guess I wrongly assumed that the test, while maybe not “easy” per say, would be pretty manageable. I was dead wrong. Without a background in anatomy, physiology, or kinesiology, I’m completely at square one. Chapter 1 jumps right into explaining the bioenergetics of exercise and other seemingly nonsensical words and whatnot.

It. Is. Hard.

And I’m struggling to get through more than five pages a day (though I have yet to pass out on my book, which happened a lot in graduate school). And I’ve gone a little overboard highlighting the pages, but I don’t know enough to know what’s important and what’s not!

Oh the humanity.

Anyway, I’m hoping that once I’m past the first few chapters—Exercise Physiology; Fundamentals of Anatomy; and Fundamentals of Applied Kinesiology—and into the less rigorous sounding chapters—Group Exercise Program Design; Adherence and Motivation—I will move through the material a bit more quickly.

For whatever reason, I sometimes struggle to stay motivated on “pet projects.” Becoming a group fitness instructor is an idea I entertained for a long time—off and on—just because it seemed fun, but I never really found a style of class that I really wanted to teach. And then I took a Zumba class, and I knew, if I was going to instruct, this is the type of class (or really, I’d probably be happy in any dance-based class) I would want. I’ve taken the first step and am certified by Zumba. I’ve taken the second step and sat through my four hour CPR and AED training. This is final piece of the puzzle I need to even be considered hire-able by a gym.

I really, really want this. I see this as another step on the path toward leading the life that I have always wanted to lead. And I’m going to do it.

Playing Catch Up

2011-02-16T11:58:00.000-08:00

Wow. I neglect the internet for two days and my reader is crazy filled with blogs to read.

Man, this has been one of those weeks. I spent the last two days in focus groups, coming in to work early, leaving work late, listening to people talk about stuff for hours, and wishing I had some of those nifty glasses with the eyeballs painted on them so that I could take a nap. I have never been so happy to be back at work, at my desk, in front of my computer. I do not like being out of my normal routine (unless it involves my couch and some good TV), and I do not like being disconnected. To top it off, I have definitely felt thwarted in my attempts to get back on track this week with my wacky work schedule.

But moving on…

My husband and I have decided to start down the path to doggie adoption. It’s something we have talked about doing on and off since we got married. Now that we are basically settled in our house complete with a fenced in backyard and we have gotten our budget back under control, we feel like we’re ready to take the leap.

I have to admit, I’m nervous about taking complete responsibility for another life, but I’m glad MM and I are going into it at least attempting to understand the commitment we are making. We’re not fooling ourselves that it’s going to be all fun and games. Pet ownership (especially dog ownership) requires time, energy, and money, but I expect it to be rewarding to bring another member into our family.

So far we’ve visited one shelter and met one dog that we liked, but I wasn’t comfortable with the shelter. They didn’t seem to know their dogs. Tomorrow night we’re going to meet a female, lab/pointer mix, who is young (1-2 years old) and currently being fostered. I’m worried that we’ll love her and want to take her home that minute, and then, shit, we’ll have a dog. And I’m worried that we will feel she is not the right choice for us and have to walk away from a good dog who needs a good home. Basically, I’m banking entirely on the fact that we’ll know when we know that we’ve met the right dog.

On the Agenda Tonight…

Workout: 30 minute run
Dinner: Polenta Gratin with Mushrooms and Fontina

A (Wo)Man with a Plan

2011-01-31T11:55:00.000-08:00

Meal planning is major key to leading a somewhat organized existence, especially once you’re a bit older and have to account for another person’s (or other people’s) meals as well. In my house, I take care of the grocery shopping and cooking, so meal planning falls under my domain.

Planning takes time and energy, but the payoff is big. It dictates your grocery list, helps you stay on track with whatever your healthy living goals are, minimizes multiple midweek “Oh shit, I don’t have __________,” trips to the store, and gives you an easy answer to “What’s for dinner tonight?”

I’m not the most organized person in the world--not by a long shot--and there are lots of bloggers out there who are organization gurus and have suggested routines and templates and whatnot available for this kind of thing. But for what it’s worth, this is how I do it.

The Ground Work
1) Find a time when you can think about it. Meal planning is not my favorite thing in the world; however, I do enjoy searching for recipes, whether on the Internet or in cookbooks. I like thinking about what I’m going to eat and what I’d like to try to cook, which probably makes this process less chore-like for me. Still, I have to find the time to sit down and think about it, which usually happens on Fridays at the office (shhhhhh!) when the people start to get into weekend mode and the pace of work slows considerably.

2) Start with the easy stuff. What meals do you need to just have items on hand for, but don’t actually have to cook? Because it’s just me and MM, I only have to plan and cook for dinner. I buy various breakfast items, like English muffins and cereal, so that we have plenty to get us through a week, but I don’t bother thinking too much about it. For lunches, MM often eats out, and I tend to stick with my usual—Trader Joe’s Black Bean and Corn Enchiladas, fruit, string cheese and a bag of carrots—basically packable stuff, and yes, variety is lacking, but sometimes, you just got to roll with it if it works. If you have kids, I imagine that lunches and breakfasts become a little more complicated, but I don’t about these things, so… that’s all I got. You’ll notice that I don’t take into account weekend lunches, which usually end up being a minor clusterfuck in my household, and I should probably start planning for those as well. Next time.

3) Think about the week ahead. Do you have plans to eat a meal out? Are you having people over? Is there a certain night that spending more than 10 minutes preparing a meal is simply not feasible? I like to use Google Docs to map this out because I can toggle between my Google Calendar and other websites easily. I use a spreadsheet, type out the days, and put an N/A for any dinner I don’t need to bother planning for.

4) Have go-to recipes. Build a repertoire of five to 10 easy, quick and satisfying dinners. I would also recommend having a few quick items on hand for days when life gets in the way of meals—pasta and bottled sauce, frozen stir-fry meals, etc. I was ambitious this week and decided to try all new recipes (I’m a bit excited about cooking in my new kitchen), but usually, you’ll see a few recipes show up again and again on my weekly plan (Spicy Honey-brushed Chicken Thighs, anyone?).

5) Have go-to resources. When it comes to choosing new recipes, the Internet provides endless possibilities. I realize this is a big DUH. Myrecipes.com (which is the aggregating site for several magazine recipes, including Cooking Light) is my favorite recipe site. Every once in awhile I’ll use Allrecipes.com, but I tend to find that site overwhelming with all the users who leave comments along the lines of, “This recipe is awesome. I changed 42 of the ingredients.” If you’re a Weight Watcher’s member, the website has hundreds of recipes, and in the last year, they’ve added a function so that users can comment on the recipes, which is helpful. I also read food blogs like Smitten Kitchen and Gina's Skinny Recipes. Finally, I take the advice of friends (friend recommendations actually account for three of my meals this week), and I have been slightly obsessed with How to Cook Everything, so I’ve been picking a recipe out of that every week as of late.

6) Think about your goals. Maybe these can line up with New Year’s resolutions. They can be simple, but it’s good to be specific. For example, “I want to cook dinner twice this week.” Or, “I want to try one new recipe a week.” Think about whether you want to incorporate different types of protein, more vegetables, or try to replace processed foods with homemade. Because it is winter and fairly quiet, we’ve finally moved, I’m having semi-romantic feelings toward my new kitchen, and I finally have some breathing space, my goals have become a bit more ambitious than usual: Eat something other than chicken thighs (that’s why I put lamb on the menu this week); Focus on eating whole foods and real foods. (Are they the same thing?); Incorporate more vegetables into dinner.

7) Know thyself (and thy’s family). The best laid plans, right? If you’re used to take out five nights a week, it’s probably ambitious to decide out of the gate to cook every single night. When I’m planning, I take into account that my husband eats a lot. He usually eats two to three servings to my one to one-and-a-half, which is nice because I can cook for four without leftovers, but also expensive, and I can never count on leftovers. I also try to balance my desire to eat more vegetables with the knowledge that I’m sometimes have trouble using everything that we buy, so I do my best to not go overboard. If I’m going to try a new, longer, or more complicated recipe than normal, I do it on Sunday. Start to finish, I need to have dinner on the table much quicker during the week or I’ll lose my mind from hunger.

Stay tuned for Part 2, Putting It All Together…

Julie or Julia?

2011-01-26T16:01:00.000-08:00

Spoiler alert: The answer is Julia, always, without question.

Continuing on my journey of food reading that basically came out of nowhere, I decided this time ‘round to go with a slightly more current pop culture choice—not terribly current because I like to be fashionably behind the times, but you know, a little bit of pop nonetheless.

For reasons I cannot explain, I chose Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously despite the kind of terrible reviews on Amazon and even though I saw the movie and had already determined that Julie kind of sucked (though Julia was fascinating; they should have made the entire movie about her). I figured that maybe the book was better.

I was wrong.

For as sucky and whiny and annoying as Julie is in the movie, she is infinitely more self-indulgent in the book. In the movie I think I kind of didn’t like Julie because I identified with her. You know, someone who is watching the years go by, unfulfilled in her job, wondering why her BIG writer dreams never really happened.

So what does she do, she starts a blog.

I did that! Me too! Hey over here!

Only when I saw how annoying Julie was about her dreams and whatnot, I kind of hated her because it kind of made me hate myself. But at least I understood where she was coming from.

In the book, she had few redeeming qualities. She's a former struggling actress (not a writer), which means that she’s abandoned that dream, but really has no clue what to do with her life, so she’s a secretary at the government agency charged with building the September 11 memorial. She hates her job. She’s married to a guy who seems really nice, but she treats him crap. They live in a horrible-sounding apartment in some Long Island City outside of Manhattan.

But hey it’s New York right? And for some people that is all that matters.

Did I mention that she has few redeeming qualities? The whole point of the book and movie (which you probably already know) is that Julie, who feels stuck in life and on the verge of almost-30 breakdown, decides to cook every recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking. And she decides to blog about it in 2002 when blogs were still new to most of us.

So as the book goes on, we read about Julie run around town trying to find bone marrow for various obscure recipes; having fits of rage over failed attempts at making mayonnaise; treating her husband like a second-class citizen; flirting with her male coworker who seems like an asshole; bitching about republicans (which, I understand, but you know, we get it, you’re liberal); talking shit about the commenters on her blog who ask her to expand her vocabulary beyond the word “fuck” (which is kind of annoying, but seriously, she used it all the time, which felt, more than anything, a little forced); hating cooking/her life; wondering why she undertook this project; and finally, ending up with a ton of press, a book deal, and a movie option. And you’re left with the feeling that it couldn’t have happened to someone who deserved it less.

And all this wraps up with a lesson: Julia Child saved Julie’s life. Julia reached down and plucked Julie from her awful 9-to-5 government job and showered her with fame and fortune and thus, Julie now sits at home, in her pajama being a “writer.” Or something like that.

It’s a little disheartening, but there is one glimmer of hope, which comes not from Julie, but from Julia. Julia Child didn’t start cooking until she was 37. And it was then, at 37, she found her passion for cooking, a reason to get up in the morning, something to go after. I think that alone can give those of us who are still searching for the right path, particularly when it comes to careers, some hope. It’s not too late. You can find and then follow your dream at any age. You don’t have to find it in your early- to mid-twenties, which I think is a message many of us receive (intentional or not) when choosing a career. There’s still time. And that’s inspiring.

This is the point that I think Julie was trying to make, but it gets lost between her drama queen antics and delusions of grandeur.

I think My Life in France, Julia Child’s book, will be next on my list and probably infinitely more satisfying.

Moving Day Eve

2011-01-20T16:05:00.000-08:00

Don’t they say that moving is one of the most stressful life events after divorce, death and major illness? (To be honest, I looked this up on the Internetz and moving is not at the top of the list or even in the top 10. It clocks in at No. 32 or something after events like “sex problems.” Also on the top 50 list, pregnancy, jail term, beginning or ending school, and vacation. Good times for sure!)

There are plenty of reasons why this move is more stressful than others. MM and I are not just moving; we’re moving into a house in the suburbs that we own.

In some ways, it feels like we are jumping ship. We are leaving Chicago, and moving to what I call “The Illinois,” a place I never thought I’d live. Sure, the suburb we are moving to is no further from my downtown Chicago place of employment than our apartment in the Chicago neighborhood of Ravenswood Manor is, and our new ‘hood is rather urban for a suburb, but it’s a statement nonetheless—a statement that means (to a lot of people anyway)—you’ll be pregnant within five minutes of setting up your new residence.

Yep. That’s the elephant in the spare bedroom… so to speak.

Some people—mostly MM’s coworkers and friends—walk through our new house and say “Is this the baby’s room?” They think it’s funny, but some of them are dead serious because, that’s what you do when you buy a home and move to the suburbs. My friends don’t say that so much, unless of course, we’re having the baby discussion, which happens, but they at least don’t boil down the whole thing to a simple equation: “House+Suburbs= Baby.” Or maybe they just don’t do that to my face.

And perhaps it’s true. Maybe we’ll start having kids immediately. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe we’ll wait two or three more years. Or maybe we’ll decide the whole thing isn’t for us.

Sometimes I wish I had this biological clock ticking phenomenon that people talk about because it would at least make the whole thing a lot easier. I’d know, and when I know, I know. MM is pretty much on board with whatever—he says he wants kids. But sometimes I think that if I just sort of don’t talk about it, he’ll fill his time with so many other things that he wouldn’t notice that we don’t have them.

Sometimes I forget I’m an adult, and there’s no way people could possibly see me as a day older than 25, which technically is an adult (you know legal drinking, pay your bills, rent a car, commit a felony kind of adult), but not one who is settled, who has put down the roots. Not in my world, anyway.

Remember, you’ll blink your eyes and suddenly you’ll be here—settled. And here is a great place to be, even though I made it sound somewhat depressing. It’s really not.

And so those are my deep, disjointed thoughts on the Eve of Moving Day.

The Besties

2010-11-15T06:52:00.000-08:00

This weekend my two best friends from college came to visit. I haven’t seen them since my wedding in August 2009.

Seeing them is always bitter sweet. I’m the only one of the three of us who does not have children, so they (in Ohio) tend to come to me (in Chicago) where we can immediately fall into old habits uninterrupted: sitting on the couch, gabbing and eating Cheerios straight from the box (OK, maybe that's just me). My husband was nice enough to make himself scarce.

I have made some very good friends as an adult, but there’s something different about my friendship with these two women. It’s so very real. There are no secrets, and we have long, detailed conversations about things I wouldn’t dream of telling other people. Nothing is off the table, and we know without a shadow of a doubt that we will not be judged by one another. And I realized this visit that I laugh more with these two women more than anyone else I know (except maybe my sister). Nothing is forced.

But because what we have is so special, it is hard to say good-bye and return to a normal life that no longer includes daily contact (unless you count reading Facebook status updates). After I got over the initial shock and depression of their absence, I can only be thankful that I have them in my life and that after 15 years, our relationship has not changed and we will always be there for one another.

Ohio Girl Seeks Satisfying Chili

2010-11-15T06:42:00.000-08:00

Are you from Ohio? Are you a fan of Skyline Chili?

Are you, at this moment, thinking to yourself, “What the hell are you talking about Lou?” If you’re not already acquainted, please allow me to introduce you to a little phenomenon called Cincinnati-style chili. Simply put, it is chili served on top of spaghetti.

In the September 2009 issue of Cooking Light, a new version: Cincinnati Turkey Chili.

It’s got some veggies and of course, ground turkey.

Then you have your spices, tomato paste, kidney beans, tomatoes, and broth.

Let it simmer.Covered. Watch TV for a little while.

And finally the secret ingredient...

Chocolate.

Serve over whole wheat spaghetti.

Then after your husband eats three of the four servings, tell him to do the dishes.

A Beautiful Thing

2010-11-09T06:50:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned that I am not a fan of business travel? From what I hear, some people like it. Those are people who take advantage of it, and use their time in other cities to see and do new things.

That's not really how I roll. Many years ago, when I began traveling for work, the biggest perk for me was being able to eat room service in bed (Side note: I always get a room with two double beds so I can have an eating bed and a sleeping bed.) while watching television. Back then, I was not a runner.

Admittedly, I'm still pretty lazy with my business travels, but ever since I became a runner, I realized that one of the best ways to see a city is on foot.


San Diego is no exception.


You really can't beat the fresh air and beautiful view of the city's skyline. The fact that it's 60-degrees and sunny with a light breeze doesn't hurt either.

Neither does a beautiful sunset on the water.

Race Report: Hot Chocolate 15K

2010-11-07T05:38:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, I ran my final race of the 2010 season, the Hot Chocolate 15K.

So far, 2010 has been busiest year of my adult life. MM and I went through a maddening seven-month process to buy our first home, which we began renovating in September; several of our close friends and family married this year, including my sister, a close cousin in MM’s family, and my two Chicago BFs; and we traveled multiple times, including overseas to Spain and Romania. All of this has contributed to a particularly rough and somewhat light running season: two 10 mile races in the spring, a half marathon that didn’t live up to my expectations, and general apathy about training.

I did not want to run the Hot Chocolate 15K. But I begrudgingly agreed to sign up when running buddy Meg persisted.

FINE. I will run. Are you happy now?

Now granted I said yes, but I did not go quietly. I hinted for weeks that I was going to drop out of the nine mile race and instead run the 5K. But Saturday morning came, and there I was at the start line with Meg, bitching and moaning about the fact that I was about to run 9 more miles than I wanted to.

It started out rough. Meg and I don’t carry iPods on our runs together, we use the time to chat. But we were quiet at the start of the race. Eighteen minutes in I asked how long we’d been running (I’d forgotten my watch), and I considered the consequences of telling her that I was dropping out of the race less than two miles in.

Instead, I told Meg I was hungry, but had assumed that I wouldn’t need any nutrition for a nine-mile run. Meg, who was prepared, didn’t hesitate to hand me a package of Luna Sport Chews, which I had never tried. Now if there's any piece of advice a long distance runner will give you, it’s that you do not try something new on race day particularly when it comes to nutrition and hydration. I ignored this very sage advice—I was really hungry—and took the blocks. I lucked out, and I may have found my new go-to sport nutrition supplement. The Luna Sport Chews did not mess with my stomach, they tasted good, and they gave me the energy I desperately needed.

Somewhere between miles 2 and 3, we found our stride. We realized we were easily maintaining a solid 11:30 pace. Meg started catching me up on the events of her week, and we settled in for the long haul.

The weather ended up being lovely for a late fall run, sunny and around 40 degrees. While the course left something to be desired—the race organizers had the 15,000 participants running on a six-foot-wide gravel path for about a mile—we realized around mile 5 that we were having a great race. We felt good, we were moving at a nice clip, and we were confident about the next four-point-three miles.

Near the nine mile marker, I said to Meg, “I’m ready to be done now, but I just now feel that way.” She agreed. My thighs ached, but we had less than a half mile to go so I dug deep knowing we could finish strong.

We crossed the finish line at 1 hour, 45 minutes and some change, undeniably a fantastic race for both of us. We celebrated with some apple slices and pretzels dipped in chocolate (they don’t call the race “Hot Chocolate” for nothing).

So it was worth it. I’ve been pretty apathetic about training this year. I love a 30 to 45 minute run with friends, but the longer distances have been tough on my body lately. But this race proved that Meg and I have progressed from where we started together four years ago. And for the moment, I’m thrilled we finished the season strong with a race that helped me remember why I love to run.

Better Late than Never: A Madison Mini Marathon Report

2010-09-14T07:15:00.000-07:00

On August 21, MM and I ran the Madison Mini Marathon. Yes, this race report is about three and a half weeks late, but it feels like it could have been a lifetime ago considering everything that has happened since then. But that’s another story.

I decided to do this race in lieu of a half marathon in Chicago for a variety of reasons. First of all, I missed the Chicago Rock n’ Roll half because my attendance was required at a conflicting event. Second, I hate the Chicago Half Marathon that happened a few days ago and have vowed never to run that race again. And third, it gave me a really good excuse to visit one of my closest friends from college. Plus, Madison is basically awesome, and who wouldn’t want to tour the town while burning enough calories to justify all of the New Glarus beer I would end up drinking later?

The race began 7:30 a.m., which MM and I, with our warped sense of time, claimed was “late” even though G, who wanted to be at the start of the race to cheer us on, looked at us like we were crazy people and questioned her decision to agree to such an early event on a Saturday. We were just happy that we could sleep past 5:30 a.m. There were less than 5,000 people running, which is a fairly small race based on what we’re used to. You definitely felt like you had some space on the course and it didn’t take 45 minutes to get to the start line, which is always nice.

MM decided to run this race with me because it was our anniversary and he loves me he wanted to conserve his energy for a Sunday softball game he was playing in. So we went off together. Part of my goal of running with MM was that he could pace me to a PR. We started off at about a 10:30 pace, but slowed it down to a more reasonable 11-minute pace a mile or two in. I felt great and had no problem keeping this pace. The course has a few inclines, but is nowhere near as hilly as the Cincinnati Flying Pig Half Marathon. Even for those of us used to fast and flat Chicago courses, I wouldn’t bother to even warn runners about the hills in Madison. They are really a non-issue.

