So after the onslaught on fun and pictures (see previous three posts) over the last several days, it's time to get down to business.
I am having a houseguest tomorrow.
This event happens about once a month, or once every 21-25 days, and the night before the arrival, I am pretty frenzied.
Why?
Let’s face it – 25 days of the month, I am your typical bachelorette. I live alone, I come and go as I please, I answer to no one, and if I feel like leaving my undies on the bathroom floor, there’s not a soul around to complain. Don't get me wrong - I am not dirty. Not at all. It's just that, with all that's going on, things can get, well...messy.
On any given day, I am the kind of girl who:
1. Grocery shops on an as-need basis. If I can’t carry everything from the car to the apartment in one trip, I don’t buy it.
2. Wears two different socks pretty much all the time – not because I am trying to make a fashion statement, but because I often just pull out the first two socks I see and put them on. In fact, many a time I don’t even fold the clothes after doing the laundry – I just leave it in the basket and take what I need when I need it.
3. On that note, most of my clothes (minus my collection of sundresses, which are all hung up, thankyouverymuch) are often wrinkled because I don’t own an iron. In my defense here, most of my non-dresses are workout clothes, which also frequently double as my daily clothes (yes, even to the office, which I pop in and out of before/after workouts). So does it matter if they are wrinkled? I think not.
4. Washes my dishes when I need to – which isn’t often, because I am the world’s laziest eater so everything is pre-prepared, like Weight Watchers microwave meals, spinach in a bag (just throw some dressing in, shake and voila! Meal time!), or turkey sandwiches. If it can’t be made in three minutes or less, I don’t eat.
5. Owns only two plates. The rest is Tupperware, out of which I eat my cereal.
6. Cleans my bathroom twice a month - hey, I said I'm not dirty, just messy, and bathroom cleaning is the worst.
7. Randomly finds pretzel nuggets under my pillow.
8. Sleeps on one side of the bed, while the other side is usually occupied by past and current issues of Runners World and Triathlete, two random books, paperwork, a pen and my cell phone.
Wow – looking at that list, it seems I would hardly make for a good wifey one day. I am pretty sure I am about as undomesticated as they come.
I think my only redeeming quality is that I wash my bed sheets with regularity. ‘Cause that’s just gross.
So yeah…I’m kind of a catch.
Lock your brothers and husbands up.
So when I have houseguests, all hell breaks loose, and I am forced to clean up my pig pen. The upshot is that my place is so small, it only takes by a minute to shove everything into their own hiding places.
And today’s big project?
I bought an air conditioner. Yup, little Meggie measured her window, determined the BTUs, drove herself to the Home Depot, found a model, loaded it into her car all by herself, brought it up three flights of stairs (okay fine, I used the elevator, but I still carried it down the hall), and attempted to install it. And that’s where the story ends – I gave up after ten minutes, threw the screws across the room, stomped my foot and wagged my finger at it.
Moments later, my Healthy Choice meal beeped to tell me it was ready, so dinner was served.
Now it’s off to clean the bathroom.
Awesome.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
End of the Weekend Pictures
So I know I have totally thrown up a ton of pictures this weekend, but the other day I was scrolling through my posts and noticed that I have a woefull amount of pictures. Thus, I took my camera with me all weekend, and here is the final day - Sunday. On schedule: Three-hour ride, one-hour run. Today I conquered my fear of riding alone, and did the whole brick by myself. And what a surprise - I didn't get a flat, get run over, or fall off my bike without having someone to save me. It was just me, and I loved it.
I tried to take this while actually riding the bike. This is on the north trail, looking, well, north. This also happens to be the same path I ran south on for the MC200 relay last month. In fact, the exact exchange point is just about right where I took the next two pictures.
Me.
Path.
YAY!!! Home from the ride, getting ready to run. The smile on my face is most likely because A). I did the ride 10 minutes faster than last week and B). I was feeling oddly fine, which was weird, given last week's catastrophe of a brick. Uh, yeah, so the apartment is SORT OF a distaster - but in my defense, I have been pretty swamped this weekend, and was basically in and out like a tornando. Please avert your eyes.
Evanston lakefront, looking south - in the far stiance you can make out the building of downtown Chicago.
Overlooking Lake Michigan. I was aiming to get the sailboats, but they didn't really come out. Use your imagination.
