Saturday, February 28, 2009

Something I read today...

So, I don't know what made me think about it at 3:35am, but last night... er, this morning I was reflecting on my 12,924th place in the Rock N Roll Half Marathon.  I suspect it's because I have another Virginia Beach race looming in the distance, but anyway, I was pondering that finish, and wishing I had finished in the top half.... around 8,800th place or better.  So today I was trolling around a discussion board and found a really pointed saying as another bloggers signature...

"Dead Last Finish is greater than Did Not Finish, which greatly trumps Did Not Start"

Of all days for me to stumble on it, today was that day.  Of course, I am a little nervous about the Shamrock Half around the corner.  Oh no, I'm not worried about finishing.  As always, we have determined that I can and will finish the race, no matter the cost on the foot or ankle.  *had to throw that in there T.  It's that, on Jan 26th or so I was on track for a sub 2:10 half marathon, and now... I'm on track for a sub 2:15 half marathon.  Um.  Not OK with me.  And yes, I KNOW it's only FIVE minutes.  I know.  But... still, not OK.  I have to be trained for the 2:07 half, incase there is heavy wind and I have to add some time on a few miles... so I can still GET my 2:10...  I'm obsessing a bit.  I know this because I was up for a few hours last night breaking down my milage, my times, and my splits.  I love my Garmin.  Have I mentioned that today?

This week I'm going to be picking up the running, even if there is "snow".  It's in air quotes because I don't actually believe in snow.  Sort of like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, snow isn't something that I should be planning my life around.  I have to RUN because I WANT that sub 2:10.  I really do.  Todays training run finished at a projected 2:14 if we'd run another 1.1 miles to make the 13.1 distance.  Of course, we didn't run the extra mile, because that would be insane.  And todays run was at training pace, not race pace, and on race day I doubt I'll be doing much talking.

It does make me appreciate how much my running partner du jour slowed down for me, as she will be finishing her half marathon in a sub 2 hour time.  I'm actually looking at her and wondering if she'll be finishing in the low 1:50's, but we'll just have to wait and see, and I will pick up my training a bit.  In other words, I'll see you all at class this week ... all week* except Fri, my rest day...  and you'll additionally see me on the road picking up a few extra runs here and there... 

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Carb Loading= bad

Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean.... and so between them both you see they licked the platter clean.

I hate this rhyme.  HATE IT.  With a passion that burns as brightly as a thousand suns.  Why in the world would anyone hate a nursery rhyme?  It's irrational.  I know that.  I'm not stupid.  *no comments please.  Let me introduce you to my husband.... we'll call him "Jack".  It's so frustrating because he eats what he wants, when he wants and has no guilt.  I mean, why would he, he's 20 years out of college and wearing the same size.  bastard.  

And then you have me, Jack's wife.  I keep a neat little food journal.  I watch what I eat, stick to low fat recipes, add fiber in creative whole grain ways:  I should be a twig.  Well, maybe not a twig, but at least a sapling.  Right now, I'm a full fledged OAK.  Admittedly, I have bad days and good, but it's a constant struggle to stay under 140lbs.  I'm always teetering on the line.  And I know if I could just get to that 129 - 133 range that I could be so comfortable in my size 6's that I could wear them w/o a muffin top.  But ohhhh noooo, right now, I'm squished into them, gasping for air, with a little roll of jelly rimming the top of the jeans.  I used to like to wear belts.  Of course, I was wearing them around a size 10- 12 waist, but it didn't bother me because I didn't ever believe that a 6 was a doable size for me, and it was a good look on my previously lush and curvy figure, as long as I didn't have the old muffin top look.  Uhg.... it's just SO unattractive.  And yet, I see women walking around like this all the time.  Besides, if I did weigh 129, I'd probably squish myself into a 4 and then bitch about that.

My gripe today is that yesterday I didn't have a nutritionally shining day.  It was sort of breadful, if that was a word, which spell check has confirmed- it is not.  So, yesterday I OD'd on bread, and today I am FOUR pounds heavier.  Mathmatically, no, I did not eat 3200X4 calories ABOVE and BEYOND my normal caloric intake, so how on Goddess's green earth have I managed to gain a flipping FOUR pounds in TWO days?  don't answer that, it's rhetorical. 

Sunday, February 22, 2009

I can't even think.