There was one problem though. It was damn humid out. I mean, we looked like we had jumped in a lake about five miles in, but regardless of the copious amounts of sweat pouring from my body, I was well hydrated and it didn’t seem to get to me… at first (at all?). Then came miles eight through 10 at which point my body began to break down. I managed to keep running these two miles, but I slowed down quite a bit. My knees hurt, my ankles hurt, my back was sore. I’ve noticed this problem a lot lately. Around miles eight to 10, my body seems to say, “I’m done,” and after that every step is painful. It’s hard to say exactly what’s going on—this seems to happen regardless of pace or weather conditions and despite the fact that I would argue that I’m stronger and in better shape to run now more than ever before. I will admit that I was slightly undertrained for this event distance-wise (my last double digit run before Madison was in early June), but I’ve noticed that I tend to be in pain even after eight and nine mile training runs. I tend to have no lasting effects from this pain and am not even terribly sore the day after. It’s a mystery, but it’s convincing me that another marathon will not be in my near future. I can suck it up to mile 13, but I can’t imagine hanging on for 26.2.

And even though I still was easily on pace for a pretty impressive PR at mile 10, I had to walk a good portion of the remaining three miles. I finished in 2:34:25, respectable for me and my second fastest half marathon. I was a little disappointed, but as much as I wanted to break the 2:30:00 barrier for myself, I care less about these things than I used to.

Mostly I was just in pain after the race, and I did a lot of dramatic moaning to G about my legs and such until I took two Aleve and forgot about it. Then G, her husband, MM and I went mini-golfing, spent some time drinking beer on the patio at the famous University of Wisconsin Union, and had lovely, huge-mongous dinner because that is what you do when you are in Wisconsin: eat and drink. The mini-golf is optional.

American Royalty

2010-08-12T12:03:00.001-07:00

In late July, I turned down an invitation to Chelsea Clinton’s wedding to attend a much more important union of two individuals: my sister and the infamous Lars. Sorry Chelsea, family comes first. I’m sure you understand.

And of course, I was the matron of honor, so I had some responsibilities and speeches and dancing to do. It was not a commitment I could really blow off.

Sarah and her maids.

The whole wedding weekend was action packed beginning with the rehearsal/rehearsal dinner on Friday night and wrapping up on Sunday afternoon at my mom and her husband’s house where brunch was hosted. All in all, it was a great week, and I’ll be honest, as glad as I am to no longer be preparing for that major event, I was a little sad after it was over.

I guess it was so great because for whatever reason, nearly everyone in our family showed up with their A game fully intact. There was no drama, no tension, no fights. We are a pretty solid group, but a high stress/high stakes event like a wedding can wear on even the tightest knit family. But not this time, it nothing but smooth sailing on the family front.

Our family has changed a lot. I married MM last year. My mom married Ron the year prior to that. And six months before Mom and Ron married, his daughter married. Five years ago, family visits consisted of me, my sister and my mom (with the occasional boyfriend thrown in the mix), but now it’s Mom, Ron, Sarah, Lars, Adrienne, Matt, Matt’s son, MM and myself. And maybe that’s why I was a little sad after this wedding… because it felt like this weekend a random group connected by marriage and remarriage became a family.

And then it ended, and we all went to our separate corners of the country. But I left with a new sense of what it means to be a part of “our family” and the realization that there are more good times ahead.

Who Knew?

2010-07-20T12:38:00.001-07:00

On Sunday, I ran the Fleet Feet Women’s 5K.

I’ve had so many other things on my mind—things like our house deal potentially falling through if we don’t close by the end of the next week (long story), and our landlord refusing to allow us to stay a couple extra months while our house (if we get it) is being renovated—that after the race was over, I pretty much forgot that I had run it.

But today I was reminded when I received an e-mail attempting to entice me to buy photos of the backs of my thighs while running the race (I was wearing my number on my back), which coincidentally does not make me want to buy race photos so much as it makes me question my decision to wear shorts… ever.

But I digress…

While pondering my thighs, I thought to myself, “I wonder if I PR-ed…” I was pretty sure I didn’t. After all, I sprinted my heart out at the Hot Chocolate 5K in November 2009, crossed the finish line and nearly puked. That had the fight and glory of a PR. I laid it all out, and I came out victorious—if a little worse for the wear.

But this race, I bitched and moaned about having to show up to it, threw a Luna bar across the room when I couldn’t find my sunglasses (I was in a real mature mood) and generally had a baditude about everything that morning. I knew I’d be running alone, but I forgot my iPod, which prompted me to attempt a dramatic display of tears to MM, which didn’t really pan out because after being mentally spent for several days, I didn’t really have it in me to cry. So I sucked it up. I went to the race. I ran without friends, without an iPod, without a watch.

I knew I was moving a little faster than a regular leisurely morning run, but I wasn’t sprinting. I wasn’t laying it out. I wasn’t fighting for it. I just wanted to be done. I had no idea what the clock read when I crossed the start line, so I had no idea how my race went when I crossed the finish line. I know I didn’t nearly collapse or hurl, so it definitely wasn’t a PR.

Right?

As it turns out, I finished a full 11 seconds than my previous 5K record for a new PR of 31:05.

All the Crazies, Get Funky

2010-07-02T09:39:00.001-07:00

Maybe you’ve taken Bikram yoga. Maybe you haven’t. If you haven’t, all you need to know is this: Bikram yoga is yoga done in a sauna.

Intriguing, yes?

I’ve never been a super fan of yoga. I want to be a super fan of yoga. I want to be Zen-like and capable of bending my body into positions worthy of a Cirque du Soleil performer. I want to mindful and meditative. But mostly—let’s be honest—I just want to have the svelte figure of a practiced yogi. I mean, is that too much to ask?

When I’ve tried yoga in the past, I generally end up sorely disappointed when I leave with a headache, but without the religious experience I was totally expecting to have. Bikram sounded appealing because with the room heated to approximately the temperature of Hell, having a religious experience seemed somewhat unnecessary. There are a lot of warnings that start with the words, “If you feel dizzy…” and “If you feel nauseous…” Nausea? Lightheadedness? Who needs religion when you might pass out in your own vomit? Sign me up!

Truth is, I was nervous to try Bikram. I asked my sister and Keni, who have both taken the class before, about 40 questions: Will I pass out? How much water should I drink before the class? Does everyone wear booty shorts? Do people fall over? Ok, so if I fall over, I won’t be the first person to ever fall over in a class?

I arrived at Bikram Yoga Andersonville 25 minutes early hoping that someone would hold my hand and tell me everything was going to be OK. Instead, the studio was a madhouse. They recently offered a 20 classes for $40 Groupon—which I signed up for—and half the people there were brand spanking new just like me. The instructors and owner were just trying to manage the crowd so hand holding was not going to happen. I found my way to the locker room, hung up my stuff, and decided I had nothing else to do, but head into the studio.

So let’s get one thing straight… in case there was any question… the studio is hot. It is 105 degrees hot. Is it walking into a sauna in a desert hot. Going in early is a good thing. You can just lay on your mat and pretend you are at the beach, which is exactly what I did. Until we had to get up and start class, which pulled me out of my little napping on the beach fantasy.

The class takes you through a series of 26 poses and begins with this bizarre breathing exercise where you lift your head up while breathing in through your mouth and making a noise similar to the “Ahhhhh” sound that happens when you stick out your tongue for a doctor. Then you breathe out through your nose bringing your head back down. Of course, being new, one feels a little ridiculous, but clearly the more seasoned participants are totally into it. Because they are Zen like.

Then the standing series begins. I don’t know the “terminology” that goes along with these poses, but let me give you an idea of how this half of class went for Lou: Pose, pose, dizziness, sit down, sit, sit, stand up, pose, pose, dizziness, sit down, sit down through entire pose, finally stand up again, pose, pose, stand there not doing the pose deciding whether or not to sit down, sit down, stand up, pose, pose, pose. It sounds worse than it was. I walked into that room determined to listen to my body, to not be embarrassed when I needed to sit down, to not push myself and try to be a hero (who was I going to be a hero for?) or prove something to absolutely no one. I did exactly that. The second part of class is the floor series. There’s a lot of laying around and stretching. It’s still challenging, but not quite as challenging as the standing series. Now this, I can get on board with.

The class is an hour and a half. Because its yoga, we are all supposed to be Zen like, there is no clock. I had no idea how far along we were in the class at any given time. But ultimately, the pace of the class was pretty good, and I was not praying for sweet release. In fact, the heat of the class became wallpaper, in the background, not really something that I was focused on. Sure, I was drenched. My hair and clothes looked like I had just run through a rainstorm, but sweating makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something so the more the better. Moreover, there was something unique about my sweat in this class. It felt clean. I don’t know how else to describe this, but if you run, particularly if you run in humidity, you end up sweating like crazy. You taste like salt, and when (if) you eventually stop running, you are sticky, gross, icky. But in Bikram, my sweat felt like water. It didn’t taste salty, and it didn’t stick to me. It just rolled off.

I fully expected to leave class barely capable of driving myself home due to severe exhaustion, but that wasn’t the case at all. I had energy… enough energy to run back to my illegally parked car after I picked up a Pocket for dinner. I did have a slight headache, but that disappeared after about 20 minutes.

All in all, I’m hesitant to say I loved it because some people seem to think I’m crazy and of course, I would be all too willing to jump on board with this nonsense. I’m reserving the right to make that call at a different time. But I did like it, more than other yoga classes I have taken. And I will be going back.

Namaste.

Just kidding.

And Counting

2010-06-28T11:26:00.001-07:00

It’s official. I am no longer 30. I am now knee deep into my thirties. Um… ankle… let’s say ankle deep.

Is it sad that I keep checking Facebook to judge whether or not an appropriate amount of friends/co-workers/former co-workers/acquaintances/friends-of-friends/total strangers have wished me a happy birthday on wall? Or is this just the reality we live in? You know, the reality where we can determine our worth by the number of connections we have on a social networking site.

No?

Anyway, yay for my birthday! I’m 31 today. I’ll be honest. I was feeling a little “ug” when I woke up today until I reminded myself that the odd years are usually good ones for me. I don’t know when or how I came up with this theory, but we’ll go with it.

10 Things I did when I was 30

1. I started my job at The University the day after I turned 30. So far, so good.

2. I married MM in Sawyer, Michigan on August 22, 2009. I loved my wedding! I mean, I love my husband.

3. I went to Mexico for the first time for our honeymoon in Cabo San Lucas.

4. I ran a half marathon and two 10 mile races.

5. I set a personal record in the Hot Chocolate 5K.

6. I took three classes toward a master’s degree that I may never finish.

7. I took part in wedding madness. In addition to my own wedding, both my sister and @ got engaged (not to each other); I went wedding dress shopping more times than I can count; bought two bridesmaid dresses; planned a bachelorette party for running buddy Meg and a bridal shower for my sister; did a reading at Meg’s wedding; and, most importantly, performed a choreographed routine to the Black Eyed Peas song Imma Be with Meg and another friend at Meg’s wedding reception. It was legend… wait for it… dary.

8. I wrote a book. Or at least, I wrote a first draft of something that I hope eventually becomes a book.

9. I rekindled my love of dance through Zumba classes, which I haven’t written about much yet, but trust me, I will.

10. I moved my blog to louwrites.com. Then I stopped blogging; then I started again. Now, after changing the design of this website yet again, I feel like I’m living in a little half-finished blog house, but it’s coming along.

10 Thing I plan to do while I’m 31

1. Edit that book. I’ll be participating in an eight-week workshop in the hopes that I’ll get that little middle grade novel I wrote about pre-teen party planners into decent shape. The fun starts tomorrow!

2. Buy house in the suburbs; renovate the house in the suburbs; move into the house in the suburbs. Of course, this is all dependent on me not allowing my fear of leaving the city to get in our way.

3. Get a dog. If we move to the suburbs, this is non-negotiable.

4. Get certified to teach Zumba. I’m signed up for the certification course next month (somehow I managed to sandwich this in between my sister’s bachelorette weekend and my sister’s wedding weekend). I’ll also be looking into getting my ACE general group certification as well, which most gyms require before they will allow you to instruct.

5. Run the Madison Half Marathon in August.

6. Go on vacation in Europe! MM and I bought our tickets about a week ago. His cousin is getting married in Romania this fall, and then we’re all (bride and groom included) going to spend a week in Barcelona.

7. Try Bikram yoga. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.

8. Get this website in better shape. Make it look like it’s really home, not just a temporary home.

9. Pay something off—maybe my car loan, maybe a school loan, but getting out of debt (even good debt) is always nice.

10. Continue participating in wedding madness, including, but not limited to, planning kickass bachelorette parties for my sister and @; writing and performing (performing?) a kickass speech for my sister’s wedding reception; being the best bridesmaid I can be; and dancing my ass off.

Looks like it’s going to be another busy year!

Thighs are the New Breasts

2010-06-21T10:19:00.001-07:00

Alternatively titled: Chicken Thighs 42 Different Ways (OK, maybe not 42)

I know. You are let down by the title of my post. You were hoping for boobs. Boobs! If that’s what you’re in the market for, you may as well move along. Nothing to see here except for chicken. Chicken!

Back in 2008, I read the book Skinny Bitch. Veganism was sweeping the nation (Was it?). So I decided to give it a shot. I had no good reason for doing this other than the desire to jump on the next big diet/eating craze bandwagon. Needless to say, despite the fact that I have never been much of a meat eater, the strict world of veganism didn’t stick. Shocking, I know.

Somewhere along the line—after Skinny Bitch, before right now—I sort of swore off these diet books that tell me to give up meat/dairy/carbs/sugar/fat/fill-in-the-blank. Too many rules, man.

The truth is that I finally realized that I didn’t need any more voices telling me the “right” way to eat. I had to have faith in balance, variety, eating lots of fruits and veggies, and keeping the junk food to a minimum. In other words, I had to have faith in common sense and stop filling my head with confusing information based on pseudo-science.

Word.

As part of this age of reason, I decided to get away from eating pasta every night for dinner and begin adding meat back into the dinner rotation. That’s when I made a discovery that has changed everything I believed about me and how I feel about meat: the chicken thigh.

Now, conventional “dieting” wisdom tells us that the lean, low-fat chicken breast is the only part of the bird we should bother with. And, a lot of people have “problems” with dark meat. I’m not sure what those “problems” are, but I’m pretty sure I claimed to have them.

Well, no more of that nonsense. I’m here today to say, “I was wrong chicken thigh. You are far superior to the breast.” Before, I ate whole wheat pasta for dinner constantly. Now, we have chicken thighs sometimes three times a week, which probably means that MM is getting sick of them, but I’m not. And I’m the one cooking. So that’s his problem. And yes, chicken thighs are a little fattier than chicken breasts, but that is why they are so good. Fat is your friend (not your best friend otherwise I’d be eating a pint of ice cream for dinner every night, but a good friend, someone you know is going to be there for you on a regular basis the way a good friend should be, in small doses and whatnot).

Here are a few recipes I have come to love. Trust me, if I’m cooking these, they are highly rated (by the internet community), healthy, and (most importantly) easy.

Spicy Honey-brushed Chicken Thighs
Pollo Fajitas
Chipotle Chicken and Rice (I do the rice separate in this recipe and just mix it all together at the end)
Teriyaki Chicken Thighs
Oven Fried Chicken
Orange-Balsamic Glazed Chicken

You’re welcome.

P.S. If you have a good chicken recipe you’d like to share, please send it my way.

Stuff I Shouldn’t Care About: Sex and the City 2

2010-06-15T09:35:00.001-07:00

Well, I’m fashionably late to this party, yes? I saw the movie a full 10 days ago. I planned on writing something, but forgot, which probably says a lot about how much of an impression the movie left on me. But, I still want to say something damn it because I am woman, hear me roar. Or something.

Here’s the thing about Sex and the City 2. It’s bad. You’ve probably heard this a dozen and a half times from every movie critic, blogger, and media commentator out there. But, they aren’t just saying it’s bad. They’re saying it’s horrifying; it’s offensive; it’s an abomination; etc.

When promos for the movie first began airing, I was excited. I knew it wasn’t going to be a great work of cinematic art. But great works of cinematic arts aren’t really my thing. But then the reviews started rolling in. At first they were tentatively negative, then downright bad, then excruciatingly ugly. The fear that I would walk out of the theatre feeling distraught at the offensiveness of the movie, ashamed that I’m an American or something made me think twice about going to see it.

But I went anyway.

Expecting to be stomach-turning disgusted at the behavior of four middle-aged American women in the Middle East was probably the best way to see the movie because I walked away thinking, “That wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone said it would be.” Now don’t get me wrong. The movie is not good. But the real crime of the movie is not Samantha screaming at a crowd of men in Abu Dhabi about sex and condoms; it’s what the writers have done to these characters. This is common though: A series becomes popular primarily because of the quirky yet lovable and relatable characters. But as the series drags on, the writers choose to magnify the quirky traits, which cause the characters to lose what makes them relatable (coughTheOfficecough). All that’s left are caricatures.

That’s my number one issue here. Carrie, who was always aired on the side of self-absorbed with a serious case of “the grass is always greener” syndrome, is only that and lacks any redeeming qualities (Remember when we all thought we all thought we were “a Carrie?”). Charlotte maintains a state of denial. Her main concern in life is losing her nanny who doesn’t wear a bra (I mean, seriously SATC 2, no woman with breasts that large would jump around braless. It’s painful). The writers seem to have no idea what they to do with Miranda, so they make her the “funny gal,” who inserts one liners into the conversations taking place around her. And finally, Samantha is over-sexed. There’s really not much more of to the story than that. They take these four women and plunk them down in the desert to be self-absorbed, clueless, obnoxious, over-sexed, and sarcastic somewhere other than New York.

My other beef with the characters in this movie is what the writers choose to do with Aiden. Why did ruin Aiden? Why would they make the show’s perennial good guy into a creepy married dude who shamelessly hits on his ex-(also married) girlfriend? That’s not who Aiden is. He’s not that guy. But, assuming there will not be a SATC 3, that’s what we’re left with: Aiden, 3,000 miles away from his wife and three kids, trying to get it on with his ex-girlfriend who treated him like crap. Come on!

Sure there are parts of the movie that are kind of offensive, but there is context when you are watching the film. A good explanation as to how these parts of the movie have been blown out of portion can be read here. And all the criticism about the amount of consumerism is fair… I guess… but what are we supposed to expect? These women are all rich New Yorkers. They were rich New Yorkers when the series ended. And they were rich New Yorkers in the first movie. I know that the times, they have ‘a changed, but what did we think was going to happen? Suddenly Carrie would be shopping at Payless for her shoes?

My point here is that seeing this movie will not induce vomiting unlike what most of the reviews have told you. It’s bad, but there’s entertaining parts (unintentionally hilarious parts like when they have Samantha dressed up like she belongs on the front of a sarcophagus) and it’s like, whatever. If you want to see it, see it with only a small amount of shame.

The Road Ahead

2010-06-10T11:19:00.001-07:00

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Lou, why am I staring at a picture of an ugly-ass house?” Well, I’ll tell you. That ugly-ass house will (fingers crossed, knock on wood, etc.) eventually be owned and occupied by myself and MM.

MM and I admitted to ourselves a long time ago that buying a house and leaving the city (read: moving to the suburbs) was eventually going to happen. Based on our circumstances—the need for MM to be closer to his job in the suburbs, the desire to buy a single-family home rather than a condo, and the reality of home prices in the city versus out of the city—this was inevitable… eventually. Eventually just always happens a little bit sooner than you are expecting it to.

In February, for some reason, MM decided it was time to start looking. I didn’t necessarily disagree, but I also didn’t think that I would walk into the first house suggested to us and say, “This is it,” without a doubt in my mind—especially considering that the house we walked into was the one pictured above.

And that’s not even the half of it. The house was listed as a short sale, and it’s clear that the owners left in the hurry. Their young daughter’s clothing and toys were left behind as well as bills, paperwork, important documents, etc. There’s even a wedding dress in the basement. But there the refrigerator is gone, along with the dishwasher and the washer and dryer.

I have to assume that abandoning a house and leaving behind a good portion of your belongings is a situation fraught with sadness and drama. I have no idea what caused them to leave or what factors led to them being forced out. I don’t know where they went. And all of that is weird and sad, and I hope whatever the situation was, it’s been resolved and they are in a better place now.

Stranger still is that I’m a person who believes in random quack shit like energy. One would think that leaving your home in the middle of the night (O.K., I don’t know that they left under the cover of darkness, but that’s how I imagine these things might happen), would cause bad energy and contribute to potential buyers feeling uncomfortable in a house filled with someone else’s belongings that have clearly been left behind.

But that’s just me. I should be uncomfortable in this house, but from the moment MM and I walked in the front door, all I could see was our home. That’s weird, right?

We made an offer on the house at the end of February. Then we waited. And we kept waiting. Several months passed, and finally on June 2, we accepted the bank’s counteroffer and now we’re moving forward. We hope to be closing next month.

This is going to be a really interesting/complicated process. Buying a short sale is a bitch, and we’ve chosen an FHA loan that will allow us to include the cost of the renovation (and there will be a lot of renovation) in the loan. Of course, choosing a loan product that is insured by the government requires a shit-ton more paperwork than a normal loan, so I’m hoping I can write a little bit about that process as we go through it. Maybe it will be helpful!? Maybe not. And of course, as we move forward with the renovation, I will keep you updated. And, the next time I go back to the house I plan to do a video tour, which I’d like to post here. So, if you care about these kinds of things, there’s a lot to look forward to!

Stuff I Shouldn’t Care About: The Biggest Loser Finale

2010-05-25T07:18:00.000-07:00

OMFG. Season… I don’t know what season this is… of the Biggest Loser ends tonight. Set your DVRs! Holy shit!

