Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Monday, April 27, 2009

Home

So Cheese brought it to my attention that I neglected to report I would also be running a half-marathon during my Nashville trip this past weekend.

Not sure why I forgot, but I did.

And I ran it.

Turns out Nashville got itself some hills, and I missed that memo.

Also turns out that trying to run 13.1 very torturous hilly miles in 90 degree heat after coming from 8 months of 30 or lower temps here in flat, flat Chicago is just a bit harder then anticipated.

It wasn't the going up part of the hills that beat my ass - I am actually pretty good at that part, technique-wise.

It was the going down part that crippled my quads by Mile 11 (up to which point I was running a PR, despite the conditions).

After Mile 11 and 12, I watched my PR be wiped out by four minutes. But in the end, I finished, and I am proud of that.

I also ended up in the medical tent right after I finished (first time ever in a race for me!). It was super scary at the time, but I'm fine now - well, still quad-cripped two days later, but mostly fine.

I didn't see Dane from the Biggest Loser - I checked the results, and there is a guy with his same name but a different age, so I can't tell if it's actually him. But the guy that's listed finished in just under 6 hours, I believe.

And given that it was the second hardest race I ever ran (second only to my Ironman), kudos to whoever that man was for finishing, Biggest Loser or not. Dang, that was a brutal day!

The most exciting part of the weekend was hanging out with my brother and his wife. I can't even really articulate how much fun I had just visiting and hanging out, and how generous they were to open their home to me. I wish I could have stayed all week! I keep having these fantasies about moving down there, living on my little farm, slowing down my pace of life - just simplifying everything.

It also smells so good down there - all Spring-like, and flowery, and not-Chicago.

Sigh. I do like the South.

And I am swamped with work right so I gotta run.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Later

I have nothing to say really, but I didn't want to my previous ranting post to head up this blog for three days while I hit the road to Nashville. I am flying solo to visit my brother and sister-in-law.

I also got tagged by the running fool (love her), but my brain is so zapped right now that I will have to work my creative magic on the plane tomorrow.

Of course, right after my plane nap.

And before I peace out of this bitch - happy birthday to Captian Pants, who will be running the Big Sur with her badass husband, Captian Cactus, this weekend.

My oh my - what we athletes do to celebrate milestones.....

Hope you all have a good weekend.

Monday, April 20, 2009

FAT
To celebrate my one year anniversary as an Ironman, I weighed myself at the gym last week.

Turns out that my once-favorite Ironman motto of “You will do this” has become “If it ain’t elastic, I ain’t wearing it.”


Stink
My farts have been really bad as of late. Like, smell wise. And potency.

The kind where, 10 minutes after you fart, it still hangs thick in the air like the shame over a bedroom the morning after a one night stand.

Or so I’ve heard.

From my friends.

They’re real sluts.


Twit
I have reached the pinnacle of voyeurism. No, it wasn’t the obsessive scouring of photos every time I get a friend request on FB, or even the routine checking of blogs.

I mean, yes - I still do those.

But I refer now to the fact that I have been on Twitter for a week now, have yet to post even once, but check it about one an hour.

Twitter is like the cliff-notes version of blogging. One liners, right to the point.

“Just got back from run and it sucked.”

“Made cookies and ate them all.”

And it was all fun and games until this morning – when I didn’t get to the remote control fast enough, and ended up having my senses assaulted by the *ahem* ladies of The View.

Turns out good old Barbara W is all about the Twitter now.

So I figure, if 150-year-old ladies are getting on this bandwagon, maybe its already time to get off.

I mean, first Ashton, then Oprah, and now this?

Is there ANYTHING cool a celebrity doesn’t ruin?!?!?!


Drink Up
My job has officially turned me into a wino. No shit. For the last 10 years, I have been virtually alcohol free, save a few minor incidents of which we no longer speak.

And all photos have been burned.

Anylush, I have now taken to having a glass of wine every night. I figure, hey, if I have to work until midnight, just to round out my 18 hour days, why not do it with some of this magic elixir everyone is talking about?

I have somehow reasoned that a glass of wine is somehow sooo much better and less of a "on-her-way-to-being-a-drunk-in-the-gutter"-type-vice then pouring myself a stiff martini.

Just how is this different?

I don’t know.

But four glasses in, I don’t care either.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I Have to Show Up For Two Days of This?

Top Five Things I Learned in My First-of-Two Training Days

1. No matter what city, state or type of training, there’s always that one person who has an answer/comment/story for everything. And the combination of those three things will inevitably prevent the training from ending on time.

2. No matter how many times the instructor gives cell phone instructions (i.e. turn it off or at least on vibrate), there will always be that one person who not only doesn’t turn it off, but will answer the call and talk right there in the middle of the training.