This is on the way back, at Lee Street Beach, or as I like to call it, "My Beach." Okay, so I don't technically own it, but I like to frequent it. About 10 seconds after I snapped this picture, Devin ran up to me with TJ (my once-dog, now hers because I can't take care of shit). It wasn't until we parted ways that it occurred to me we should have taken a picture together (we were wearing the exact same outfit of skirt, black bra, glasses and IronMeg visor). Oh well. You know what she looks like.
Run done. Yeah, I am not as happy in this one. I think I was just really hot, sweaty, and achy. I threw my back out yesterday doing something completely ridiculous (lifting bottled water) so I wasn't even going to ride today, but then when I woke up (I slept on an ice pack) I was like, "Self, don't be such a sissy." So after the run, I was pretty stiffened up, and STARVING. Speaking of starving, I need to go eat. I hope everyone had a lovely holiday weekend!
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Fourth of July - Round Two and Le Tour
While the first half of the day proved to be quite eventful, the second half was just as crazy. After the run and parade, I went to Ellie's to hang out. However, most of the time was spent listening to Baby Nolan, who apparently knew there was fun to be had and screamed from his crib until we took him out. Her he is, post-nap, dried snot everywhere, and a look that says,"I hate you Auntie Megan."
From there, I went to my mom's, ate four (4!) servings of delicious dessert (diet be damned!) and then headed to the Sox game. I didn't take any pictures of the actual game, but I managed to force my sister and brother-in-law to take a picture outside on the top level.
You may notice that we are all in sweatshirts - that's because it was COLD last night! Yes, cold - on July 4th.
Me and Devin. So that's all I have to say about the 4th. It was long, busy, and when I got home I literally passed out in my bed. My legs were exhausted, my head was throbbing and my eyes were itchy from all the firework smoke that was EVERYWHERE. But overall, it was a great day.
From there, I went to my mom's, ate four (4!) servings of delicious dessert (diet be damned!) and then headed to the Sox game. I didn't take any pictures of the actual game, but I managed to force my sister and brother-in-law to take a picture outside on the top level. 
You may notice that we are all in sweatshirts - that's because it was COLD last night! Yes, cold - on July 4th. 
Me and Devin. So that's all I have to say about the 4th. It was long, busy, and when I got home I literally passed out in my bed. My legs were exhausted, my head was throbbing and my eyes were itchy from all the firework smoke that was EVERYWHERE. But overall, it was a great day./
/
And for those of you who care, Tour de France started today. This is one of the big highlights every summer for me, mostly because I started watching it the year my dad got sick. That summer I began a short-lived tradition where I would spend a long weekend at my friend's lake house (at the time, it was birthday treat, and to also take a break from caring for my dad) and every morning, I would get up, turn it on, and obsess over it all morning. Lance rode back then, so it was kind of a big deal.
/
/
The Tour reminds me that it is summer, and that my birthday is right around the corner. Every year I pick a favorite, and me and my lake house friend used to make all sorts of friendly bets on the race (overall winner, king of the mountains, etc). I will admit that I fell off a bit last year towards the end of the race because I just got so frustrated with all the doping nonsense. But this year I am back and ready to see some action.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Fourth of July - Round One
No better way then to start the day with a 10-miler on the lake. Yes, in fact, this would be the second attempt of my long run this week, what with all the quitting I did the other day. I decided to take my camera this time, because far too many runs I have had where I think to myself, "Damn am I lucky to live here - I wish everyone could see what I see." And now you can!
Belmont Harbor looking north - this would be around my two-mile mark (I started at the 1.5).
Heading south down through Lincoln Park - to the left is the Lincoln Park lagoon, and straight ahead is downtown - you can seek the Hancock Building.
Me - standing at the top of the North Avenue Bridge - behind me are the south bound lanes of Lake Shore Drive - this bridge crosses over to the lake and North Avenue Beach, where, at 9am, people were already picnicing and sunbathing.
And over at North Avenue Beach, heading south towards Oak Street Beach - if you ever saw the movie "The Break-up", this is where they shot that 10 seconds of Jennifer Aniston running.
How I only noticed this today, I have no idea - apparently someone thought it would be an AWESOME idea to put fake palm trees all along Oak Street Beach. Which is great because A.) Clearly my tax dollars are HARD.AT.WORK. and B) If I wanted to see fake shit, like faces, boobies and personalities, I would live in LA. What a mess.
Run done - 10 miles in the books. I actually felt great, so I suspect the harsh face is because I was being followed by about 10 cars and three men on foot for my parking space at Montrose Beach. Oh - this entire area was like a clusterfuck since 7am. I so wish I was kidding. I had never seen anything like it, and hope never to again. Then, as I pull out of the space, one guy stands in the middle of it (as if to save it) while another guy tries to pull his car in. I pull away just as the fracas breaks out. Ahhhh - ain't this country grand?