Confession time: I’m hooked on this show, if only in a love/hate kind of way. I hate the first weeks of the show, which tend to focus on extremely overweight people falling off treadmills and crying. It’s exploitive, bottom line. I hate when Jillian tries to play therapist to each and every contestant. Sure, I love Jillian, but the Dr. Michaels routine seems like it could end up in a lawsuit considering she’s not a mental health professional. And I hate the way they shoehorn multiple product placements into each two hour-long episode (I also hate that the episodes are two hours long) by showcasing the contestants being “taught” how to “use” things like “Subway sandwiches” and “Jenny-O turkey.”

But I still tune in, DVR-style, so I can fast forward through the sappy heart-to-hearts with the trainers and the bullshit tutorials on how to use Extra brand gum as part of a healthy weight loss plan. I do enjoy seeing the contestants, once they stop falling off the treadmills, transform. I love watching them realize that they are stronger than they thought they were. I love seeing them run the “Biggest Loser Marathon,” which the show has now staged three times (and mark my words, in the near future you and I will have the opportunity to sign up for a Biggest Loser-branded marathon).

This season has been pretty good because the majority of the contestants have been likable. The confirmed final two contestants are: Ashley and Mike. Ashley, the largest female contestant every included on the show, seems like a bit of a reformed party girl, but definitely nice. Mike is from Chicago, and he is the largest male contestant every included on the show. Mike is practically giddy about his weight loss/new life, which is beginning to remind me of an ex-boyfriend who gained then lost a lot of weight and acted a little crazy for awhile. He (the ex-boyfriend) had a lot of feelings. But Mike seems like a good guy. I’d be happy to see him or Ashley win.

Then there are two contestants who are battling it out to be in the finale. America votes! We decide their fate! Etc.! You can vote for Koli, who seemed OK at first but has become a little less… um… personable over the final weeks of the show. During the time the contestants went home for thirty days, Koli temporary moved to Vegas because… wait? What? Why the hell did he do that? No one knows. He needed to “focus” or something. He was living in an apartment with like 14 guys. What was up with that? How does that help one “focus?”

Or you could vote for Daris, the nice kid from the south who ran the Biggest Loser Marathon in four hours. Four hours! Holy shit! I can only dream of a marathon time like that. What an athlete! What an inspiration! Oh… but he gained two pounds at their final weigh in. Jillian and Bob saw this weight gain and went a little batshit crazy on his ass.

Now, maybe you’ve trained for a marathon. Maybe you haven’t. Jillian and Bob, well, they fall into that second category. Now, Daris admitted that he was staying up snacking in the middle of the night, and yes, he probably shouldn’t have done that, but when you train for a marathon—especially the first time you train for a marathon—you are hungry. In many (most) cases, you do not lose weight. Sometimes, you gain a little weight. That is truth.

Now I see very clearly where Daris made his mistake: He chose to train for a marathon, rather than train for The Biggest Loser. Training to be the winner of The Biggest Loser is more about sticking to 1200 or 1500 calories or whatever their individual food plan is. It’s less about endurance athletic training. That’s why Speedy D literally smoked the rest of the field during the marathon. The next person to finish was a full two hours behind Daris, and clearly hurting way more than Daris.

I cast my vote. I did. I logged on to NBC.com and voted for Daris because I really think he’s a pretty great kid who doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s usually worth hearing. And, I’ve taken a few “pulse checks” on the Internet to see which way the tide is flowing. It seems close, but as much as I don’t want to admit it, I think Koli is going to win America’s support.

Now herein lies the problem with The Biggest Loser. First of all, many of these contestants will gain back some, if not all, of their weight back. But if I was a betting (wo)man, I’d put my money on the kid who set and reached a goal of running a four hour marathon as the someone who is more likely to lead a healthy and active life over the long term. The Biggest Loser really isn’t about that though. The Biggest Loser, at the very core of it’s being, is about obese people losing as much weight as humanly possibly as fast as humanly possible (a concept that gets redefined every season). It’s not about being as healthy as possible. Now I don’t doubt that many of these contestants will be turned on to more active lifestyles, but that’s not what the grand prize rewards. The grand prize rewards weight loss, not miles run, not marathon times, not love of the game (a game other than The Biggest Loser).

I’m Team Daris. You should be too.

So, that’s my Biggest Loser Rant. You are welcome.

Care to Join me?

2010-01-08T11:10:00.000-08:00

You can find my latest here...

The Deep End

2009-12-22T18:34:00.000-08:00

What's this hmmmmm?

Making My List.

2009-12-21T09:13:00.001-08:00

Shhh... don’t tell anyone, but I’m spending the first of my last two days at “work” putting together my shopping list for Christmas morning brunch...

Please read this post at http://www.louwrites.com/. And don't forget to update your reader...

12 Days of Bliss-mas

2009-12-20T10:14:00.001-08:00

Read this post at http://www.louwrites.com/.

I am one of those lucky people who works for an organization that actually shuts down between Christmas and New Years. And yes, I still get paid. Technically, I am “working” until next Tuesday, but with a good portion of my office already gone for vacation, it’s hard to feel like these last few days before my 12 days of bliss-mas actually count as work.

Since MM and I will be spending the holiday in Chicago, I will have ample time to work on house projects that I have been putting off since the wedding.

Project #1: Finish the thank you notes
No. Guys. Seriously. Like, for real this time. The truth is, I’m at the end of the road with the thank you notes and I only have about 15 left on the list, but after writing about 7 dozen notes, I simply do not care to write anymore. However, this is not something I want hanging over my head in the new year.

Project #2: Organize the storage closest
This closet is a thorn in my side. I clean it up, clean it out, and inevitably, I need to find something that is buried in a box somewhere in the back of the closest, and I spend a few hours dumping out every single container looking for whatever it is I decided I had to find. Guess what? When I put it all back, I usually just shove it back into the closest, boxed up or not, I don’t care, I just don’t want to see. But this time… the time is going to be different. I have an entire plan (in my head) that involves clear containers and labels, not to mention a massive trash bag and a pile for Goodwill.

Project #3: Clean up the spare bedroom
I don’t even know how this happened, but the spare bedroom… oh man… if my whole house looked like this, I’d be a prime candidate for the show “Hoarders.” It all started when I was unhappy with my dress options for an engagement party, so I dragged two bins of clothing out of the storage closest and then dumped them on the floor of the spare bedroom trying to find something else to wear. Yep. You guessed it…. Yours truly never picked it up. And the problem snowballed from there. The room has become a catchall for all the random shit that collects in every other room of the house.

Project #4: Do something with that pile for Goodwill
Perhaps, I can actually take that every growing pile of stuff we no longer need/want to Goodwill. This is a secondary project that involves projects #2 and #3 to be successful.

Remember that time...

2009-12-17T12:39:00.000-08:00

I threatened to move my blog?

No?

Well, I've been sitting on the domain www.louwrites.com for a few years. For whatever reason, I feel now is the time to make the move. I'll be posting double posting and then eventually, I'll stop posting here. Please update/add me to your feed reader.

Hard for the Money

2009-12-16T08:16:00.000-08:00

Recently I achieved something significant that I would like to share here. I paid off my credit card. OK… it wasn’t I so much as we, but it’s significant all the same.

I’ve never been out of control with credit cards. I take that back. I realized fairly quickly that I had the potential to be out of control with credit cards, and I stopped using them. However, sometimes life intervenes and you find yourself with a 0% interest rate credit card and the need to buy a mattress, a couch, and a dining room table. In other words, you (and by "you," I mean "I") moved out of the condo you shared with your (ex-) boyfriend with very few possessions, and at 27 years old, you felt like you deserved to own furniture that wasn’t found in a Chicago alleyway .

Were there other options (Craigslist, Ikea, Salvation Army)? Of course there were, but at the time I felt like I deserved a couple of decent pieces of furniture after the “ordeal” I had been through, not to mention that moving always sets you back a little bit between security deposits, U-Hauls, random new stuff that you didn't realize you would need like a trash can in the bathroom or a rack for drying dishes... you get my drift. Somehow, I managed to move my credit card balance from one 0% interest rate card to another, and then another, which seemed like a great deal, but on the flip side, enabled me to not pay off the card.

Eventually, I decided enough was enough. I kept the balance on a fairly low-interest rate card, and set out to pay it off. It took me two years of paying a minimum of $300 a month, plus a few larger chunk payments here and there when I could afford it. Finally, after I wrote dozens of thank you notes expressing our gratitude for cash that would be put toward our “new home fund,” MM and I decided that part of our wedding money would be best used to pay off the remaining, fairly small, and definitely manageable balance. I doubt that would have sounded appropriate in a thank you note though.

"Dear Aunt So-and-So: Thank you so much for the check. We will be using to pay for an item Lou bought three years ago. We so appreciate you thinking of us on our special day. Love n' Stuff, Lou and MM."

Why am I telling you this? I don’t know. Because I like sharing, I suppose, and as sucky as it is to suddenly find yourself with a decent amount of credit card debt, it’s something a lot of people deal with (most people?), and second, I feel ready to buck the societal taboo that has kept me from openly discussing money matters with friends. I’m not suggesting that we should all walk around with our salaries glued to our foreheads (though there are arguments for that), but discussing strategies on how to save or how to budget or how to get out of debt or what some of these financial products actually are can be enlightening.

Not talking about money only helps fuel the confusion that allows some financial institutions to go nuts with our cash, and pretending like debt doesn't exist, usually only makes things worse. As I get older, decisions like “buying a house” and “starting a family” are much more defined short-term life goals versus some vague thing that may happen someday who-knows-when. Ignoring financial matters at this point is not an option nor is simply treating money as "this is my salary; this is what I can spend," so why not talk about it?

MM and I have promised to spend part of our winter vacation putting together a budget that will allow us to beef up our savings significantly as we look toward the suburbs (yikes!) and home ownership in the next few years. This is probably something we should have already done, but we’re going to take the downtime we have and use it wisely. Combining assets can be a tricky thing and it demands time and energy and some hard conversations about financial and life goals. In some ways, I'm actually excited about this because I feel it has the potential to be an empowering process.

The World is Changing

2009-12-15T10:24:00.000-08:00

Gather ‘round everybody; it’s announcement time!

I’ve been thinking, and maybe it’s a long time coming, or maybe it doesn’t need to be something I “announce,” but here I am, all “announce-y” and shit. So, without further ado, here it is: I know this blog has never solely focused on running and training for endurance events, but as a four-year veteran (?) of the blogging world, I am officially shedding the theme upon which this blog was founded.

Why? I don’t know. Maybe because 2009 has been such a huge life-changing year for me, and there’s so much more I have to say that falls outside the realm of running. Maybe it’s because I decided I needed a “break” from something, only the more I thought about it, I determined it wasn’t my blog. This isn’t to say I won’t write about running (or that I am abandoning running), but I do not plan on putting an official 2010 season together with multiple long distance races beyond a half marathon or two (or three—old habits, you know). But as far as half marathons go, I am comfortable with the amount of time training takes, and while they are challenging, it is not a life-suck like other longer-distance endurance events. Plus, it gives me solid amounts of time to ponder the meaning of life and shit with my running buddies.

When I started this little “side project” to document my training for my first half marathon in 2006, I don’t think it even crossed my mind that I would still be blogging three and a half years later with no end in sight. For awhile, I became nervous about who was reading this blog, and I stuck to topics that seemed “safe.” And honestly, I don’t know who is reading anymore. All I know is that there are 26 subscriptions to “A View from the Park” on Google Reader, and 25 of those people are not me.

Though I definitely plan to continue writing about working out, running, training when and if I decide to sign up for an event, etc., I hope you’ll all be kind and stick with me as I move out of my comfort zone. Hopefully, I won’t offend everyone in the process or embarrass myself, but I’m trying to stop worrying about pointless crap like that.

So here we are, and I’m thirty and married and back in school and at a job I don’t hate, and life is changing. There are things to discuss.

First Christmas

2009-12-07T10:42:00.000-08:00

MM and I will be spending our first Christmas as people married to each other in Chicago this year. It will be the first time I have ever not gone "home" to Ohio for Christmas so... maybe more on that later...

Since we'll be spending at least part of the Christmas holiday in our apartment, I decided that a tree was non-negotiable this year. It's not the best photo, but I wrapped our tree in gold sparkly ribbon and used mostly glass red and gold ornaments. The bird was his addition, but it's grown on me, and I'm pretty happy with the overall result:

Oh Christmas Tree!

The Big Coat

2009-12-03T12:19:00.001-08:00

Well, the other shoe dropped. It’s officially ass cold and snowing outside, and this morning, I broke out the big coat.

Maybe you live in a more temperate and you don’t have a “big coat,” or perhaps you don’t even understand the difference between a big coat and that cute pea coat you wear when it’s “cold” in… oh I don’t know… south of the Mason-Dixon line.

This is the big coat:

If you live in Chicago, you own this coat. It’s practically mandated that you buy one when you move here.

Flattering too, isn't it? Doesn't make you look at all like this:

The List

2009-11-06T14:48:00.000-08:00

Dear Internetz,

How can I polish off the remaining 25 minutes of work for the week of November 2, 2009? A blog post! That’s how.

Do you remembethat? Maybe it didn’t, but for me, as I’ve gotten older, “weekend,” has become less “sleep in and watch Sex and the City reruns,” (aka my early through mid-twenties) and more “HOW MANY CHORES CAN I MANAGE TO CRAM INTO THE NEXT 48 HOURS AND STILL HAVE A FEW HOURS LEFT TO SLEEP MORE THAN SIX HOURS A NIGHT AND DO SOMETHING FUN AND SIT ON THE COUCH AND CATCH UP WITH THE TIVO?” I’m actually screaming when I ask my brain that question.

“Lou, why are you screaming?” asks the audience. Because it’s not actually possible. But here it is, The Weekend List:

Finish writing wedding thank you notes. I gave myself until Thanksgiving to finish these, and I had been chipping away at them pretty well until the reality of full-time work, part-time school set in. Now I just feel like a slacker, and I just want them off my list.
Workout. I’ve started doing the circuit training workout from Jillian Micheal's book, “Winning By Losing.” This involves four painful circuit training days a week. My goal is to the make it to the gym both Saturday and Sunday morning.
Finish project 1 of 3 for graduate class. I’m meeting with my partner tomorrow hoping we can bang that shit out pronto. I’ve realized that my professor grades based on whether or not you turn something in, so I’m pretty confident that as long as we slap something together that is mildly meaningful, we’ll be fine.
Make a dinner and a lunch that will last the week (or at least a few days). I don’t even need to grocery shop this weekend (miracle!), but for lack of time, I froze the meat I bought on Tuesday so that I could make chicken salad and chili over the weekend and have them as standby meals for the week.
Clean house. Always and forever.

Aren’t you glad that both you and I know what I need to get done this weekend?

Nine minutes to go...

New Records

2009-11-01T15:29:00.000-08:00

It may have *only* been a 5K, but I fought like hell for it. Mark it down folks: November 1, 2009, Hot Chocolate 5K, 31:16 (10:04 pace) place 1,667 out of 4,473.

Disconnect

2009-10-30T07:57:00.000-07:00

I’ve probably mentioned this in the past, but I have a bit of a contentious relationship with my gym. Of course there are a range of people who workout where I workout, but mostly, my gym is an aging frat boy heaven. In general, I have no problem ignoring this fact, even when I use weight room, which has an air of “No Girls Aloud,” but it is what it is.

I don’t mind it so much, and lately, I'm so used to it, I barely notice. But last night, when I walked into the gym, tired, starving, and PMSing, I was hit with a full frontal assault of gym staff dressed in their Halloween finest, which of course meant that every woman looked as though she was an extra on the set of The Dukes of Hazard (sexy farmhand?).

Worthy of an eye roll to say the least. I expect them to young; I expect them to weigh under 115 pounds; I expect them to be tan in the middle of winter and overly made up for the gym; I can even expect that on Halloween, the gals of Aging Frat Boy Athletic Club will take the opportunity to show as much skin as is legally possible.

I changed. I thought about how tired and hungry I was. But, I sucked it up, and headed to the treadmills. That’s when I smelled it. Food. Now granted, I had smelled food when I was heading to the train, while I was sitting on the train, and at first, I assumed it was my state of hunger/PMS creating a mirage.

Alas. I was wrong. It was not my imagination. Approximately 10 feet in front of my treadmill was a table filled with pizza, pasta, salad, bagels, and various other goodies from nearby takeout restaurants. Apparently, it was customer appreciation day.

Let’s be serious gym management. I understand that having free food is a nice way to “thank” your customers. But your customers are people who are coming to a gym, who are making a conscious choice to do something healthy, and being confronted with six kinds of takeout upon starting my workout is more a test than a reward. I felt like a Biggest Loser contestant staring at the hard-bodied gym employees while I debated whether or not to indulge in pizza. Somehow I managed to keep myself away from the table of food. It just seemed a little unfair that I had made a healthy decision to go to the gym only to be tempted to have an unhealthy dinner.

I speak only for myself. Not everyone who goes to the gym is like me, as in, not everyone has to fight to not overeat like I sometimes feel like I do. Maybe it wasn’t a struggle for most people who were there yesterday, but I can’t imagine I was the only one who walked in and thought, “Are you kidding me?”

Everything Old is New Again

2009-10-22T10:50:00.000-07:00

In light of my new initiative, I decided it was time to set out on my own rather than follow someone else’s “diet” plan. I don’t want to diet. I do not want to mess with point systems, pre-made food, expensive services, books, fads, other equipment, shakes, pills, supplements, or a mess of “helpful” tips and articles about weight loss, diet, and exercise emailed to me multiple times a day. I want to know simple, quantitative information. I want to base the majority of this attempt on the very cut and dry equation of calories in vs. calories out, and tweak other nutrients as necessary. I want information; I want it to be up to me how I use that information; and I want to go on living my life.

There are a lot of free tools on the Internet that provide this type of tracking. I considered SparkPeople, but there’s so much other stuff going on there. I opted, instead, to pay for a site, $9 a month. It’s called myfooddiary.com. And I think it was the right choice:

The user interface is very clean. The reporting is extremely clear about telling you exactly how many calories you can eat to reach your goals, whatever they might be. It changes the amount of food I can eat based on how much I exercise. And, the kicker, which really sold me, is that it’s mobile Web site, is clean, works on my Google Phone, and is very easy to use. That way, in my new job where I sit in the middle of cube land (I do miss having an office), I can discretely track my meals on my phone rather than hanging out on the Web site all day.
A couple snapshots of the interface:

Clean, simple, easy.

Though I think including items like “No dessert!” is a little cheesy for this “At a glance” section, I have generally found the information that is included in this chart very helpful. Like, for instance, I eat a ton of sodium. I honestly had no idea.

Then, it will tell me how many calories I have left at any given time of the day: how many I can eat to “maintain,” to “lose 1 lb per week” and to “lose 1.3 lbs per week.” That way, I know if I have a snack attack at 9pm, I have plenty of calories to work with. I also know that “If every day were like today,” I’d have a very successful week.

In addition to this being motivating information, it’s practical. I know that there are days when I can plan exactly what I want to eat, and days when I will go out and let loose. This type of information is empowering because I don’t always have to hit those “lose” targets. If I hit the maintain targets once or twice a week, I will still have a net lose.

So far, I’m very happy with it .

Let’s Reminisce: The Wedding

2009-10-09T20:05:00.000-07:00

Can you believe it's been almost two months since the big ol' wedding? Yes, now I'm just old and married. It is good times though, and less stressful than say... planning a wedding. Am I right?

Of course I am.

In the confusion and craziness of the pre-ceremony wedding day preparation, MM's running/triathlon buddy and groomsman D managed to get his hands on my phone and used the opportunity to text MM the following: I can't do it. I'm sorry. I'm running away with D.

My sister Sarah, the maid of honor laces up the back of my dress.

The bridesmaids (from left to right): Anastasia, @, Kelley, Sarah, and running buddy Meg.

MM escorts his mom down the aisle. Our wedding was outdoors at Rabbit Run Inn, a bed and breakfast in Sawyer Michigan.

The infamous Lars, my sister's significant other, stepped in and saved the day when I dropped the ball (hell, I didn't even pick up the ball) on ceremony music. As you can see, the weather was touch and go. I managed to not have a meltdown, and we all went with the flow. Notice that the piano is partially covered by a tarp.

With the help of her significant other (and a little bit of editing from yours truly), @ wrote our "Couples Story," which she read during the ceremony. It was a big hit with the audience. Really the entire ceremony was perfect. Our officiant, a woman, had a sort of Unitarian/everything-but-the-kitchen-sink religious/spiritual background, and she was fantastic. Her advice and the various parts of the ceremony MM and I chose were extremely heartfelt, but also very practical and realistic about the meaning of marriage. I'm so glad we went this route instead of forcing an overtly religious ceremony to fit our pretty much non-religious ideals and lifestyle. This was definitely more meaningful for us.

And then it really started raining. The wedding party went into the gazebo and everyone else put up their umbrellas. People were good sports about it.

It's official. He's stuck with me.

After the ceremony, prior to the reception, we had wine and cheese at the Rabbit Run Inn. Since the weather was still touch and go, we all crowded into the house. It was tight, but it worked.

The wine.

The cheese.

Running buddy Lindy (who finished the Chicago Marathon on Sunday btw) is an amazing baker. If you ever need cookies for any reason, you need to order from her. These are the most amazing sugar cookies ever.

Sarah and MM's best man both gave hilarious and sweet speeches. I believe this is the reaction to MM's best man's slightly inappropriate joke. It was just enough to get the crowd going without going to far. Hilarious stuff people. Photo credit.