3. No amount of coffee will work after 230.

4. An hour lunch or ten-minute break really means that…plus apparently at least ten more minutes or frankly whenever you feel like bringing your happy ass back so the rest of us can start.

5. Pinching yourself to stay awake is ineffective, and only leaves you with a bloody hand.

And finally, for the Presenter: The word is “specific,” not “pacific.”

That’s an ocean.

Hi ho, hi ho. Onto Day 2 we go.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Taxing

Dear Evanston Post Office,

While you have never been known for your efficiency and customer service, I would be remiss if I did not address my visit this afternoon.

Despite the fact that the entire country is talking “taxes,” and that Tax Day is the same day EVERY YEAR, it appears that you missed the memo that Tax Day is, in fact, tomorrow.

April 15th.

I mean, you must have forgotten, right? As I cannot cognitively understand why you would staff only two (of a possible seven) tellers at the only post office in the city.

Two.

Now, perhaps you thought that I was more like many of the other women in the city who are more “Desperate Housewives” then, well, an over-full-time working single lady, a la “Ally McBeal.” And perhaps you thought this meant I had all the time in the world to stand in that long-ass line and admire the vast varieties of colored envelopes and stamp designs to my heart’s content.

But alas – I actually have a job.

One that gives me a paycheck.

A paycheck with taxes taken out.

Lots and lots and lots of taxes.

And now, in addition to having those taxes taken out, I must now give more.

And those taxes?

They’re due tomorrow.

So if you will kindly employ another teller to handle my precious package that represents all those hard-ass hours of work I must now hand over to the government (that I already take a paycut to work for) so I can get back to that job, I would so very much appreciate it.

And if you don’t have another teller on staff, I hear there is a recession going on, and a lot of people that would be happy to receive a paycheck.

And pay taxes.

Like me.

And even though most people pay me to give advice, I'll give ya that one for free.

Seems all these taxes have put me in the gift-giving sort of mood.

Oh, and to the 11 of 19 people in front of me who - despite standing in that same line for all that time - waited until you got to the teller window to fill out your paper work?

I hope you get audited.

Sincerely and now many dollars lighter,

M


(And to the rest - a little laugh in case your tax day was as rough as mine - http://www.theonion.com/content/news/media_having_trouble_finding_right?utm_source=a-section -you're welcome!)

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Hey, it's a Start...

Yeah, yeah - long time not talk. I could blame it on Facebook, but then I would have to admit that I neglect that too. I think that (despite what my family says to the contrary) I simply don't have a lot to say lately.

You can only bitch about the weather and a job for so many posts, no?

So here's a smattering of what's been in my head.


1. I have decided that I will never been an Ironman champ. Why? Boobs are too big.

Surely that is the only reason.


2. I am pretty sure I have the world’s worst muscle tone. I mean, even though my little legs can take me on a 3-hour brick any given Sunday, they have the cellulite look of an 80-old smoker who has led a life of leisure and inactivity. I don’t get it. I am going to be forced to run my ½ marathon in Nashville in running pants just to hide the atrocity.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You know - us girls can't a flippin' break, like EVER. First, it's the whole 3-decades long mentration bullshit, with all it's cramps and PMS and blood and tampon glory. And then, just when you think you've done your "Lady Time," you have to suffer another decade or two of menapause and it's hot-flash fabulousness and hormone replacement. Oh, and if you're "lucky," you get a few 9-month vacations in there. But fear not - those vacations end WITH A KID.

What the fuck kind of present is that?!?!?

It's crap.

What do boys get?

Maybe a receeding hairline and some extra pudge. And yet they're the ones entitled to mid-life crisis?!? They can all just suck it. Suck my big fat leg cellulite.


3.Greatest lesson learned this weekend? Activa gives me diarrhea. Of course, the ass explosion is only secondary to the rock-hard stomach-extending bloat and gas the precedes it. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking –

Thank GAWD I am engaged.


4. So I joined Twitter. Because in addition to the blog AND Facebook status updates, I figured that it is absolutely imperative that there be not.one.single.second of my life that goes unnoticed or unannounced.

I mean, if you can’t live out loud, how can you live?


5. Greatest part of Easter dinner (besides my mom's cooking)?

Watching my nephew dance to and sing "I Hate This Part (Right Here)."

Because nothing celebrates the death and resurrection of Christ like a two-year-old singing the words to a Pussycat Dolls song.

The shit warms the cockles of the heart, you know?

(truth be told - it was effing HYSTERICAL and I can't wait to get the video to post it. so the question is: does that make me a bad aunt that i completely and whole heartedly encourage these performances? i think not. in fact, i think that the easter basket i brought him filled with candy, paint, and -yes- tattoos, sort of cancels out any "bad" i could do as an aunt.

it's true.

it's just how the world works.

i don't make the rules.)