It was World Thinking Day on Saturday for the girlscouts in our area.... and I was the Thinking Day Mom for our troop.  And.  Um.  I'm exhausted.  But, there's no time to pause, there's no time to reflect on Thinking Day.... because next stop-

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

book writing & Inspiration

Yes, I'm a failed writer.  Some days I look at my empty computer screen and ponder.  Usually this is after I've looked at my empty bank account and pondered.  I wish I could just write what I am thinking when I'm thinking it.  I swear, I was so inspired the other day that for just a minute I had enough craziness in my brain I think I could have written 90,000 words of brilliance... if I could have figured out how to start it.  If only there was a recipe.  I guess it wouldn't matter, I never follow them anyway, because I don't like onions all that much, and all recipes seem to call for onions.  

You see, the thing is, the other day at the park I was talking to an editor...  No, this was not a weird dream, it really happened.  Anyone who's met me knows that I can pretty much start a conversation with, well, anyone.  So, I get to chatting with this woman, and I made a joke, and she laughed... and the next thing you know, she is telling me that if only I could write "this" down, she could publish it.  And I told her about my failed book, which she offered to look over (!!!) and I had to confess that I ... um... didn't exactly have it anymore.  You see, after my 90Th (I exaggerate, 20somethingth) rejection letter, I took Yann Martel's advice.  Well, sort of.  I didn't package my book up and mail it to an unknown address in Turkey like he suggests in his book, Life of Pi, but I did delete it from the hard drive.

So she laughed and laughed with me about that, and then gave me her name, business name, and etc and said, "I do hope you figure out how to write your book, because I look forward to reading it."  Gosh.  I hope so too, because right now it's all just swirling in my brain begging for release.  Just gotta get the recipe...  I guess that's what this blog is tonight... Step 1:  Preheat oven to...

Saturday, February 7, 2009

It's like having a deaf eggetarian cat. Yea, I said it.

Why Having a Two Year Old is Like Having a Deaf Eggetarian Cat.  

You can not force a cat to do anything it doesn't want to do.  If a cat wants to eat, it eats, if not, it turns up it's nose and ignores you.  Take dinner last night... and the night before... and the night before that... and...  Ok, you get the point.  H & I and B have a battle at dinner.  Not getting her to eat her vegetables, or getting her to eat her protein.  No, the battle is getting her to eat anything at all these days.  Except eggs.  She'll usually eat scrambled eggs, if they're pure.  Don't try to scramble sausage into them, that would be WRONG.  But we don't believe in making a special dinner for one child, so she gets what she gets, and she just needs to eat it.  It's not like I'm serving weird food.  Last night I believe she was offered a cheese burger, corn, and tater tots.  POISON.  She was sure of it. For dinner she had 4 sips of soy milk and 2 bites of cheese.  Toddler sized bites.  Bits really.  So, we do not spoil her with custom dinners.

And because we are terrible parents who don't succumb to her requests for cookies and eggs, she will turn up her nose at the food.  OR, worse, her new tactic:  look straight down at her hands.

And no matter what you say to a deaf cat, it won't hear you... unless you say "shrimp" or "eggs".  My cat is funny that way.  Deaf as a post, but you crack an egg in a bowl and he'll arrive as soon as the shell is in the trash.  Uncanny really.  Well, once B is looking at her hands she can no longer hear you.  You don't exist.  You may as well be in Eastern Europe on a tour of Romanian Castles because B cannot hear you or see you.... and at this point, Eastern Europe is sounding better than the battle.

So why, you ask, do we fight the fight?  She is a cat.  She ignores us.  She does what she wants.  She demands things she wants when she wants them.  She snuggles on her terms.  She wants to go outside and come inside when SHE wants to, regardless of how long the door gets left open.  So, WHY do we trouble ourselves with the battle over dinner?  We could put her to bed hungry and be done with it.  And, don't get me wrong, we've done that in pure frustration.  At first our idea was, she'll learn her lesson.  Well HELLO- cats are NOCTURNAL.  IF they're hungry, guess who gets to hear about it?  So again, just like a cat...

She gets up at O'dark thirty in the morning complaining that she's hungry and wants her "buffest now peas".  Well, I'm sick, and I'm tired, and the last thing a person who is sick and tired wants in her bed is a toddler two hours before sunrise asking for food.