The dining room at Soe Cafe.

We did our first dance to Winter Song, which was a little weird considering it was August and the song is technically a holiday tune. However, it's beautiful, and MM and I struggled to come up with something to dance to. Once we found this song, we went with it. Photo credit.

This is my mom who appears to be at a funeral, but no! She is just watching our first dance. This is one of my favorite photos. I laugh every time I see it, which I think makes me a horrible daughter.

And then things got a little crazy. Oh yes, I probably should have put down the wine glass at some point in the evening, but I failed to do so. No matter, it was great fun. By the time the DJ announced the last song (which was Outkast's Hey Ya), the dance floor--the restaurant's screened in porch--was packed and people were "shaking it" like their lives depended on it. Which is, of course, exactly what I wanted.

My only regrets are that I did not stand up straighter during the day (mom was right... damnit!) and that we didn't have the party go a little bit longer. Last call was at 11pm, it felt like we had just gotten there. I think those are OK "regrets."

Other than that, if I had had a vision of my perfect wedding when I started this madness, this would have been it. I'm so glad we took a chance and chose some non-traditional venues and moved the wedding from Chicago to Sawyer. I'm thrilled with the way everything turned out: from wedding dress #3 to the colors, the flowers, the music, and the food to the fact that we paid extra to bring the DJ and the officiant from Chicago (totally the right call). And of course there was our wonderful friends and family who showed up to celebrate. My wedding party was fantastic and several other friends pitched in to make sure the day went smoothly. I realize that I am really lucky to have so many fantastic friends in my life, some who I've known for a decade or two, some who I've met in the last couple years.

Our wedding was expensive--basically every wedding that goes beyond a courthouse is--but in my opinion, it was worth every penny. This, I imagine, is probably how you should feel after something like this. Buyer's remorse is no fun. If you're going to do it, set a budget, do your best to stay in that budget and then just go with it. I am so glad we did what we could to make this special. We made some serious budget conscious decisions that turned out fantastic, and we made some not-so-budget-conscious decisions that turned out fantastic. It's all about balance.

When we dropped off my sister and Lars at O'Hare the next day, I cried to MM the whole way home. I had kept it together for three days, and I never realized until it was happening that my wedding was probably the only time in my life that I will have all my people--friends and family--together in one place happy and celebrating.

That's the downside to all this. On one hand it's a relief that it's over and you can go back to "normal" life, but it's sad to know that it will never happen again. I think some brides struggle far more than I did with post-wedding blues. But it was a little bit depressing for a couple of days (a few days in Mexico usually helps cure this, I'm told).

You have to move on, and MM and I have, possibly because we had no choice: He's got a new job at work; I'm in school and still settling into my new position; We're trying to balance our hobbies, our friends, work and school, and the desire to watch television. Maybe that's just me. Anyway, life moves forward, and MM and I have a lot of good times in front of us. We're lucky we're going to get to experience it together.

Taking Stock

2009-10-08T10:32:00.001-07:00

The Chicago Marathon is approaching. I don’t know how I’m going to feel standing out there, a part of the crowd on Sunday, but I do know that right now, with all that I have had going on the last three months, I’m somewhat relieved that there was something that I could let myself let go. I may be disappointed come Sunday when I jump in with Lindy for her last miles, but doubt I’m in for any long term regret.

As I mentioned last week, taking on school has proved to be harder than I imagined. However, I’m loving it. The three hours of class on Monday nights seems to fly by, which is a miracle in and of itself, but moreover, I’m eager to participate each class; I’m excited about my group’s final project (which is going to be awesome, and I’ve already taken on the roll of group’s slightly annoying, overly enthusiastic cheerleader); and I’m looking forward to picking a topic for a bibliography I have to put together. I’m finding out all this stuff about something I have loved for a really long time: writing. Who knew you could study it, right?

Regardless of my slightly-annoying, overly enthusiastic attitude, I’ve felt the need to take stock lately of what is important to me, and how I would like to see the next five years or so of my life play out. It’s an exercise that can become a bit obsessive in a bad way, because there is no actual way of controlling these things.

But to be frank with you audience, there are some very big decisions that MM and I plan to make in the next five years, i.e. Do we want to buy a home, and more importantly, do we want to leave the city and head to the suburbs (the horror!)? Do we want to start (and perhaps finish having) a family? Since my education is being paid for in full, I have to do well at this job and be moderately happy enough to stick it out until I’m done with school… at the very least. If that’s the case, do I really want it to take me four years to finish this degree? Or do I need to start doubling up on classes each quarter so I can finish in 2 years? And beyond the degree, is going on to a PhD something I could be serious about? And if I don’t want to go on for a PhD, what are my career options within the University or elsewhere in Chicago?

I know I probably shouldn’t be writing these things on my blog, mostly because the topic of having kids seems really taboo for some reason. Maybe that’s just my prejudice and not reality?

Anyway, I don’t need to figure all this stuff out right this very second. Sometimes I just like to write down what I’m thinking about. I do know this: This job is WAY (like a million times and then some) better than the clusterfuck of a job I left in June. And of course there is the whole sweet deal, free education thing. I am very lucky, and I do not take that for granted, but if there is anything I keep learning it’s that marketing is not where I want to be. Either I’ll tough it out until I have a good reason and the resources to quit or I’ll find something I love. It might be a naïve, idealist proposition, and I maybe I should know better at my age. But, I’m optimistic.

To The Streets

2009-10-04T20:28:00.000-07:00

Five measly miles and my legs are sore. Achy sore, not needs-a-good-stretch sore. Not sure what's up with that.

Saturday morning, I took my running to the lakefront path for the first time since my "injury." I was going to run approximately four miles, but I was having such a lovely time that I decided to add a little distance to that destination. So five it was.

Lovely doesn't even begin to describe it. There are a lot of people out there who don't run (yet). I was one of those people, and the idea of running down the block much less five miles was horrifying. And it's very hard to verbalize, the thing that keeps one coming back to the pavement, that forces us to endure pain and can often lead to injuries. But when I have a good run, honest to God, I feel like I am capable of anything, like the keys to the universe have been handed to me, and an amazing life is right here in front of me, and is mine for the living. It makes so grateful for the present, for the journey and how far we can travel in such short periods of time, and it makes me more than hopeful--downright giddy sometimes--about what the future might hold.

I don't know that this is everyone's experience. I doubt it is, but like so many things, the reason we runners run is probably as universal as it is individual. And sure, there are the more bland reasons to run, like your health and blah blah blah, and I suppose that that's why most of started moving in the first place. But, when I make bold statements like, "running changed my life," (Hell, I started a blog to back up that sentiment) it is without a hint of sarcasm that I do so. I will never ever ever stop running as long as I can run. And it's not about marathons or half marathons or 5ks or PRs. Nope. Those things are fun, but in the larger sense, there is no better way to know that you're alive than to run as far as you can manage.

Remind me of this one week from now when my self-imposed sidelining leads me to be super pissed that the weather at the Chicago Marathon is perfection.

All About Me

2009-10-02T08:23:00.000-07:00

Oh Internetz, it’s occurred to me that my blog has lost its way, strayed if you will, quite a bit from its original mission statement (something about “running,” if I remember correctly)… not to mention, my posting habits over the last six months have been less than par.

For some reason I’ve thought about this blog a lot lately, and I decided, I will never force the direction of the topics I write about, and I will never, possibly ever give it up even if I go through periods of time when I don’t post for months. Though this blog is a highly public, somewhat airbrushed version of my life, it has been really wonderful for me to be able to go through reflect on how much has changed. It’s exciting to think what I might be writing about over the next five years, 10 years.

So… this blog is incredibly self-serving.

OMG. I started school… again… because I’ve completely lost my mind. The program, if I haven’t already mentioned this, is called Writing, Rhetoric, and Discourse. Good times!
I’ll admit, I kind of thought going back to school was going to be… um… easy. Not super easy, but no big deal, one class, one night a week. I watched MM go through a master’s program while working full time, and I always said he took it all too seriously and spent way more time than I ever would studying at the freaking library and whatnot. When I assumed that going back to school would barely make a dent in my cushy little life, I failed to factor in two things:

I have never gone to school and worked. Not worked full time anyway, at a real job that is. I failed to realize that with 40 hours of my week spoken for, finding the time even to half-ass my way through the program is going to be a bit trickier.
I might actually like the program enough that I feel compelled to NOT half-ass my way through it.

Really, it’s no. 2 that’s making all the difference. First of all, I have to break some bad habits. I have learned in approximately 21 years of various types of schooling (geez, I should be a doctor by now) a little about diminishing returns. Basically, the more I study, the harder I work, the more minimal the improvement in my grades (the outcome). So let’s say if I do minimal work, for instance completely bullshit a 10 page paper and write it in two hours, I’ll probably end up somewhere between an A- and a B. Getting to that A doesn’t take twice as much work, it takes about 10 times more work. Worth it? Not when I’ve been completely disinterested in almost everything I’ve studied, especially and most notably at the higher levels of education.

What am I trying to say with all these words? I feel like I’m dealing with some residual “once bitten, twice shy,” feelings from my first master’s program. I am really invested in being excited about this program, about finding a career path that really makes me tick. But, now that I’m actually getting exciting about the program, I’m suspicious, as though I’m convincing myself to like it, but I really hate it.

Whatever. I’m complicated.

In the meantime, I’m changing my habits. I’m going to the library, like constantly; I’m rereading like every article and taking notes, making outlines, preparing myself to actively participate in class. I know, this is what normal people do, but it all feels so different this time.

The Comeback

2009-09-22T06:15:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or is it crazy humid here in Chicago? I was all proud of myself for putting on a cute shirt today, and now I'm pretty sure back sweat is soaking through it. Oh right... like you've never had back sweat. Isn't your life just charmed? Let's face it people. Back sweat happens. It happens to best of us.

But I digress...

Back to the task at hand. Yesterday I did my first run post injury. Doctor's orders were to wait until Wednesday, but I threw caution to the wind and reasoned, "If its going to hurt today, it will hurt on Wednesday." Sound, I think. The good news is that it didn't hurt. I did 10 solid minutes (OK... maybe I did 11 and some change) in the University's scary basement gym, the same place I showered last week after the bathtub/roach/murder by dictionary incident (if words could kill).

Other than the "running on a treadmill in a basement" part, it went well. I think whenever you have an injury you focus in on that part of the body to the point where you can create sort of phantom twinges, and I spent the first couple minutes thinking, "Is that my foot? Am I in pain?" No Lou, you are just fine. If anything its my knee that is not-so-subtly reminding me that I desperately need to cross train. It's the key people; cross training is the key! Never forget this.

Overall, it went well. I'm still not in pain, and I plan to get on the treadmill on Wednesday for 12-15 minutes of running. I'm targeting Saturday, October 3 as my first outdoor run provided everything goes as planned.

At some point, I'm going to post some wedding photos, and I want to catch you up on my latest and greatest adventure, which I like to call, "Master's Degree: The Sequel: Return to Academia." I don't actually call it that, but it sounds riveting, I know. I was there.

Rough Patch

2009-09-17T12:15:00.000-07:00

I’m in the midst of a completely unproductive day. For a few weeks now, I’ve been complaining that I literally have nothing to do at work. And this isn’t a “I have nothing that I want to do,” scenario; I literally have had nothing on my to-do list. I took to reading various University newsletters that were printed in July. Fun and relevant.

But now, lo and behold, I have stuff to do. And here I am, slacking and writing a blog. Why, you ask? Just because I generally suck? I hope not. Have you ever had a morning that starts off so wrong that the wrongness prevents you from salvaging the rest of the day because you simply cannot get past all that wrongness? I’m living this right now. This is the reality of my Thursday.

What could be so terrible you ask?

This morning started like every other weekday morning. I dragged my ass out of bed shortly after 7am into the bathroom where I immediately bent over the tub to turn on the shower. But wait! Sans glasses or contacts, my blurred vision sensed something is not right. A dark spot on floor the tub. Hmmm… what could that be?

I hoped… no… I PRAYED it was a cap to the shampoo or even a large hairball. I put on my glasses. Now that I could accurately identify my surroundings, I peered into the tub.

A COCKROACH.

Its inch or so long fat brown body wasn’t moving, but its antenna was, so it was clearly still alive. I backed away from the tub. I paced around the house several times unsure of what to do. You can’t simply smash a monstrosity like that with a shoe. I called MM. I told him what I just told you. He was not helpful.

Finally, a brainstorm. I grabbed the five inch thick dictionary from the bookshelf, headed back into the bathroom, reached out and positioned it over the bug, and dropped it. I think it is dead. It seemed to spring to life as the book’s shadow closed in, but the book was too big, and the bug wasn’t moving fast enough.

I left. I didn't investigate; I didn't clean it up. I took my clothes, a towel, my shampoo, the hair dryer, and my mascara, and I hightailed it out of there. I took a shower in the basement of one of the university’s building (a group shower no less, though I was the only person in there at the time, thank god) and went to work.

I called MM and bitched my head off until he agreed to call our landlady right that very second (my theory is that she likes him the best). Apparently, she spotted one in her apartment (oh god) and put down poison. The lovely fella (or gal) that showed up this morning, seemingly ingested some of the poison, got back into the wall, and decided that our tub was the best possible spot in the entire two flat to die.

Thanks fucker; your poison-induced, near death stupor ruined my morning.

Of course, now I feel dirty. It’s not necessarily my fault. MM and I do live in Chicago, and things like roaches do happen, regardless of your cleaning habits. But I plan to spend this weekend scrubbing my house from top to bottom, possibly with bleach… possibly with something stronger.

But in the meantime, our landlady (to her credit, she’s a good landlady) is going to put traps in our apartment.

Puke.

If you managed to get through that, you’ve come to the good part! Lucky you!

I had my follow up appointment with the foot doctor yesterday. Things are looking good and I’ve been advised that I can begin “weaning” myself off the boot. I can also begin doing the elliptical trainer and other exercise. If my foot is pain-free by this time next week, I’ve been given the go ahead to run, only 10 minutes though, and on the treadmill. From there, assuming I continue to be pain-free, I can keep adding time to my treadmill runs, and once I hit the 30 minute mark, I can take my show on the road.

Last night, after being tired and bored and whiny at work, I waffled on whether or not I wanted to spend an hour at the gym. I knew that if I didn’t I’d spend the rest of my evening parked on the couch watching American’s Next Top Model and Glee (Watch this please; I do not want to deal with another “It’s such a great show but no one’s watching so we have to cancel” scenario. Remember Arrested Development, people? It’s MM’s new favorite show, according to him, after seeing it twice) and whatever other crap was on.

So I went. I turned on my iPod, choosing to listen to the “Wedding Good Times” mix that I put together for the trip to Sawyer, Michigan with MM, my sister, and my sister’s boyfriend, and I busted a move on the elliptical. Seriously, once I got started I looked longingly at the treadmills, which were nearly all available since the weather was perfect for running yesterday evening. It was all I could do to keep myself from jumping on a treadmill.

Who would have thought that I would be craving the treadmill? One more week.

However, despite my lack of running sadness, it felt great to be at the gym again. I practically skipped home (with my boot on).

As for the marathon, it looks like I’m going to bail on this one. I hate to do it, mostly because I feel like I’m using my injury as an excuse because I don’t feel much like fighting for it this year. And yes, if I wanted to fight for it, the doctor seemed to think that he could get me to the starting line. But really, if my heart’s not in it, isn’t that an even more compelling reason not to toe the line on October 11? Even on the best days, 26.2 miles is a long way to go. It’s been a busy year. Taking on the marathon in addition to a few half marathons was ambitious considering all of the life changes that coincided with training. Right now, I’m undertrained and underwhelmed. Why should I end up in a boot again just to prove to myself that I wanted it when I really don’t?

Careful When Wishing

2009-09-10T12:19:00.000-07:00

This boot is made for walking...

Don't freak out. This looks worse than it is. I went to Athletico yesterday morning for a screening, and they told me that the pain I was experiencing probably wasn’t a stress fracture, but the spot where my foot was bothering me… well… that’s a pretty common place for a stress fracture. To be sure, they said, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to a specialist and get an x-ray.

One of the benefits of being married—well, of me being married, this does not necessarily apply to everyone—is that I am now a card-carrying member of MM’s fancypants insurance that covers everything under the sun, 100%, no questions asked. Uninhibited by the high cost of healthcare, I made that appointment and got that x-ray and the young sport medicine/orthopedic M.D. talked to me, a lot, about what was going on with my foot.
You probably have some frequently asked questions:

What exactly did he say?
“First of all,” he said, “You did the right thing by telling me.”

He didn’t say that.

But he did tell me that, even though there is no fracture, it was smart of me to come to the doctor, rather than waiting a few weeks, continuing to run on it, and winding up with something much more serious than what is going on right now.

So what exactly is going on right now?
He called it a “stress reaction,” which might be a made up thing, but on the spectrum of bones breaking and whatnot, this is exactly the kind of injury (pre-injury?) that could lead to a stress fracture… quickly. It can be caused by overuse or… let’s say (off the top of my head)… running 18 miles after taking a break from running/activity in general for a couple of weeks.

But how do you make it better?
Rest, for starters. No half marathon for Lou this weekend. And, I won’t be running for a minimum of two weeks or until I am pain free, which could be… who knows… never (?!?). But probably not never. Probably two to four weeks since I was smart enough to go in immediately even if I only went in order to show off my fancypants insurance.

Is that all?
Well… no. After the requisite, “rest and no running” speech, he said, “And… you’re not going to like this, but if want to heal as quickly as possible, I recommend you get fitted for a boot.”

A what?
A boot. And I’m not talking about the Canadian word for “about” either.

I know. It seems a bit excessive for a diagnosis that ultimately comes down a little bit of annoying foot pain. But, I took it, mostly because it was free (for me!), and I figured it couldn’t hurt, and really I’ve never had an injury visible enough for strangers to feel compelled to get up and give me a damn seat on the train. But now I look mildly crippled, which works in one’s favor when utilizing public transit. So whatever. I’ve been wearing it for the most part, though I cheat a bit at work, where I am happy to stay planted in my desk chair anyway, so I guess that’s not too taxing for my poor, tired, stressed out foot bone.

And the marathon?
Eh, who really knows? The doctor said based on my fitness level, the fact that this isn’t my first year training for a marathon, that I got treatment early, and that I’ve been not only running, but consistently cross training all season (until now!), it’s still a possibility. According to the doctor, who clearly expects more of me than I expect of myself, I might not be able to run the entire marathon, but rather I will probably need to walk parts of it.

He said that? Really?
Really. I said, “Huh… walk parts of the marathon? Ya don’t say doc…” But not really, I probably just squinted at him incredulously.

Are you sad?
I hate to say it, but I kind of don’t care. I did tell him, “I know runners come in here when they are knee deep in training and their entire life hinges on whether or not they run the marathon, but that’s really not how I feel this year, and right now I’m a lot more concerned about running as my regular cardio activity than I am about toeing the line not matter what it takes on October 11.”

Wow, you’re annoying.
Thanks.

Is that all?
Yes. You can go now. Or, if you’re so compelled, you can leave me well wishes for my speedy “recovery” in the comments section.

Eh… I’m kind of busy right now…

Adventures in Double Digits

2009-09-08T08:43:00.000-07:00

Eventually soon, I will do a recap of the wedding (in pictures!), but right now, I am taking a break from our regularly scheduled programming to recount for you my recent training escapades. Novel, yes?

I mentioned in passing that I did not run for 10 days. On the Thursday before the wedding, running buddy Meg and I had ambitious plans for a 16 mile run. It became clear that 16 miles would be too time-consuming, and we decided that we would do a *mere* 14 mile run. After more thought, that too seemed daunting, so we agreed that 10 miles would be sufficient.

We woke up that Thursday morning to rain, and since both of us had been surviving for weeks on approximately 6 hours of sleep a night, we decided to wait out the weather and enjoy a relaxing morning. When we finally got moving, I figured I didn’t have it in me to go farther than 5 miles, but it turned out to be a great run. We added miles until wedding madness caught up at 7 miles, and time prevented us from going any farther.

MM and I packed enough running paraphernalia to do at least two solid runs in Cabo. But immediately we realized that training runs were not going to be a feasible part of our honeymoon itinerary. Even MM, who is always active and unfazed by difficult running conditions, had no intention of even pretending like we would attempt to run in the 100+ degree, humid Cabo weather on the uneven, unpredictable Cabo sidewalks.

When we returned to reality, I got back into a routine with Meg, but knew that with all I had missed, continuing to train for the marathon would be difficult. Next on the agenda: 18 miles. On Monday morning, during an easy 40 minute run, I realized that my longest run up to this point had been the half marathon a full four weeks earlier.

I mean, let’s be serious folks. Five miles, especially when you’re talking about “a little more than 10” to “almost 20” is quite a jump. I reasoned that I should try it, but I wasn’t going to fool myself, and if I couldn’t do it, I would relinquish my marathon hopes 2009, run another half, and call it a season.

But really, I was hoping for an out. I wanted a shitty run; I wanted to throw in the towel under the guise of prudence for my health and well-being, and I knew going in that my ulterior desire to give up would be thwarted.

I woke up on Saturday to near perfect running weather. After weeks of Saturday morning runs hindered by 5 hours of sleep and the pre-wedding nutritional/stress eating plan of barely 1200 calories a day, I had eaten (a lot), slept, and was ready to go. Lindy and I started the run early, at 6:10am or so instead of waiting for the CES group to start at 6:40. We went south for two miles, then back north to our starting point, where Meg and Freedom Runner met us and we continued on. We took our time—my goal is to finish the marathon under 6 hours, preferably a 5:45, which if I can manage a solid 13 minute mile, is totally doable—staying between a 12:15 and 12:45 minute mile, stopping at the fuel stations and bathrooms, and in general, walking if we needed to.

Freedom Runner kept us entertained with stories until she turned off at Montrose to head home, about 4 miles into our journey north. We still had miles to go. When we reached the end of the path we turned back around and headed toward our starting point. We were joined by another runner, who again, kept us entertained with stories through the next several miles. Unfortunately, when we reached our end point, we were about two and a half miles short of the intended run. On most days, this would prompt me to say something like, “Fifteen and a half miles is good enough,” and head off in search of an everything bagel with chive cream cheese, but not today. I turned back around and headed north to get in my final miles.

I’m not actually sure where I ended up—somewhere between 17 and 18 miles to be sure—but it was a great long run, probably the best run over 10 miles all season. So now what? Am I stuck? After all the glory of a solid long run, I woke up Sunday with a new pain in my left foot, which has yet to subside. And, it definitely feels like a “that’s not right” kind of pain as opposed to an “I’m sore because I ran 18 miles” pain. I think I am going to make an appointment with Athletico to make sure it’s not a stress fracture, and then go from there. I don’t count the marathon as a definite yet, but as long as I am not hurt, I will hold myself to the 20 mile run in two weeks. But first, another half marathon.

One week at a time.

But Not Forgotten

2009-09-03T16:21:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, about a week and a half ago, MM and I went on a real vacation. There was no half marathon, no marathon, no triathlon, no family, big event, or holiday. No... we spent five days sleeping, eating, sunbathing, swimming, sleeping, reading, sleeping some more, and walking around in the blazing hot Cabo San Lucas sun. That's enough to make a couple of newlyweds hungry.

So here it is, in pictures...

Every morning, we were treated this view from the honeymoon suite's private patio.

The Bungalows--think boutique hotel meets bed and breakfast--serves a huge gourmet breakfast every morning. Each breakfast begins with a plate of fruit and fresh-squeezed juice followed by waffles... or a breakfast burrito... or an omelet... you name it, they probably make it and it's amazing.

We were one of three rooms that were occupied at The Bungalows during our honeymoon. We spent a lot of time lounging by the pool all by ourselves. Seriously, we practically had the run of the place.

It was all so stressful, I had to get an hour long massage on the private patio.

After being lazy for several days, we decided one "activity" was in order. We decided that activity would be surfing.

Which looks awesome, but was actually terrifying.

I know you came to this blog in the hopes you would see a photo of MM's foot. So, that whole "surfing adventure" ended with MM "nearly drowning" and cutting his foot up on some rocks.

He was not pleased.

Seriously. He was not happy. Arguably, surfing was my idea.

To cheer him up, we went out to the famous Cabo Wabo to hear some live music and have some cocktails.

MM felt much better once he had this totally manly drink.

Eventually, MM got over his foot and the whole "I nearly drowned out there" nonsense. Our last night, we took a sunset cruise. Yes, we're on a boat.

And we saw some seals!

And then the camera batteries died.

The Honeymoon Is Over

2009-09-01T09:14:00.000-07:00

Gosh there’s so much to catch up on. I’m back in Chicago, back at work, back to training (as of yesterday after a 10 day hiatus), back to reality, etc. It will probably take a series of posts to say all of the things I want to say about the wedding ceremony, the reception, the weekend in general, and of course, the honeymoon. Lucky you, right?

I suppose I never really thought about how I would look back after it was over and relay it to the masses, but I certainly did not realize until we were there, in the moment, that choices we made would end up equaling something that was beautiful, emotional, colorful, fun, and undeniably represented MM and I as individuals and as a couple. I don’t tend to describe much as perfect and it never occurred to me that this story would begin, “It was perfect,” as in “perfect for us.”

But really, if I’m going to give you the whole story, I have to start with the prologue, back up about two weeks before the wedding, and fill you in on one of the details that I left out—first because of shame, and second, after I got over the shame and realized that I had done the right thing, because of general lack of time to write it down.

I bought a third wedding dress. You probably didn’t notice because I don’t expect my readers to keep up with all my costume changes , but the last photo I posted was of a dress that was not ornate Dress #1 (from the famous Filene’s Running of the Brides sale) nor was it the simple Dress #2 (from David’s Bridal). Nope, this was Dress #3, which I bought exactly two weeks before the wedding and cost more than the other two dresses combined… and then some. Crazy? Yes. Crazy like a fox? Um… yes (?).

First off, I was settled on dress #2. I was happy with it; very pleased that I had decided to go with something simpler, which I thought was more “like me.” But, by the second and final fitting, during which the seamstress at David’s Bridal did not even bother to come out and look at the dress, which – I thought – was fine, since the dress zipped up. You see, my concern all along has been about things zipping up. That’s how I started this process, trying on the few size 14 dresses that Filene’s had and praying they zipped up. Over the course of 6 months, I lost almost 25 pounds, but didn’t shed the “I hope it zips up” mentality.

When I got the David’s dress home, I tried it on again only to discover that the top of the dress was so baggy, I could stuff a softball down the front of it. It looked, overall, ill-fitting, which is not the adjective you want to use when you describe your wedding dress.

But that’s really not the whole story. The truth is, I had found out about three weeks earlier that my stepsister had worn the same dress for her wedding. While I tried to not let that bother me, I couldn’t deny that it did, and no amount of altering would change that.

And yes, I did look into altering it further, but after buckets of tears the day after I brought the dress home (aka, two Saturdays before the wedding), I took action. I found a boutique in Lincoln Park that specializes in samples and sells them off the rack. By some miracle, when I called at 11am on Saturday morning, they had an appointment available at noon, even though they only take one bride at a time for an hour appointment and are only open for six hours on Saturday. I explained my "predicament" and the woman on the other end of the phone line said, "Oh yeah, we have girls come in here all the time a week or two before their weddings." Great. I'm not alone in the crazy. I called @, explained the situation through my hysteria, and within about 20 minutes had picked her up and was headed to Lincoln Park. I honestly thought that this would be fruitless, that there would be no way I’d find a dress, and I would have to live with the best option I had.

The dress I bought two hours later was the first dress I tried on. The saleswoman pulled it out of the backroom after I asked if there was anything else, scared (mostly) that what I had pulled out wouldn’t fit me. There was no question even though I walked away and tried to pretend that I was weighing the options of paying for another, more expensive dress that required rush alterations (including removing the cap sleeves to make the dress strapless) two weeks before the wedding. I was kidding myself. With most “big” decisions, I have known the decision I would make in an instant, it was just a matter of time before I admitted it to myself. Within 10 minutes, @ and I turned around and headed back to the store.

I know it seems ridiculous, childish even, to think that a dress made all the difference, but after my first fitting, the shame of buying dress #3 faded, and I knew I had not only made the right choice, but by getting this dress, I had, no doubt, circumvented two weeks of emotional turmoil. The truth is, I know myself well enough to know that if I didn’t feel good about how I looked on my wedding day, getting through all the other stuff was going to be 10 times, maybe 100 times, harder for me. I’m admittedly vain, and trying to “save money” and going with a dress “I liked” and seemed “good enough,” was a stupid thing to do in the first place.

I’m not saying that my philosophy was that money was no object by any means. I’m saying that I should have been smarter about my search. But, in the end, I know that dress was waiting there for me in the backroom (taken off the floor because it was five months old). Maybe in 10 years I’ll realize how silly I was about a dress that I will only wear once, but it was the right choice for me at the time I made it.

Honestly… I think you'll find it difficult to disagree:

Dress #1: Filene's Basement

Please ignore the fact that I looked like shit warmed over in this photo.

Dress #2: David's Bridal

I do think this dress is cute. It's just a lot cuter on other people.

Dress #3: Weddings 826This is the first fitting, pre- the sleeves being chopped off.

P.S. If you happen to know anyone in the market for a wedding dress, I happen to have two for sale, super cheap-like.

Away We Go...

2009-08-20T20:40:00.000-07:00

This is it folks! The next time you see me 'round the Internets, I'll be a married lady. Here's a sneak peek at the goods...

and then there were five

2009-08-17T05:54:00.000-07:00

There's probably not going to be a lot of posting this week. The wedding is a mere five days away, and despite the fact that it has been more than one week since I had a meltdown (yay!), my body seems to be picking up the slack. Something has to fall apart, right? In the last three days I have acquired the following: a fairly deep cut on my hand, a burn on my finger (bith kitchen related), a very small burn on my eye lid (a result of an eyebrow wax), a zit on my neck, and the kicker, today I woke up with a sty on my eyelid. Awesome. I have to believe that all of these little mishaps will work themselves out by Friday... just like I have to believe the weather is going to be good.

So anywho... I am currently en route to work with a planned CVS detour to pick up sty cream. Lovely. I know. Things are busy, but I feel oddly in decent shape with the wedding. The house is clean(ish), honeymoon packing has begun, and all the details are seemingly coming together. I've been sensible about abandoning projects that are taking too much effort for little return (stamping napkins) and I've convinced myself that no one will notice my somewhat shabby homemade card box. Yes I mad my own card box. How crafty of me.

Right now I'm stuck on the train... fucking brown line.

Play My Favorite Song

2009-08-07T07:10:00.000-07:00

You’re probably sick of the wedding chatter by now, but for me, it’s an eat-sleep-breath scenario, so at least I’m blogging about something, right?

The latest (and possibly last?) major element that needs to be finalized is the music. We have a DJ (who, after responding to my emails immediately, has gone mysteriously MIA without setting up our final meeting, and I’ll be honest, this is starting to make me nervous), and while we don't necessarily have to have “play” lists and “do not play” lists, it’s good to give the DJ an idea of what we’d like to hear throughout the night, not to mention, what’s appropriate and not appropriate for our crowd. We have no such lists, not to mention that we don’t even have a first dance song (collective GASP!).

Here’s what we won’t be doing: a father/daughter or mother/son dance; a wedding party dance; married couples dance; bouquet toss; garter toss.

Why? I have my reasons. My dad and I don’t have the best relationship (though he’s stepped up to the plate for the wedding, and I swear, I’ve had more meaningful conversations with him in the last 10 months than in the last 10 years, which counts for something I suppose). Regardless, all of our parents are divorced, some are remarried, and frankly I just don’t feel like calling out the family more than is necessary. We’re keeping it simple.

As for all the “special dances,” we have friends and family in attendance who are single, married, living together, engaged, in long-term, committed relationships, in new relationships, etc., and frankly, as long as everyone is happy, I want all of that to be celebrated rather than to only recognize those who are married. I know a wedding is “about marriage,” but really, I see my wedding as being “about me,” AHEM… “about us,” and our friends and family who want to be there with us regardless of what marital status box they are checking on a tax form.

And yes, no bouquet toss. Five years ago, I would have done it, without question. But more and more, when I’ve been at weddings in the last year or two, it’s not been something I’ve wanted to participate in, and really, it’s always caught by some 10-year-old anyway, so what’s the point? The garter was a non-negotiable. It was never going to happen. Period. End of story.

I hope I’ve not offended anyone. That’s not my intent. This is my wedding, and these are my choices, based largely on our family situations and the style of our reception. I love you all, and if I went to your wedding, it was beautiful (there’s one friend in particular who I keep stealing wedding ideas from, shhhhhh….) and I had a blast, guaranteed, despite the scene I made when I wrestled the bouquet from that junior bridesmaid. Sorry about that.

God, why did I just go into all that?

Anyway, now that everyone thinks I’m anti-family and bouquet tossing, I need your help to build my play list. Tell me, via comments, if you’re at a wedding, what song will get you on to the dance floor?

And don’t make me look like a fool by not commenting, k?

Where You Came From

2009-08-04T07:19:00.001-07:00

Ah man. Just so you know, I was in the middle of finger typing an entire race report on my Google phone when suddenly, POOF! The whole thing disappeared. Oh the horror. It was, without a doubt, the best blog post ever. Probably.

So where were we? Yes. The inaugural Chicago Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon on August 2, 2009. I spent Saturday night preparing for the race--setting out my clothes, filling up water bottles, etc.--or so I thought. Sunday morning it occurred to me that I had forgotten critical items, like oh... for example… my race bib and the timing chip. Preparation became hectic and in my haste to get out the door, I forgot the water bottles for my fuel belt.

Regardless, I felt great. This is probably one of the first races where I did not wait for the starting gun with an overwhelming sense of dread. So, you know… progress, or something.

And we were off. I started the race with running buddies Meg and Lindy. We were clipping along at a solid 11:30 to 11:45 pace. My legs were fresh; I had no stomach issues or random pain. I was good to go. That is until mile 3 when I started to get hungry. Not like, "sure I could eat" hungry, but “pit in my stomach, running on fumes.” hungry, and yes, I ate breakfast. Now this would not be a huge deal or at all out of the ordinary if I had been at… oh say… mile 9. I bring food with me on runs longer than 10 miles now just because I don't like the feeling of being hungry. At mile 3, I ate half of the energy bar that I had brought.

I forged ahead, still feeling pretty good and easily maintaining an 11:30 pace. But within a few more miles, the growling in my stomach forced me to finish my energy bar. Luckily I did bring some sport beans and had those left for later in for the race. By mile 9, those were gone too. However, still feeling good, I knew if I pushed it I would be on track (just barely) for a PR and, maybe, my first sub 2:30:00 half marathon.

I became married to the idea of a PR. I attached all kinds of meaning to it. Think of the awesome blog post I could write: the first race of my 30s; my last race before I change my name. How cool would that be? Three miles from the finish, a mere 5k, I kicked it into high gear. A mile later, two miles from the last aid station and not another one in sight, my dry throat and aching legs forced me to give up. Well, not give up entirely, but I gave in, I started walking. Today would not be a PR.

I fumed for a bit. But then I reasoned, eh… this is my fourth year running the race, and even though it won’t be my best ever, think how far I’ve come. Somehow I’ve managed to wrap weave running through my entire life. Races have become life markers for me, and four years ago, at the Chicago Distance Classic (which was bought this year by the Rock ‘n’ Roll franchise), I was in the process of breaking up with a guy who I lived with; I was struggling to find my place in this city; and I could not have imagined the an impact running would have on the direction of my life.

I started running again. If I hurried, I’d still finish 10 minutes faster than that first Chicago Distance Classic. PRs are fun, but with or without it, a lot has changed in the last four years. And a lot is going to change in the next four, but this will be a constant. I crossed the finish line at 2:39:29. Nice medal too.

Separated At Birth

2009-08-01T17:32:00.001-07:00

Oh decisions. They are hard to make... sometimes that is. The hardest part about this whole wedding mess? The decisions... so very many of them... so little time.

After being wishy-washy about dozens of details from the dress to the cake to the... oh right... state where we would hold the event, I finally decided that I did not need my sister to choose my hairdo thank-you-very-much. Not that she wanted to choose my hairstyle, but I basically put her in charge of styling me ("That's why I hired you.") for the wedding. If sister Sarah said ix-nay, then ix-nay it was.

But I'm not challenged. Ultimately, I know what looks good on me. I can figure it out... sometimes... if I try. So I went at it alone. I paged through hundreds (hundreds!) of photos on theknot.com and weddingchannel.com. I sifted through various styles, most of it prom hair gone bad. I was decidedly--staunchly even--anti-updo. But when I finally happened to find a photo that did not scream "Aquanet abuse," I learned the name of that particular style and simply put that into Google Image search. Within a page or two of results, I found my inspiration.

"side chignon"

It's pronounced "sheen-yon," and yes, I actually had to look that up via that Internets, which are good about those kinds of things. That is when I found this:

That is Jessica Biel, apparently, who was blond for all of 20 seconds recently.

I broke the news to my family when I was in Ohio last week. My sister attempted to hide an ever-so-slight cringe the moment "side..." came out of my mouth. I get it. Done wrong and I'd end up looking like the chick on Napoleon Dynamite. But with my inspiration in hand, I was determined.

Running buddy Meg and @ accompanied me to the salon in Sawyer today for my hair and makeup trial to provide the appropriate level of "you look awesome" support without going overboard or giving me any hint of insincerity.

Maggie, the stylist at Bella Salon and Spa who I might officially be in love with (but not in a threatening to MM kind of way), agreed wholeheartedly with my choice. Apparently I picked something doable for my fine, medium length hair. Um. Yeah. Go me.

Here is Maggie doing my makeup. She also seemed somewhat impressed with my extensive collection of eye shadow duos and trios that I did not even know I had. Some of these items date back to the 1990s. Relics of makeup trends past.

Here's another angle. On the "big day" the looser pieces might be pinned up just a teeny bit more, and the top will be just ever so slightly smoother. But yeah, do you see this? Something special is happening here.

Not the best angle on the hair, but this is the finished product.

I'm not going to lie; I'm fairly pleased with myself and this choice. When we were done, Maggie said, "Do you want me to unpin you?" Um... NO. I'm never going to touch my hair again. It's going to stay like this forever. In fact, when I finally gave in at 8:30pm and began removing bobby pins so I could get to bed (race day is upon us!), I really, truly didn't want to do it. In fact, with eight hours and counting, I realized I loved it even more. Check it off the list.

And yes, you just read and entire post about my hair. You're welcome.

Reasons Being

2009-07-31T06:38:00.000-07:00

The Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon isn’t until Sunday, but I’m already pissed something fierce about this race and making rash declarations of “never again!” Why?

Well first of all, the Rock ‘n’ Roll franchise bought the Chicago Distance Classic, my first half marathon. But sentiment aside, that didn’t bug me so much. This is what bugs me:

From the Final Race Information packet:
You may only pick up your own race packet and number at the Expo – NO EXCEPTIONS!

Huh? And what?

There must be a caveat though… somewhere… for something…

But there’s not. And to add insult, you have to pick up your own packet at McCormick Place, which for those of you who are familiar with Chicago, is completely out of the way, not accessible by public transportation, and is about the size of O’Hare Airport. If that wasn’t bad enough, they are charging $19 to park, whether you’re there for five minutes or five hours.

This is bullshit. I have never participated in a race that didn’t allow someone pick up your packet for you. Even the marathon allows that. This is just a ploy to boost the number of warm bodies they can claim when soliciting exhibitors for the expo. You can bet your money that I will not buy much less even peruse the merchandise.

Fuckers.

And that is how I feel about that.

Five Finds

2009-07-30T08:25:00.001-07:00

Dr. Praeger’s
Have you have heard of this fella, Dr. Praegar? Well, on a whim, I picked up his Tex Mex Veggie Burgers while shopping at Trader Joe’s a few weeks ago. I figured it would taste like a Boca or Morningstar patty, but this guy’s veggie burgers are fan-freaking-tastic. Well, turns out he’s got a whole slew of low calorie, low fat products that look yummy, only I can’t find them anywhere (Word on the street is that Whole Foods carries some of his products, only I haven’t stepped inside a Whole Foods since I quit my job at The Association—good for the pocket book…hmmmm…). I did also try the California Veggie Burger, and it’s also tasty. I suggest skipping the bun, topping the patty with some salsa (Garlic Salsa from Trader Joe’s is one of my new favorite things) and finishing it off with some slices of avocado. Points: 2 points for one patty; 4.5 for two.

WeightWatchers Chicken Salad
This is one of the easiest, tastiest recipes I have found on the WeightWatchers website. It’s a staple in my make-ahead lunch rotation, and it’s a great way to get a solid serving of lean protein in every day. Seriously, it’s so easy, it’s stupid.

3/4 pound(s) cooked chicken breast, cut into bite-sized piece (I boil and shred the chicken)
1/2 cup(s) celery, finely diced (or as much as you want; celery is a great filler in this recipe and adds a lot of bulk to your serving)
1/3 cup(s) dill pickle(s), or sweet gherkins, finely diced (I found sweet relish that was super low in calories, so I just do about two or three tablespoons of that)
1/4 cup(s) reduced-calorie mayonnaise
2 tbsp reduced-fat sour cream
2 tbsp parsley, fresh, chopped (I actually started using dried parsley because I always waste the fresh stuff)
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp fresh lemon juice
1/2 tsp table salt
1/4 tsp black pepper, freshly ground

Mix it all together. Tada.

Lemony Zucchini Goat Cheese Pizza from Smitten Kitchen
I do like to look at photos of food. Food porn, I believe they call it these days. So after everyone I know told me about the blog Smitten Kitchen, I added it to my Google reader. The photography is beautiful, and the recipes always sound good, but she does a lot more baking than I imagine I’ll ever do, and frankly some (most) of her recipes are just not weight-conscious-bride-to-be friendly. However, I keep an eye out for those recipes than would work or could be modified, and lord knows if I see the words “goat cheese” I have to investigate.

I happened to remember reading this when I saw zucchini and yellow squash on recent trip to the farmers market. I knew someone (myself) was trying to tell me something (make the pizza). I was worried the amount of goat cheese might make the pizza too rich or that the added lemon flavor would be over-powering, but my fears were in vain. The pizza turned out perfectly. And I, often a tomato sauce and cheese purist when it comes to pizza, was in love. I, of course, used a Whole Wheat Boboli crust because time is not something I have an over-abundance of these days. Also, do not drizzle the olive oil (if you are concerned with these things), rather, I just put a teaspoon of oil in a small bowl and brushed it on to the veggies right before the pizza went into the oven. It’s not the most diet-friendly meal, but it’s easy to plan for, and it feels more like an indulgence than it is. If you want to eat 1/3 of the pizza it’s 8 points. If you’re going to go “nuts” and eat half the pizza, it will cost you 12.

Total Whole Grain
I love cereal. But sometimes I love cereal a little too much, which has meant that as of late, Cheerios has gone on the “do not buy” list. I will eat an entire box. Watch me. This means that eating cereal is a bit of a precarious situation for me. I have to find something that I like enough to look forward to eating it every day, but not enough that I’m going to want to eat it all day. I’ve been lucky in that I do seem to prefer non-surgery, higher-fiber, lower fat cereals. But that’s just me. MM picked up a box of Total Whole Grain, I was all “whatever Total,” for unexplained, perhaps ignorant reasons. When I looked at the nutritional content though, I decided to give it a try. I am hooked. Not only is it a great breakfast choice, it’s also become my staple pre-workout snack. And one serving is only 1 point (granted it’s only ¾ cup, but whatever…).

Spinach Tofu Chickpea Curry
My experience with Allrecipes.com is kind of feels like being handed a 10 page menu at a restaurant. There simply too much—too many categories, too many recipes, too many comments with too many suggestions for modifying recipes. This makes it difficult to make a decision, and once you find something you like, you stick with it even though there are thousands of other options. Once upon a time, when I was trying to eat vegetarian, I found the recipe for Spinach Tofu Chickpea Curry. It was an instant hit and I made it constantly. So constantly, in fact, I was shocked that I hadn’t already written about it on this blog. The recipe ran its natural course in our households—as recipes will do—and we moved on.

However, last week I brought back the Spinach Tofu Chickpea Curry, and it was as good as ever. I did make one modification. I use extra-firm tofu, rather than firm. And for those of you who don’t often eat the crazy, hippie stuff, “pressing” the tofu before cooking with it makes a world of difference in your final product. All you need to do is set the tofu on a plate, cover it with a paper towel or dish towel (whatever) and then set some heavy stuff on top of it. Let it sit for awhile (I sometimes do this in the morning and have it sit under the weight all day). This removes the water from the tofu, allowing it to soak in the flavors of curry.

This is Not My Last Meal

2009-07-29T08:11:00.000-07:00

I have exactly three goals in life right now: 1) lose weight; 2) finish planning the wedding; 3) try not to majorly fuck up at the new job. And yes, you're in for another diet and weight lose post. Deal with it (You wanted me back! Well, two of you wanted me back, but that’s entirely not the point in my opinion.).

This morning, I was thinking about yesterday’s blog post and what took me so long to finally get with the program, but moreover, what finally clicked? I mean I have experienced an inexplicable shift in perspective over the last month when it comes to eating, which was, in my case, 90 percent of the problem at this point. Exercise? No big deal. As you know, being the faithful reader that you are, I started running in January 2006, and by some miracle, I never stopped. This year, I’ve incorporated even more cross training, strength and stretching into my routine than ever before (and if not just for the toning and added weight loss benefits, then because the aches and pains in my legs are significantly diminished this year).

But yeah… the eating. That can be a problem. Have I moved beyond the sins of my past eating habits for good? No one can be sure. But I thought I’d write out some of my current lessons to live by that are helping me successfully lose weight six months (15 years?) after I started the journey. I figure if I forget, I can come back and read this post. This is for me, not you, but maybe you’re interested or you’re just bored, whatever.

This is not my last meal. Do you ever go out to dinner and order like you will never visit that restaurant again in your life? God, I do that ALL the time. I have to continually remind myself that this is not my last meal of pizza, guacamole, pulled pork sandwich, chana masala, etc., ad nauseam. I will eat these foods again—probably soon—which means I do not need to go nuts simply because they are in front of me.
Acceptance of what I can and cannot control. Example: I can control whether or not I walk into a grocery store, make a beeline for the freezer section, pick up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby, discreetly pay for it, hide it in my purse and make a break for the car. I cannot control whether or not I eat that pint of ice cream once in my possession. Ice cream is one of those foods that I love more than life itself. I cannot, when faced with ice cream, say no. It is simply the truth. So what do I do? I eat it. One scoop. That’s all. No going out of my way to get it, but if it’s there, I’m going to have some and move on with my life.
One bad meal does not have to mean one bad day. And furthermore, one bad day does not have to mean one bad weekend or one bad week. Shit happens. Parties happen. Nights out on the town happen. Bad days that end with a frozen pizza happen. The moral of this story: get back on track as quickly as possible.
Play games instead. Half of MM’s family is Filipino, and huge-mongous. It’s awesome and fun and new to me as I grew up with a sister and no close cousins or aunts and uncles, and I have made myself right at home having a big family to call my own in Chicago. They have BBQs and parties quite a bit, and they are big into eating… and big into forcing food onto their guests. It’s how they show love. I’m not being sarcastic, it’s true; it’s a problem for me; and it’s somewhat offensive if I don’t eat. But I’ve found solutions. In some cases, I make myself a plate and discreetly hand it off to MM. Other times, I use the “I’m going to have some in a minute” excuse, and when I’m actually really hungry, I fill my plate with half salad and help myself to smaller portions of noodles and rice. Saving myself from MM’s relatives actually isn’t too difficult. It’s saving myself from myself that proves trickier. The number one thing I’ve learned at these get-togethers is, if I’m playing ultimate Frisbee, involved in a volleyball game, or dancing my butt off, I’m not eating. Luckily MM has a gaggle of cousins in their late teens, twenties and thirties who are always willing to play.
Eat more fruits and vegetables, but mostly eat more vegetables. I don’t know about you, but I can plow through a carton of strawberries with reckless abandon. Yes it’s healthy. But you know what’s even healthier? Plowing through pound of spinach leaves. Less tasty though. It’s definitely become obvious to me that eating more veggies makes a difference in my weight loss. But to be honest, I’m not really a salad for lunch (or for dinner) kind of gal. It really doesn’t satisfy me. I don’t dislike vegetables; I like them sometimes and even often, but I struggle to want to snack on carrot sticks versus… oh say… a Go Lean Crunchy Bar. I’m working on it. I bring baby carrots and bell pepper strips to dip into low calorie ranch, and lettuce to stuff into a whole grain pita with my low fat chicken salad. Basically, I sneak in my servings.
Just say no. Or yes… depending on the situation. As previously mentioned I started a new job, and since July it’s been a whirlwind of welcome lunches, birthday lunches, lunches for no particular reason, summer celebrations, donuts brought in just because and ice cream socials. Food is central to this office. Being new, I feel it’s critical that I involve myself in some of these food-related activities, so I get to know my coworkers and am not viewed as an outcast unwilling to join in the fun. On a few occasions, for more informal lunch outings, I’ve suggested Subway and other healthy options; I order salads at restaurants when necessary; I carefully assess and choose my options when dealing with buffets of food; and sometimes, I decline the invitation. That usually only happens with donuts.
Planning is key. I know this is obvious, but it’s critical. I plan what meals I’m going to make for dinner each night before I head to the grocery store to do the weekly shopping. About 80 percent of the time, MM and I actually eat what we said we were going to eat. I spend Sundays making my lunches for the week. And, if all else fails, I make sure I have healthy frozen or quick options on hand if I don’t feel like preparing dinner, or I can’t stand the thought of having the same lunch five days in a row at work. It takes time, but this (other than the mental switch that seems to have been flipped to “on” recently) is the most important thing I can do.

So there you go. I think tomorrow I might post a list of some of my latest and greatest food finds that are also helping me stay on track. Are you bored with me yet?

27 Days

2009-07-27T07:48:00.000-07:00

I tried, in vain, to write a blog post from my fancy schmancy new(ish) Google phone while sitting in the airport on Friday. Despite the obvious obstacle of finger typing, it was going fairly well, until I accidentally deleted everything. So… yeah. Sorry.

I spent the weekend in Ohio at the last of my pre-wedding parties, a very “intimate” shower (code for small) with family members and a handful of old friends. It was significantly less stressful than other events, which was welcomed considering I teeter frequently on the edge of being a not-so-hot mess because of… oh… stress, real and imagined.

There are 27 days before the wedding. In that time I will: Take one final trip to Michigan for my hair and makeup trial as well as final meetings with the owner of the bed and breakfast where we are holding the ceremony; run a half marathon; continue training for the Chicago Marathon (which means distances up to and including 16 miles); diet; try to get my skin under control (do not get me started on this); schedule and reschedule a dozen appointments; and attempt not to lose my mind and/or alienate MM.

Yay for weddings.

On the bright side, I’ve finally turned a corner and started to believe that the whole ceremony/reception business will end up being fun, and at this point, I’m kind of actually looking forward to it… it’s what happens between now and August 22 that could potentially cause a nervous breakdown.

So anyway, that’s my random update. I’m going to make an effort to blog regularly for the next few weeks. I think it might help my sanity and give me some perspective.

Somebody Told Me

2009-07-18T21:14:00.000-07:00

I know I suck. I haven't blogged in forever... long enough for the people who only think to click on some random link titled "Lou's Blog" in their Bookmarks once every two or so months to start asking questions.

Are you dead?

Hardly.

I was just waiting until I had news. Real news. Good news. Brace yourselves.

I fit into my smaller sized jeans.

Collective gasp.

The truth is they've *kind of* fit for awhile (such is the plight of she who loses weight at a snail's pace), if by "fit" you mean, fits as long as I haven't had anything to eat in the last 48 hours. Not that that ever happens. The truth is, I would wear them once in a while, always with a baggy shirt, knowing that if I had a meal, or a drink, or sat down, they would eventually become terribly uncomfortable and I would have to... I know I shouldn't even admit this... unbutton the top button.

The horror. The horror.

But today I put them on, zipped them right up, put on a cute, fitted t-shirt, ate some Indian food, and continued to wear them sans pain and suffering. That's how God intended us to wear jeans.

In short, I'm awesome. Not totally awesome because I still have an even smaller pair of jeans in the closest waiting for their return, but it's a start. And it's about time.

Oh I know... there's so much else to catch up on. But, perhaps this was the break through I needed--inspiration in the form of jeans, one size smaller. Isn't it amazing how something so insignificant can make a gal stand a little taller, walk with a little more confidence, feel a little more inspired, and have, if just ever so slightly, a better outlook on life?

Falling Into Place

2009-06-09T13:56:00.000-07:00

I’m pretty chatty. Not as chatty as some people, but on a scale of tight-lipped to very chatty, I definitely fall right of center. I tend to be open about the majority of happenings my life, not to mention the stuff that is pissing me off, and if I have a few drinks, I’ll probably tell you everything else. That is why the last couple of months have been an exercise in self control for yours truly.

First of all, for those of you wondering, which I’m sure is none of you, I did actually follow through on my threat to apply to graduate school. I applied in March and waited. As I waited to receive an answer from the program, things started happening. Good things, things that suggested that things might work out better than expected. And I kept it all to myself... for the most part.

I don’t think it’s a secret that I’ve been dissatisfied with my job for some time now. In truth I was unhappy with my previous job at the agency, the one I left to come to here, but that was more about the agency lifestyle and whether or not I really wanted to be marketing pharmaceutical products. I didn’t realize until I left that I took being valued, encouraged, thanked, and respected as part of a strong, engaged team for granted.

At the non-profit I work for now, life is different (and for those of you whom I work with, my opinion does not reflect how things work in other departments, only my department), and it’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it, but I’m going to try. On one hand, this is probably the easiest, most consequence-free job I will ever have. A few of my colleagues and I joke about how “attendance is optional” in our office--not in policy, but in practice. And while pretty much everything I’ve done here either falls in the category of “wrong” or “completely ignored,” nothing changes; there are no repercussions, and ultimately, no one cares.

I have found it hard to be motivated under these conditions and yes, admittedly, my work has suffered. Clashes of personalities, no real management or direction, a demoralized staff, a disengaged team that barely speaks to each other unless to play the blame game, the absence of reward or even recognition, all of this has contributed to my general apathy toward work, and if anything, anywhere is true, it’s that mediocrity breeds mediocrity. It sucks the life out you, makes you question your value/talent/drive, etc., and fucks with your self-esteem, but at the same time, when you have a job that allows you to perpetually show up late and leave early (that is if you are so inclined to show up at all), why would you leave it? Particularly coming from the agency world where 10-12 hour days are the norm, the idea of leaving, of really looking for another job that might require me to actually get involved with my work and stay until 5pm, seemed daunting.

This all changed in April, when I was out on a Wednesday night celebrating the birthday of one of MM's cousins. The birthday girl happens to both be a student and an employee at the university I applied to for graduate school, which will, from here on out, simply be known as The University. On a whim, at the end of lovely, long dinner, I asked her, “Are there any marketing jobs at The University?” The answer was not only “yes,” but as it happened, the department down the hall from her was looking to fill a position that sounded as if it had been created for me. The next day, she passed my resume along. Two weeks later I had a brief phone interview with the hiring manager. A week after that I sat through a horrible board meeting at my current job where I was told the marketing for basically everything we do is wrong. When I got home from the meeting, distraught and angry, MM handed me my acceptance letter to the graduate program at The University. Shortly thereafter, I heard back from the hiring manager. Two interviews and a long HR process later, I was offered the job, and I have accepted. I am very excited about this opportunity. It's definitely a more focused position, which I think I will thrive in, and I seem to be a solid "personality" fit for the team. Plus, my new boss is clearly sweet as she already forwarded me information about a writing event The University is having just because she thought I might be interested--and it's true! I am interested!

I went back through some blog posts, which provide a fairly reliable record of the major happenings in my life for the last three years, to see what I wrote when I quit my job at the agency in late June 2006. It’s amazing having all this information written down in one place. Three years go by and everything changes. I’m getting married, turning 30, starting a new job, going back to school again (not necessarily in this order). I feel as though each documented step, running and otherwise, has been a step toward the life I am supposed to be leading. And despite the fact that my current job has been a crappy work situation, coming here served a purpose, though an unexpected one. I found my friends here. I mean, not all of them, but if you have ever moved to a new place as an adult, you know that your opportunities to meet friends are somewhat more limited than they were when you were younger. The people I met and the turns my life took while at this job gave me a reason stay in Chicago. I did not have that before. I kind of think of it this way: The agency gave me a reason to come; the non-profit gave me a reason to stay; and I’m hopeful that The University will give me a place to settle. It certainly feels like it’s possible. Right now, most things feel possible, which is kind of the same feeling you get when you run a marathon... or a half marathon.

See? We've come full circle.

Real Time

2009-05-31T18:00:00.000-07:00

After a week off of work, which sounds awesome, and on one hand was ('cause you know, I didn't have to go to work), but really was kind of stressful and depressing for a variety of reasons. MM and I wasted a few days fighting over my general laziness and bad attitude about various crap; we spent one entire day driving out to a far suburb to attend a wake (I did not know this person); and sadly, we ended up at an animal hospital late at night where a family member-to-be put down their very sick cat. It was just... life... stuff. Not the most funnest vacation ever. And you know what life and stuff and general bad attitude-ness leads to... poor eating habits.

But it is a new week. New attitude. Clean slate. Let's make dinner! But, let's make it quickly.

Spicy Honey-brushed Chicken Thighs

Lately, I have been searching through the Cooking Light Superfast recipes because--from my research--these meals live up to the promise. I don't even think this took me 20 minutes to make, and if you have a decently stocked pantry, you'll probably only need to buy the chicken. And, take it from someone who doesn't like chicken (me) and someone who considers himself a connoisseur of... well... food (MM), this recipe is AH-mazing. Simple, easy, quick, and awesome. It's a keeper.

Things You Must Do

2009-05-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

Holy hell. Are you into this? This hot mess (literally) known fondly as endurance running?

It's only been a week and yet, I do not remember how we got here. MM said something to me about an interview on NPR or something about running, some book, Mexican ultramarathons, something...

That's sounds nice dear.

I'm kidding, I don't actually talk to him like that.

Then like a day later, we're walking around the Square and pop into a book store, and there it is, this book, "Born to Run."

So we bought it. More specifically, I (the one who reads for pleasure) bought it. I've never actually seen MM read anything that isn't for school, a newsy-style magazine, or related to his job function in some way. But he immediately took it and finished it in about two and a half hours.

It took me a little longer. Mostly because I slept and ate every so often. But holy hell, you have to read this book. This book... well gosh... it's written by one of those totally dude journalist-types in a magazine feature article style. There's story line, with some facts and science woven in, and some slang peppering the narrative just for good measure. It jumps between a tribe in Mexico known for their endurance running ability to scholars and academics and American ultrarunners and WOW.

It boils down to this... all of those people who say marathoning takes too much of a toll on the human body and we humans aren't really supposed to be beating up our bodies through race courses 26.2 miles long (or 32 miles, 50 miles, 100 miles) are wrong. Dead wrong. We are not only built to do this--and not just "run" but long distance running--but it's against our very nature NOT to run.

Amazing.

And you know all how all of us runners are always getting hurt all the time? Doesn't make sense if we're *supposed* to do this, right? Wrong. Do you know that since all these fancy shoes with cushioning and support and crap came along, injury rates among runners have actually risen?

No shit.

Now, I'm sure there is another side to this argument, possibly something about the increase in sheer number of runners out there? Who knows, but this book presents some pretty interesting ideas about distance running and does not lack in the inspirational nuggets department. And if there's something we runners love as much if not more than running, it's a good one liner about running.

Go on. Get it. Buy it at the bookstore or on Amazon or get it from the library... whatever it is that you hippie runners do these days to obtain reading materials.

A Slice of Americana

2009-05-11T10:15:00.000-07:00

Oh look, here we are at the start of another race, the… which one is it? The Indy Mini Marathon, 13.1 miles of pavement, including the race’s claim to fame--a 2 mile stretch around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

Here’s what I love. I love running a spring half marathon. I love traveling to a different city (even if it is Indianapolis) to race. I love lounging around a hotel room catching up with my running buddies. And (AND!) I love that my sister and her boyfriend Lars made the trip. Overall, it was a super fantastic time with friends, and I will do it again, just maybe not in Indy…

Here’s why:

Now you know me. I’m all about inclusiveness. I want people who have an interest in endurance sports or distance running, etc.--regardless of their level of fitness--to be accepted and, perhaps if I’m feeling particularly touchy feely that day, embraced. After all, slower runners have been known get a lot of shit from the hot shots who run sub 6-minute miles, and I’d like to think that I understand the plight of those who need a little more time to get through a race course.

Oh yes… best I can tell, from where I’m sitting, there’s a lot of love. But here’s what I did not love, much less tolerate, about the Mini. This race was “walker friendly.” Now I’m not “walker unfriendly” per say, but I have never participated in a distance race that targeted walkers. I’m pro this in theory. In practice… not so much.

I’m not exactly sure what was supposed to happen, but the runners (and the walkers?) were corralled based on expected finish time. The slower your predicted time, the further back you were in the start corral. Runners, at least the ones who have done a race or two, are pretty used to this, and I for one, have realized that it sucks big time to be corralled with a faster group only to be passed by a million and a half people as soon as you cross the start line. The walkers apparently, just lined up wherever they felt like it. And then I spent the entire race passing walkers.

I know, I know. I’m such a complainer, “Wahhhhhh… Lou had to pass a walker every now again…” Oh no. Passing a lone walker here and there would have one thing. But these were actual moving walls made entirely of people… who were walking. They often blocked up to 70 percent (rough estimate) of the path, making it annoying, not to mention dangerous, to navigate the course. I actually saw one runner bite the dust trying to break on through to the other side.

Despite the walkers, I had a pretty decent race miles 1-10. Miles 11-13… less so. At mile 12 point something, I even STOPPED TO WALK. I know, tragic. I made it through 12 point something miles of a race only to stop and walk less than a mile from the finish. My legs just could not take it anymore. I was hurting. Now, I blame this on two things. First, the walkers. How can I possibly blame everything on the walker? Well, because I was constantly moving around the walkers, the lateral movement took a toll on my hips and quads (I think?). Second, I blame my shoes. I recently was refitted with new running shoes, New Balances, and after a few long runs (like two), the shoe seemed to lose all its support. With each step, I could feel shock wave start in the bottom of my foot and make its way up to my hips.

It’s a theory.

I should get new shoes.

Oh and my time was 2:37:15, which isn't my best, but it's solid.

Over Dressed

2009-05-09T23:03:00.000-07:00

I've received some requests lately, and by "some" I mean exactly two. One was for an Indy race report and the other was for some "non-running" related blogging. Ah the love. I feel it.

Let's see. I'm going to give a quick wedding update because I actually did start and almost finish an Indy race report, but it's unfortunately saved on a different computer, so I'm not going to start from scratch. I'll have to post it later this week.

Meanwhile at Wedding Planning Central... For the last three months I have been struggling to come to terms with the dress I bought at the Filene's Basement sale. It's not that it isn't a great dress. It is. It's very flattering on me, and it's beautiful, etc. But it's just... not me.

Actually it's a lot of things. If you know me, and some/most/all(?) of you do, you know that on most days I don't bother with modern necessities like makeup or hairspray or curling irons. I'll be honest... it's part ego/part lazy. Frankly I don't think I need it (not that it doesn't make me look "better," I just don't think I look bad to begin with), and my motto Monday through Friday is something along the lines of "I just don't have it in me." I lack the desire to get out of bed much less the patience to take any longer than is necessary to get out the door. I have theories about this... but those will be saved for another day. Soon my people.

But I digress...

What was I talking about?

Oh right. The wedding dress. So anyway, poor simple makeup-less Lou bought a huge freaking dress that after awhile began to feel cumbersome, perhaps even daunting. And the more the ceremony began to take shape -- outdoors, on the grounds of a bed and breakfast in Michigan -- the dress seemed downright silly. I mean, why drag an 8 foot train through the grass?

I tried and tried to talk myself into the dress. But I broke. And when my sister came to visit I dragged her to David's Bridal to find an affordable and simple gown.

Mission accomplished:

So there you have it. The only thing I haven't changed my mind about is the groom.

Word on the Street Is

2009-04-20T08:14:00.000-07:00

Every time I post to this blog, I’m all, “So I have some news…” My life is basically one news item after another. Exciting stuff that is.

Right… um… so I have some news. Following in the footsteps of Lindy and CR and others I’m sure, after much consideration, I accepted the offer to pace lead the 12 minute per mile half marathon training group this summer for Chicago Endurance Sports. Only the whole thing was less me “accepting” and more me “begging” as if I don’t have enough to do with myself this summer.

Truly I’ve wanted to be a pace leader for awhile now. I feel pretty comfortable with the half marathon distance at this point and even on a bad day, I can *fingers crossed* phone in 10 miles or less. Ok so that’s only true some of the time, but I trust my body with 13 miles. I know, for the most part, what’s going to happen, good, bad, ugly, or otherwise. The marathon distance, not so much. And, rumor has it, I’m chatty, which is a quality people like in a pace leader, supposedly. I’m hoping I have some newbies so I can be all inspirational on their asses.

Speaking of half marathons, the weather has finally, sort of, warmed up (sometimes) and Meg and I managed to settle nicely into the longest training runs for the upcoming Indy Mini Marathon. Last weekend's 10 mile run, as well as Saturday’s 11 mile run, were solid bordering on phenomenal, so we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Here’s to hoping for good weather, a good run, and a good meal with friends and family (my sister and the infamous Lars are coming!). Our final long run is a cut back, 8 miles, this weekend and then it’s off to (hopefully) sunny and (at least sort of) warm Indianapolis.

Running Hot Running Cold

2009-04-01T19:38:00.000-07:00

Oh dear God, yes... I was there. And no, I don't really want to talk about it, but I will because that's what I do.

I can't lie to you. If it weren't for MM, there is NO WAY I would have gone downtown to run that godforsaken race. I would have woken up, heard thunder, not even looked out the window to see, ta-freaking-da, Chicago covered in a blanket of white shit on Marchfuckingthirtieth, and promptly fallen back to sleep in my warm, DRY bed for another four to six hours.

But no, MM dragged me--against my will--through the elements so I could risk life and limb (mostly limb) to run a measly five miles. At the start line, I had visions (visions!) of being taken to the hospital to have toes removed. How stupid would I feel when for the rest of my life I would think back to this race and shake my head and say, "If I had only stayed in bed, I would still have my toes."

I'm actually being serious. I believed that toe removal was imminent.

But no matter. I am here. Alive. Fully toed.

Anyway...

It wasn't my worst Shamrock Shuffle. It was my second worse, and that's just fine considering the circumstances. And yes, there's a tiny weeny part of me that is happy I stuck with tradition. Race season 2009 is officially here. Here's to hoping it only gets better from here. I mean, we deserve a little good weather at this point, don't we Mother Nature? I mean COME ON. Help a runner out!

In other news... MM and I booked our honeymoon! We're going to a little bed and breakfast type place in Cabo San Lucas. Exclamation point. Exclamation point. Exclamation point. Oh god. I could go on forever. I spent months staring at TripAdvisor, which is a fantastic site, but overwhelming after you've read reviews for every last all inclusive resort on earth. Finally, I had a moment of clarity along the lines of something genius like, "why the hell am I only looking at all inclusive resorts?" I think theknot.com and its bitchtastic community forums had me brainwashed into thinking that our honeymoon would be incomplete without swim up bars, mediocre "International" buffets, and an uninterupted IV of frozen pina colada being pumped into our veins. It was liberating to move beyond all inclusives, and after I was given much needed advice on where oh where we should go, I narrowed down the location and found the most perfect place ever.

In conclusion, I have stopped reading theknot.com forums.

With This List

2009-03-23T15:39:00.000-07:00

Question: What do business travel and registering for wedding gifts have in common?

Answer: Nothing.

Just kidding. I have another answer…

Answer: Both sound really cool, but actually suck. Both are stressful, time consuming, and involve navigating crowds of people who are in my way. Assholes.

MM and I registered yesterday after two months of me saying things like, “We really need to register,” and “Seriously, we have to register.”

I know. It’s like blasphemy. This is the day every girl dreams of; the day she forces her future mister into a fancypants department store to spend five hours of their collective life to hemming and hawing over china patterns and pointing a scanner gun at every salad plate, wine glass, bath mat, and hand towel in sight.

Registering began in the olden days when people got married at 19 and didn’t live together in sin, and they could afford to buy a house because the country wasn’t in the crapper and daddy was footing the bill for the wedding anyway. Something about making sure the bride had all the tools she needed to be a good and proper housewife. I’m making this up.

But it’s all true!

At least for us, it’s a little different. I’m closing in on 30; he’s 32. He’s already been through this once, and I’ve lived on my own since I was 22. We have an apartment together that is filled with furniture (some of which isn’t hand-me-down or garage sale). We have decent stuff, good knives, some nice cookware, more wine glasses than God. Our entertaining consists of filling the house with people who want to watch a football game, which isn't exactly a fine china affair. And really, at what point will we be hosting Christmas dinner? Not anytime soon.

Least I not be misunderstood, I am all for the gift giving. We actually do need a few things, but the task became daunting when I decided that I wanted to be “strategic” about registering. I wanted to make sure that I knew what we needed and what we wanted before we went nutso in Crate and Barrel adding every last crappy kitchen gadget to our registry. Bedding. Definitely. New Towels. Yes. A few choice kitchen appliances. Check.

But then I freaked. Why? One word: Commitment. I felt like I was locking myself into decorating my house based on the color towel I (“we”) chose. What if I don’t like green towels a year from now? Then the opportunity to register would have been wasted. Oh the horror.

It really did stump me for awhile. I mean, I’m not putting together a house for the first time. I have defined what “my style” means… to me anyway. I know what I like, and it can’t be summed up in one or two stores.

I knew I had options. There are online registries that allow you to pull items from any website. I chose not to go that route, and instead--ever the traditionalist--I chose a department store and a home goods store. And once I got started, it wasn’t too hard especially after I actually sorted it all out online. I decided that having a set of matching towels was more important than the actual color, and if I like green, I like green. Fuck it. It’s a towel.

In truth, this wedding is highlighting out my lack of ability to make a decision and stick with it. The only thing I haven't wavered on is the groom (which I suppose is a good thing). And while I think I'm fairly grounded in the idea that this is about marrying MM and us spending the rest of our lives together, I can't help but stress over the idea that, "Oh God this is my only chance and will I regret it if I don't register for a KitchenAid Mixer?"

That's totally insane. Writing this post has helped me realize that. Thanks blog.

Executive Decisions

2009-03-20T11:36:00.000-07:00

The time has come.

Race Season 2009

March 29: Shamrock Shuffle

May 2: Indy Mini-Marathon

August 2: Rock n’ Roll Half Marathon (formerly the Chicago Distance Classic)

October 11: Chicago Marathon

So, yes. I’m a little short on races--and no triathlons this year--but I think this is plenty considering that the wedding is August 22. Thank god that doesn’t interfere with any major races in the area. I know... I checked. It’s a disease.

In Search of the Groove

2009-03-19T07:27:00.000-07:00

Oh mah gawd, she’s alive.

Yes. I have been remiss in blogging since… oh let’s see… late 2008, early 2009. I am well aware of my unintentional, unannounced hiatus. And, I admittedly have wondered more than a few times if perhaps this party is over.

But who am I kidding? If there’s a party, chances are I’ll stay too late and drink too much. So, I’m here until you kick me out, which isn’t going to happen because this is my house.

Unfortunately, like my poor tired, drunk partying self, you can’t expect too much from me. Not right now, and I really don’t know why, but it is what is it (as they say) and I figure eventually one of these days I’ll be back to regular posting. I’m just not sure when that will happen.

I was talking to Meg and @ about this on Tuesday during a 5 mile run on the lakefront path. Usually when I run, particularly when I run alone, I write in my head. These eloquent brain musings generally become the basis for my next greatest blog ever. But lately, my brain isn’t writing. It’s overloaded and mixed up and often it doesn’t know which way to turn. It’s like my head is drowning in information--mostly messy work situation stuff (long story).

But the sad news (or the happy news?) is that I have so much to share! There is so much new and exciting, and I can’t wrap my head around four paragraphs to share it with you. This sucks. I want to share! I heart sharing!

OK two quick things now that I’m on a roll. No… three:

1) We moved the wedding to Michigan. Details later, but MM and I are thrilled with the change. We’re getting married at the bed & breakfast where we went on our first vacation together as a couple. Ah romance.
2) A long time ago--a year ago--I wrote about the Bar Method. I’m doing it now. It’s hard as hell, and I love it. Well, as much as you can love pain. You know. More on this to come.
3) I signed up to be a writing tutor to a high school student. It’s through this group called Posse Chicago, and the training session is tonight. This is all part of my plan to get some experience teaching as I move into my next (hopefully) career. Usually when I have to go to info sessions and crap after work, I’m mildly annoyed. I’m actually excited about this one.

I promise I'll be back with more... sooner rather than later.

No, No... Change Everything

2009-02-21T20:31:00.000-08:00

Oh excitement people. Things are happening. Exciting things. But first, a story about how one (me) learns lessons, the life kind.

Many, many years ago (six) I was accepted into an "innovative" graduate program at a "good" school in the Chicagoland area. I had applied to three other schools, but this school.. this was my "long shot;" it was the offer I couldn't refuse. And so, I moved to Chicago to get a master's degree. For a year and a half, I was miserable. I was an insomniac. I was completely and utterly lost. To this day, I do not know if I actually retained anything from the year and a half program.

But this isn't about me. This is about some guy, whose name I can't even be bothered to recall. Some Guy was in my class at said school getting said degree. He was older than me, probably in his early 30s. Midway through the program, you know what he did? He dropped out. Dropped out of the program! Just like that. Gone. Why? I'm sure I don't know the real answer, but he probably just wasn't happy with what he was doing. But at the time I didn't get it. I thought, "That's crazy! We're almost done. Why would he drop out with only two tiny weeny quarters to go?" Probably, as I think about it now, to avert spending thousands of dollars to get a degree that would prepare him for a career that he knew he didn't want.

I get it now. And though I recognize certain things--like had I left my program early it's unlikely I would have stayed in Chicago; therefore, I never would have met MM, etc.--I wish I could have manned up to the realization that sometimes it's OK to quit. If it's the right thing to do for you. I guess at the time, I was too young to make that call. I was on a path I had chosen. If not that, then what?

Oh question, how you have plagued me. Five years, countless thoughts and ideas, research and weighing. Until now.

A post or so ago, I was all incognito about my evil genius plan for moving forward in my career life. But, allow me to digress... after everything, after all this, after the master's degree in marketing, the love for endurance sports, the total rejection of all things I'm doing now... in a way, I've come full circle.

In undergrad, I minored in English for no other reason than because I was good at it. And because I was good at it, I liked it (or perhaps it is the other way round?). I was good at writing papers, good at personal essays, good at reading and shit. See? That sentence alone should prove my English skillz. As if you need proof... I majored in Visual Communications--a degree which served me well, but ultimately I was really no good at it. I mean, I can layout a page in a pinch or whatever, but I didn't have... how do you say? Talent. That's the word.

I started my career in PR at a nonprofit. I loved my job, or I thought I loved my job, but really I just loved (and still to this day, love) my boss. But I thought I loved it so much that I wanted to take it to the next level, and in my mind for reasons I cannot explain, the next level was a career in marketing. So I planned my escape--a master's degree, in the Big City. I applied at a school in Boston, two schools in Chicago. But even as I sat around and researched various marketing programs, I couldn't help but wander over to the English Department web pages. Perhaps a degree in Creative Writing? A masters in English Lit? No, no. I was on a path.

It's always been a thought, you know? English--mostly creative writing because I did my best essays when I was forced to write them for class. I have probably spent countless hours on websites reading about creative writing graduate programs. But it never felt like that direction was right for me. Maybe I'm too pragmatic. Or maybe I recognize the limits of what I can do as a writer.

Who am I kidding? I can do anything.

Then, you might remember, a few months ago, I went on an organization bender. I ripped apart the house, tossed, filed, cleaned, and set up my office. That's when I found every paper I had ever written since I left high school--every college paper, every graduate paper. I paged through each one of them, reading the comments, which ultimately, all pointed to the same fact: if there was anything I could ever count on, it was that I could, and I would, with very little effort, write a damn good paper. Every time. Without fail. And that's when the most important career-related question I have asked myself in the last five years went through my head:

How do people become college English comp teachers?

And so, the research began.

I had this feeling from the start that there had to be a degree separate of English Literature to provide training for this type of career. So I started by going to college English department web pages and reading the bios of the comp professors. Sure enough, most of them have degrees in "Writing and Rhetoric." More research uncovered the one (exactly one) program in Writing and Rhetoric that exists in Chicago, and it is brand spanking new.

"We've been expecting you."

I starred at the Web site for a several days. Maybe it was a week. Maybe it was two. No action. And then, I was reminded just how much exactly I hate my job. Thanks coworker(s). And that was it. The time had come to take a stand. I contacted the program. I met with the director. I sat in on a class. I talked to MM, who is currently finishing his master's degree, about whether or not I'd be good at this (teaching experience = 0), and he said what amounted to the final nail in my marketing career's coffin. "Lou," he said, "You are better at going over my papers than anyone at the writing center. You know how to help me make my papers better without changing my ideas or my writing style." Or something to that effect. It was enough evidence for me.

I am doing this. This is what's next for me, and I know it. I will decide this weekend if I am able to start before Fall quarter (rolling admissions), which will be based largely on the classes they offer this summer. I will likely continue on in my position while I go to school, but this is light. And I will reach the end of this tunnel.

Oh and there's so much more news to come. Just wait. You'll be ever so surprised!

Reprieve

2009-02-10T18:08:00.000-08:00

Is it really February 10? Because as far as I can tell, it's spring, and not shitty Chicago spring (drizzly, 40 degrees), but real spring with sun and mild temperatures and no excuses pardoning us from the long run because this... this is distance weather.

Alas, it will be gone too soon.

This weather, though a short reprieve, could not have come at a better time. It's been a rough couple of days or seven. For a variety of reasons, many of which I will not go into here, I was a keyed up, anxiety-ridden mess who couldn't stop stressing about the small things... and the not so small things... and the only answer that made sense to me with went something along the lines of, "Maybe if I stuff another handful of Cheerios into my mouth all of this will go away and I will be cured of the evil, awful everything."

It's really not that bad. But I'm nothing if not dramatic. As a side note: I feel bad for the children if I ever have any, or, I don't know, if I'm forced to babysit cause I'm cash-strapped or need to fulfill some community service requirement, because I don't know how I will feed them Cheerios without being all, "Hey give me some of those," and then eating all of the Cheerios. I have always, and likely will forever more, eat Cheerios like I am a two year old, straight out of the box, by the fistful.

But really, what is wrong with me? Oh who the hell knows? It's probably mostly work, a general anxiety that has been growing for months, maybe years. I often think of new careers for myself but the path... the path always seems to complicated, overrun with variables and science courses I didn't take when I should have. But still, it's a fun game. You know, maybe in my next life I'll be a _______________. It's usually something exercise/diet/fitness/endurance sports related, careers that would take decades just to master the prerequisites, don't even get me started on the actual degrees. And it never seems to make sense. For example, in one such scenario, I was to lie about my permanent address on the application to the program just so I could get normal-priced tuition. While I know people do this and I'm really not at all against this situation so that your education is affordable, it wasn't the road I wanted to venture down. But that's neither here nor there really.

So I planned. I planned to think about this whole career thing after I turn 30. After I get married. Maybe sometime in 2010. You know, later after x, y, and x are in order. And then suddenly... in the midst of being angry and pissed and all "poor me" about my job, it appeared. A path. It was a long time coming. But lately, it had been revealing itself to me more and more. Until it finally became clear.

Now, the truth is, there's still a lot to figure out. This isn't necessary "happening" in "reality." But, it just makes so much sense. And I'm really excited about it. More information will be forthcoming. Unless I punk out, which is totally possible.

In other news... Meg, @, and I took advantage of the weather and had a lovely three mile run. It was more than lovely -- good friends, a good run, good conversation -- it was a reminder. It was balancing. Running is nothing less than a gift. Sometimes, I forget that.

We Came We Saw

2009-02-04T19:13:00.000-08:00

My mom lives out in the country now. So driving 20 miles into Columbus during a level two snow emergency at 6am took us about an hour or so. We had already seen the Filene’s sale on the 5 o’clock news--that's a.m. ya'll--but these were the women wearing matching t-shirts who had set up tents on the sidewalk and camped out overnight. There weren’t too many.

When we arrived at 7am, an hour before the door opened, my sister and I jumped out of the car and into the line, which had grown to about 75-100 people. It continued to grow behind us. There was music and dancing, yelling and cheering. People handed out goodie bags filled with paper advertising wedding “stuff,” donuts, and hot chocolate.

At a quarter to eight, our mom joined us in line (she had been sitting in the warm car). Even though she "hates this shit," and we kept telling her to wait in the car until the doors opened and she could just walk in after the line dispersed, she refused. Then she started danced. The people behind us thought she was crazy. I said, "Mom, if you get trampled and we have to go to the hospital I'm going to be really upset." It was all hilarity early in the morning in the freezing ass cold.

The doors opened. A roar rippled through the crowd, the line pushed forward. Mom made it in first, followed about four people back by Sarah and I (how did Mom get so far ahead of us?). I lost them once inside, but we anticipated this. We had a meeting place. I ran toward the already almost stripped bare racks of dresses and managed, by some miracle, to grab two. My mom staked claim to a spot near the purses and minutes later we reconvened. Sarah had one dress. Three measly dresses. Some groups had piles (literally piles of wedding dresses). Immediately though, our measly three grew exponentially as the groups around us threw out the sizes they didn't need. And so it began.

I'm told -- because eventually my brain only processed a sea of white and off white and the occasional weird shade of pink, rather than actual, individual dresses -- that the dress I eventually decided to take home was either the second or third dress I tried on. Immediately, looking into the mirror that we brought with us to Filene's (yes, we brought our own mirror), I allegedly exclaimed, "I love it!"

I remembered none of this. However, I do recall saying something to the effect of, "Well I'm here and I might as well try on everything." So we tried on every single thing, a dozen or so gowns... maybe more? Who knows. I struggled into and out of so many dresses, throwing them over my black strapless slip (yes, that's what I wore, with a black camisole over it and stretch pants, which, if I thought I might really like the dress, I would shimmy out of once the dress was on), I had no clue what I had looked at. But we held on to the dress. Not one other person tried it on. Except for me. Three times total.

And when it finally became clear that we had reached the end of our options, I stood there in the dress, examined myself in the mirror, and went, "I don't know." It was definitely a great dress. Very flattering. It would need minimal alterations. And because we had held on to it since the beginning of the sale, it was still in perfect shape -- no beading missing, no shoe prints on the cathedral train, no rips. And for $250. I mean... come on.

And then my mom said, "Lou, I really think you're going to regret it if you don't get." Sarah agreed.

And that was it.

Mom and Sarah talked me into it. I know that's not what you want to hear. You want to hear that I cried and said, "This is the one," or at the very least someone should have cried, right? I should have known it was the one. But seriously, I barely knew which end of the dress my head was supposed to be poking out of at that point.

I said, "OK." And I bought the dress. Well, Mom bought the dress.

I spent the next several hours hemming and hawing, teetering on the edge of buyer's remorse. We took the dress home and laid it out of the bed, away from all the other shades of white and ripped trains, and women in their sports bras, and tank tops, and full on underwear. There it was, my strapless ivory dress with a sweetheart neckline and an asymmetrical waist and delicate beading (but not too much!), all 40 million feet of it.

That's when I knew I had made the right decision. The pictures don't do the dress justice. It's amazing. It fits. It's incredibly flattering. I mean, I could keep searching for months. I could spend a couple thousand dollars. I could do any number of things trying to find the "one" that makes me break down in tears and wax poetic about what I'm going to wear on my wedding day and makes everyone else puke. But people, I got a wedding gown for $249.99. Please. Try arguing with that. And really, as much as it's all about the dress, it's really not about the dress.

So the moral of the story is, yeah... it was worth it. And I didn't even have to throw a punch, not once.

Teamwork People

2009-02-01T05:54:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure MM doesn't actually have time to check my blog anymore, but if he does, I need to warn him not to look at this page. It's his choice, you see, not to want to see the dress.

But you want to see it, right?

So here it is on a skinny headless mannequin:

Ta da!

See that tag? It says "$249.99." For real.

Massive train with beading. Oh and the dress isn't really that virginal white white, it's more of an ivory. I just couldn't figure out how to turn off the flash on my mom's camera.

Close up of bodice. This whole asymmetrical waist thing is really flattering. Makes me look almost skinny.

Stay tuned. Eventually this week I promise I will rehash the madness for you.

Price Cut

2009-01-28T19:51:00.000-08:00

I'm procrastinating right now. I'm leaving for Columbus tomorrow to willingly subject myself to both shopping and crowds, but not just any regular shopping or generic crowds, but shopping and crowds to the power of... at least 10... maybe more. Brides-to-be, their entourages, and a store full of seriously marked down to like next to nothing wedding gowns. Yep. I'm going to Filene's "Running of the Brides" because I've lost my mind, and... by all accounts... my budget, particularly my dress budget, is minimal. So here's to hoping.

There are many things wrong with this mess. First, I'm not really a shopper. I'm a get in, get what I need, get the hell out kinda gal who has no patience for things like browsing or fitting rooms or salespeople. Second, beyond not really being a shopper, bargain shopping completely eludes me (though my recent shopping venture in Denver challenges this long standing truth, but that's another story, which given some time and continued procrastination I may very well tell you). The crowds... well, I can probably handle that. I know how to run and grab shit, sometimes I terribly mindless when it comes to being polite, so that should serve me well in this particular situation. Also confusing, there's like a whole process to this "event" called the "running of the brides." There's swapping, and haggling, this dress for that. Sounds complicated.

My mom and sister are coming with, though Mom refuses to run in and grab dresses. Mom will hold the mirror (yes, we are bringing a mirror). Sarah and I will do the dirty work and probably end up on the 5 o'clock news in a bridal gown brawl.

What else?

Last week into this week I was in Denver for a work trip that proved to be... well, lacking in the actual work. Instead I did stuff like eat at Mad Greens, my new favorite place on earth. I went to the art museum even though I tend to be staunchly against things I consider vacation-like on a business trip, I had nothing else to do. I went to dinners with staff and had drinks, hung out in the hotel gym, and once in awhile, stopped by a meeting. But Sunday afternoon, I had nada left to do work-wise, so like any lady who lunches at Mad Greens, I went shopping.

So the other week I had this epiphany. It was spurred by something I read that reminded me of something my mom said. Really the details are inconsequential. The point is, I had this realization that went something like this (I have a hard time stating this gracefully, so... sorry): Do I really not care about myself enough to put on makeup and comb my hair and wear nice clothes? And if I do care about myself why don't I make the effort to look nice? Perhaps if I made the effort to look nice, I would feel better about myself and shit.

I don't know. The ideas are there, clunky for sure, but it made sense in that moment and I decided after all these years it was time for a change. Now sure, we can speculate all day as to why I became the way I became, but that's really neither here nor there. So, after putting the nicest work clothing I owned in my suitcase, vowing to wear makeup, and packing my curling iron, I went shopping. I thought, fuck sizes. I'm going to buy what fits, and not pin my self-worth on a number attached to an item of clothing. First, I went to TJ Maxx where I found a cashmere button down sweater for $20. Then, I hit pay dirt. Banana Republic was having a sale. And I got this:
Please note: the original price of the dress was $130. The online sale price is $34. I got the dress for $19. How? Hell, I don't know. Pure dumb luck seems the likeliest answer. And (AND!) I got a skirt for $16 (originally $79). I spent less than $40 at Banana Republic and walked out with merchandise originally priced at over $200. Now that is some seriously impressive bargain shopping if I do say so myself.

Wish me luck!

Ever Aft

2009-01-20T19:20:00.000-08:00

So much to share these days. As it turns out, my “get shit done” attitude is taking precious time away from blogging.

And apparently, I have a lot of shit to do. I know because “The Knot Dot Com,” the website you are forced to join upon engagement lest you be ridiculed by other brides-to-be for not being a… wait for it… “knottie,” has a list about three point one miles long with my name on it. Literally, it says “Lou and MM’s Checklist • DAYS TO GO: 215.” There are little red exclamation marks next the items I have failed to complete in a timely manner, like “Get organized: Start a wedding binder.” I actually bought a binder too. And I bound a three-hole punch and some dividers just for good measure. But the part where I actually punch some holes in my stack of wedding-related papers continues to elude me.

Organization really isn’t my thing. That’s for the Type A Brides and the people who make up Knot screen names like “HappyEvaAft”. As long as it’s all in sort of the same pile of wedding stuff, I’ll be fine.

Oh what else. Here, is the bridesmaid’s dress:

I actually own this dress. I bought it for MM’s policeman dinner/dance fundraiser a year ago. I sort of went nutso when I remembered this dress and decided that IT was perfect for the bridesmaids. I bought the last few dresses in existence without asking anyone anything about sizes much less if they liked it. I figured it was an act of decisiveness that would lead to other acts of decisiveness. Decisive or not, it seems to have worked out for everyone involved.

In other news, Meg and Lindy and I had what can only be described as a meeting of the minds recently where we got serious about our schedules for this year’s season. So far, I’m scheduled for the Shamrock Shuffle, the Indy Mini Marathon, and… well… that’s it at the moment. But, I will do at least one other half-marathon, at least one triathlon, and… well… it’s likely that the Chicago Marathon will also be on the final race docket. That is unless I allow MM and his running buddy/groomsman D talk me into a little event in Austin. Not likely at this point. I’m just so far away from triathlons I can’t even wrap my head around it with all the other goings on this year.

But regardless.

This year may not be as jammed packed as last year in order to accommodate some other events, but the truth is after taking some time away from running, the itch has returned. It must be scratched. So it’s time, which is good because training for this year’s spring half marathon begins on Valentine’s Day.

Ah… mi amor…

Lest We Not

2009-01-07T18:38:00.000-08:00

Oh please. You didn’t think that I, the Queen of Good Intentions, would actually let the new year pass without resolving to change some such nonsense.

This year I’m going big. For the last several days… maybe more… I’ve had that Yoda quote going through my head:

Do or do not. There is no try.

Now, maybe I’m simple, and perhaps it’s a little obvious to derive inspiration from Star Wars, when – let’s face it – I’m not even a fan, but this is it. My new year’s resolution is to live my life based on this quote.

Ha!

And you thought it was going to be about losing a gazillion pounds.

And it is. But it’s so much more than that.

As much as I fancy myself to have moved forward in the past few years, beyond the stagnation of my mid-twenties, I am still profoundly lazy. I know. I’m not lazy because I “run marathon(s);” I workout, whatever. I’ve heard it all. It’s not really about that.

It’s about going to spin class and staying in the saddle to do a climb, not because it’s too hard to stand, I’d just much rather sit, thankyouverymuch. It’s about having checks in my wallet for months because I refuse to cross Michigan Avenue during the day (in almost all instances. I will do it, but only if someone is really giving me a good reason to… like say – hypothetically – it’s my mom’s birthday and, because I’m so damn lazy, I still don’t have a card, and so not to disappoint her, I’m going to put one in the mail right this very minute, so it’s only two to five days late, but first, I have to get the damn card). It’s the, “I want to [fill in the blank]” and then never really doing it.

After 29 and a half years, it’s enough to make one sick at oneself.

Thus, a change. Do or do not. There is no try. Either change the light bulb or resolve to live in the dark. Don’t “try to get to bank.” Just go. Truthfully, I’m hoping many of these tasks that lie ahead in 2009 involving me “doing” rather than “don’ting,” but I imagine that’s obvious.

Is this a weird resolution? I resolve to live my life in such a manner that I go to the bank when I need to? Seems... a little too easy.

I guess that in my world, sometimes the neglecting the smallest of tasks can prevent me from taking on the bigger ones. Why bother writing a book when the kitchen hasn’t been cleaned in two weeks? “I’m trying to write a book, but menial tasks just keep getting in the way.” Duh. I mean there are things to be done people! So then do them. Do them when they need to be done. Move past them in order to move to better things. Stop trying. Start doing.

So I’ll admit in essence, my New Year’s resolution sounds a little more like a certain athletic brand’s well-known slogan that reminds us to get off of our asses, but when given a choice (it is my resolution after all), I’d rather live a life inspired by Yoda’s words than by Nike’s. Really, though, who among you would choose differently?

Some Things Forgotten

2009-01-03T10:30:00.000-08:00

Don’t get me wrong. I love training for endurance events. I love thinking about it, talking about it, planning it, doing it. I spent my spring, summer, and fall 2008 preparing for and participating in multiple races. Running, biking, swimming, and the occasional strength training or yoga class for good measure – all of this takes time. A lot of time. It is, as they say, time intensive. Then of course there’s the celebrating of all this time intensive physical activity, which is… in and of itself… also time consuming.

I didn’t realize it until after the marathon when I had nothing to do. Nothing. Nada. Ho hum, another boring Saturday with no four hour training run to suck up half the day. It occurred to me then that over the last nine months I had stopped reading… books, not blogs… and for pleasure, not for information on how to train for a half marathon/marathon/triathlon. I read one book between June and September – not a long one at that – and it was all I could do to sit down and focus. A chapter here on the plane before I passed out, a few pages there in my bed before I passed out.

As far as I can tell, I have always loved to read for pleasure. Sure I didn’t do it much in college or graduate school because when you are forced to read boring ass text books for hours on end, reading for pleasure seems more of a chore than an escape. And, I’m certainly not one to go after “good” literature on purpose. Give me whatever book will keep me occupied (no… better than that… keep me up late on a school night… keep me laying around on a Saturday afternoon for hours on end... make me wonder how to get away with reading at while at work), and I’ll read it.

I decided that it was time to recapture my love for reading. I needed something… easy. Quick and easy – not something good per say, but something that would absorb me -- grab me and hold me captive, slave to the characters and the story.

I chose something so obvious, it’s almost embarrassing. Twilight. Yes, Stephanie Meyer, and her band of really good looking teenage vampires and the pathetic little human girl who loves them. It’s like soft-core teenage book porn. Pure pleasure, if not the real deal. It took me a few weeks to read the entire saga. After that, American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld, a writer I would recommend to anyone, and a book that I’ve been cramming down the throats of every single person I’ve ever met ever -- a little higher on the scale of "good," but still juicy enough for beach reading. Then, while doing some Christmas shopping, I happened upon David Sedaris’ latest book, When You are Engulfed in Flames for 20 percent off and figured why not, personal essays have always been a favorite genre of mine. Now, I’m nearly a third of the way through the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Next on the list Olive Kitteridge (which I know nothing about, but some woman on NPR was so convincing I texted myself the name of the book while I was driving so not to forget it) and The Host – I figure I’ll give Meyer’s first adult shot a chance because… well, hell, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.

If you’ve got a suggestion of a book that will keep me sitting in the same place for – I don’t know – about the same amount of time it takes me to do a 20 mile training run, please leave it in the comments.

My New Desk and Other Stuff

2009-01-01T20:40:00.000-08:00

I don’t know if you noticed this or not, but it’s January 1, 2009. That’s right folks… the season of weight loss commercials and overcrowding at the gym. But like any good old fashioned woman, I’m making some changes to commemorate another year lost to my bad habits.

First off, I moved my computer. Now, I have one of those adorable MacBooks – the kind that you can basically haul around your house so you can surf the internets at any given moment in time. I previously kept it in the room with MM’s obscenely large television. This meant, I would watch television and have my dinner while simultaneously typing away at the keyboard.

And this, is precisely the reason I decided to move it. To make myself choose… do I want to play Scramble on Facebook? Fine. Godspeed. But don’t do it will eating pasta, talking on the phone, watching the closed captioning scroll by on the television screen, and attempting to cuddle with MM. Ultimately it’s – let’s be honest – it’s a choice between watching television or playing on the computer, but at least this way, I won’t be multitasking my downtime.

Which brings me to my next change. You might want to sit down for this one… I chose a home office over a Garmin.

Huh? What? Are you speaking English? My ears must need a good cleaning.

Let me try this slower. I… chose… a home office… over… a… Garmin.

Why? Because, in reality where people can run without a GPS system strapped to their arm, I actually needed the desk, filing cabinet, and roll-y chair a heck of a lot more. So, I put the computer on the desk, put the whole “system” (Ikea no less) in the spare bedroom, and ta da! I have an office. Where I can sit and not loss bills or important documents while also purposefully searching the Facebooks and Googles.

Ultimately, this was about giving things a place. For two days, I ran around the house pulling out boxes and dismantling closets while reminding MM about my newest mantra – everything has a home. I’m tired of coats on the floor because we have no coat rack and papers piling up in the TV room because I have no filing system, mail being lost because I hid everything in a pile in the spare bedroom when we have company and I always, promptly, forget that I put it there.

My house is, at this very moment, orderly. There is a drawer for lost keys, and one for extra gym locks. I have files for everything from old college papers to my 401K paperwork from a previous job. And there’s a box – a huge one at that – filled with junk, sitting in the hallway, that one of these days is going to make the trip to Goodwill. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

In Small Doses

2008-12-29T13:19:00.000-08:00

I am decidedly non-religious. For me, religion, the church-kind any way, is like yoga. I go expecting to have some huge spiritual awakening… and… nada. It’s disappointing. I want to be enlightened; I want to be moved; I want a perspective-shifting moment of clarity.

I was raised Catholic, but for a time when I first moved to Chicago, I thought I might find what I was looking for (whatever that was) in one of those new fangled rock n’ roll churches. You know the kind where everyone is 25 and they hold bible studies at local bars. I went to a service once at this “non-denominational Christian church” with a woman I knew from graduate school. It was set up with folding chairs in an old auditorium the congregation rented for Sunday mornings. They had a band -- drums, guitar, bass, the whole nine yards -- with a singer and midway through one of the songs she started shouting, “Do you feel Jesus? He’s here! Do you feel him?” As I looked around and it became apparent that I was the only one who would have answered, “No.” I never went back to that church.

Now that I have a vehicle, I drive to Ohio for the holidays. The space between Chicago and Indianapolis and Indianapolis and Columbus is sparsely populated. It’s mostly corn fields, dilapidated barns, and general emptiness. When I’m alone, and NPR is no longer available, I turn on Christian radio, even when there are other options. This isn’t new. I started it in undergrad when I would drive long distances to see family or friends or my then-significant other.

I don’t particularly enjoy Christian radio. Sometimes it makes me angry. But I listen intently to sermons made by theatrical pastors for no other reason than to see if they say anything that sticks. I don’t want to be religious. I don’t want to change my values to conform to a doctrine I -- for the most part -- don’t believe in. But I want to be inspired. So far, it hasn’t happened. In fact, the only thing that provides me with moments of clarity, enlightenment, and inspiration is running. True story.

One thinks it’s time to start running again.

Grand Final

2008-11-27T20:58:00.001-08:00

Well thank god that’s over. So today was it, the end of race season 2008. My sister and I ran the Columbus Turkey Trot, and I got to tell you, perhaps I’ve been off the wagon a few weeks too long, but five miles felt something more like 25. It shouldn’t have been that way, but it was.

Ah well. There’s really not too much to report about the race. It was poorly managed, kind of a shitty, boring course, and completely disorganized. The four mile race we opted for last year -- despite the bitter cold, freezing rain conditions, and poor parking situation (we ended up walking through a field blanketed with goose poo to get to the car) -- was a much better race. And, that one gave you a free bottle of wine at the end, instead of this race, which gave, well… nada… to those of us who were near DFL. I hear some people walked away with a free pumpkin pie. Well golly gee whiz.

So, that’s it. I don’t really have an excuse, much less a story. It was slow going, from start to finish, and I even took two 30 second walking breaks for no good reason except that I spent miles 1-4.98 wanted to walk off the course and head back home.

It’s OK. I have to tell you. It’s amazing that I even have “race seasons.” I mean, really? Who do I think I am? But this year, I finished three half marathons, one marathon, one triathlon, a 10 mile race, a 5K, and two 8Ks. I set new personal records in both an 8K and a half marathon, and I had a stellar showing, if I do say so myself, at my first multi-sport race. I had some less than stellar races -- a marathon that, while I’m so happy I’m finished, I know I have a better time in me; a couple fast and flat half marathons where I thought I would easily beat hilly Flying Pig PR, but didn’t even come close; and this, a measly five mile run that by all accounts I barely finished.

I suppose you win some and lose some. You finish most. You start all.

I haven’t quite hashed out 2009 yet. The Indianapolis Mini Marathon is the only race on the schedule, but I imagine there will be others.

Oh yes. There are always others.

Check In

2008-11-25T12:57:00.000-08:00

This may not be the best week to “report in” on my weight loss efforts since I will struggle not to spend Thursday on the couch with my sister eating leftovers two hours after Thanksgiving dinner, but hell, why not? Let’s do this thing.

So, after one month following Weight Watchers as best I could, I have lost 7.4 pounds. Now, this is progress. I probably could have done better, but I could have done a lot worse. I made a lot of steps to really commit myself. This time around, I’m working to be more honest about it, not trying to hide it, though not harping on it, and asking for help from others (“MM, if we’re going to go out to eat, can we get sushi instead of Mexican?” and “@, if I order anything besides a salad at lunch will you please throw your body between me and the waiter?”). I have, however, had my moments of trial, such as not sticking to the plan while on my final business trip and drinking my weight in beer this past Saturday.

I’ve also switched up my workout routine. Sadly I have stopped running for the time being. I know it sounds crazy, but running does not help me lose weight, at all, ever. Every guy I know who starts running drops a shit ton of weight, but I know other women who struggle with this as well. Frankly, it’s not fair, but it’s true. I have a theory, which is that my heart rate just gets too high, out of the fat burning zone. So I’ve adjusted. I can only imagine that my running will improve when I start training in February for my next half marathon and (God willing) there is less of me to drag through a 13.1 mile course.

For the time being, I’m doing a lot of elliptical and power walking on an incline on the treadmill. I try my best to keep my heart rate under 80 percent of its maximum. I’ve also added strength training. Feel free to roll your eyes, but I bought this book. Despite the slightly ridiculous title, it has an easy-to-follow strength training program that lasts about 45 minutes and uses minimal gym equipment (free weights, a step, and a ball). The program is designed to be 24 weeks and the routine changes approximately every two weeks. Running buddy Meg was enlisted to make sure I stick to it, and so far, I’ve been impressed with our dedication to lifting weights three times a week.

But, I’m perhaps not jumping for joy because 7.4 pounds really just puts me back into my “normal” weight range, the range I have hovered in for the past two years. It’s arguably not too difficult to maintain this weight. I’m not overly sensitive about it, the way I was three weeks ago, when I felt my jeans getting a bit snug. The real challenge will be the next 10 pounds.

Full Circle

2008-11-20T19:48:00.000-08:00

One week until Thanksgiving people -- the greatest holiday ever. Why? Because nothing is expected of you. No gifts, no crazy social affairs, all you have to do is sit on the couch and eat and watch awesome movies about teenage girls finding their fathers/friends/soulmates and/or participating cheerleading/quasi-cheerleading/dance/drinking competitions. And by you, I of course mean me.

Oh something.

Do you ever want to blog and you know that you simply must have something to say because all this stuff has happened and yet the words just aren't forming?

Can you guys believe it's Thanksgiving? Wasn't it like 80 degrees last month? Now I'm just cold all the time.

Real stuff now.

So, last weekend, MM and I spent some time visiting potential wedding venues. We checked out Promontory Point, Berger Park, and the South Shore Cultural Center, as well as A New Leaf, which we had previously held for a wedding date in December 2009, but then I got all crazy like, "AH! I don't have a vision." And then, I got even crazier and was all, "I want to get married when it's warm outside!"

First, we went to Promontory. It's every bit as beautiful as you imagine it is -- a perfect setting with the Chicago skyline looming in the background. For the sake of full disclosure, despite all the serenity and loveliness that is Promontory, I had (and still have) one major sticking point with this place. Promontory is known as a "comfort station." This means that people -- guest or not -- can use the restrooms at any time, which means, yes... someone, anyone can wander in during your event. While I totally get it from the viewpoint of reality and living in an urban area and whatnot, I just... yeah... that's not a variable I'm comfortable with.

Next, on a whim and since we were already fairly far south, we visited the South Shore Cultural Center (fun fact: my 20 mile point-to-point training run ended here). The atrium was interesting and beautiful, but a little too ballroom-y for our taste. From there, we headed north to Berger Park. The "grounds" at Berger Park include a house and a small backyard on the lake. It was not what we were looking for. Even for a smaller wedding, we would be hard pressed to hold a reception in the house, and the area out back for the ceremony was tiny, and not far from a busy street.

We decided that we would take one more look at A New Leaf. Just for good measure. This time, I spent much more time in the space. We checked out the third floor, the "ceremony" room. We looked at the garden courtyard, which was much larger than I expected and really quite stunning in a shaby chic kind of way. I conceded that, yes, I did in fact like it better upon a second look.

We held another date for A New Leaf in August because what would be the point of paying for use of that courtyard garden if we couldn't actually go outside? The decision was all but made. And then, that evening, while lounging on the couch with MM, panic -- panic that no one would dance because the dance floor is on the second floor -- panic that if no one danced no one would have fun, and horror of all horrors, what if no one had fun at our wedding?

I frenziedly searched the Internet for more ideas, and to my credit, I found a few yet-uncovered, unique venues that were buried underneath pages of hotels, banquet halls, museums, and gardens. MM told me to calm down, that we had made our decision and it was going to be OK. I calmed down, and I believed him... until 24 hours later when, while at work on Monday afternoon, I freaked out all over again and started calling other venues.

Then something strange, but incredible happened on Tuesday morning. In a blink of an eye, I saw it -- the details of my wedding, the layout of tables, the timing of cocktails, dinner, and dancing, the color of the skirting, the flowers, the food, the everything... at A New Leaf.

We're signing the contract tomorrow. Yay stuff.