It's parade time!!!! I met up with Bridget and Baby Terry (who was sporting one of his mother's creations unbeknownst to Papa Joe) His shirt read: "My momma's for Obama"
"But my papa's for McCain." Guess whose house I DON'T want to live in come November.
And look who joined the fun!!!! It's my sister Ellie and Baby Nolan! Could not just eat this picture up? 
What an awesome picture!
In his jarbled baby talk, Nolan was asking "Hey, when do they start throwing candy at you?" I was confused until - I'll be darned - they really DID throw candy at you! Which was great, what with my diet and all - but you can bet you mortgage on me snapping up some Sweet Tarts and Tootsie Rolls. Hey, I ran 10 miles - give a girl a break.
And of course, what is a Fourth of July parade without a camel? No seriously - WTF? The best part is the sign for Happy Foods, which was out local mom-n-pop grocery store before the whole Jewel thing. I have many a fond memory of the Happy Foods.
And here we are - me, Ellie and Nolan. Okay - off to the BBQ and then the Sox game!Thursday, July 3, 2008
Fallen
In the rare, rare moments of candidness and lucidty during his illness, my dad would make brief mention of his fear. When asked for his thoughts in these moments, he would say:
“When a clown leaves the circus, it’s not the circus he misses – it’s the other clowns.”
And throughout the six months of his illness, these “clowns” came out in droves. After more then 30 years on the police force, he had made his share of friends and admirers. It became very clear, very fast, that my dad’s life, identity and existence was tied up in his status of a Chicago police captain.
What I learned during this time, more than any other time in my dad’s life, was the type of family police officers are. They were the ones calling to “shoot the shit” at 6am, and the ones who knew all about the details of us kids and our accomplishments more than we did. They were the ones with whom my dad spent 20 hours of his days. And for old schoolers like my dad, they worked with each other not for five or ten years, but twenty or thirty years. These guys were more brothers to my father than his own might have been.
And on early Wednesday morning, in Chicago, one of his brothers – one of the closest and longest known to him – was killed in an on-duty incident. Apparently he was shot in the head when trying to stop a disturbance on Belmont. From what is known now, a woman (possibly homeless) was causing a disturbance, and when my dad’s friend approached her, she grabbed his gun from him and pulled the trigger.
He was 60, and one year short of retirement. He has almost three decades on the job. He worked next to my dad in the 18th district for innumerable years, and then next to my dad on all of my dad’s side jobs for almost two decades. Because I often worked at these side jobs too throughout high school, college and grad school, I spent many-a-summer with this man.
When my dad was sick, this man was at out many morning a week, just to sit with my dad, share time with hear, hear another one of my dad’s famous stories, and do just what police officers do for each other in the time of tragedy – sit, listen, support.
This is one of those moments when you feel pissed for the injustice, sad for his family – biological and police- and their loss, and hopeful, because you can just see him sitting up with my dad “shooting the shit” like they did in my dad’s office, and cruising the Heaven version of EBay for sports memorabilia. Just like the old crew did.
But mostly, it just kinda sucks – the randomness and senselessness of it all.
I have no real profound thoughts on this.
It just is.
“When a clown leaves the circus, it’s not the circus he misses – it’s the other clowns.”
And throughout the six months of his illness, these “clowns” came out in droves. After more then 30 years on the police force, he had made his share of friends and admirers. It became very clear, very fast, that my dad’s life, identity and existence was tied up in his status of a Chicago police captain.
What I learned during this time, more than any other time in my dad’s life, was the type of family police officers are. They were the ones calling to “shoot the shit” at 6am, and the ones who knew all about the details of us kids and our accomplishments more than we did. They were the ones with whom my dad spent 20 hours of his days. And for old schoolers like my dad, they worked with each other not for five or ten years, but twenty or thirty years. These guys were more brothers to my father than his own might have been.
And on early Wednesday morning, in Chicago, one of his brothers – one of the closest and longest known to him – was killed in an on-duty incident. Apparently he was shot in the head when trying to stop a disturbance on Belmont. From what is known now, a woman (possibly homeless) was causing a disturbance, and when my dad’s friend approached her, she grabbed his gun from him and pulled the trigger.
He was 60, and one year short of retirement. He has almost three decades on the job. He worked next to my dad in the 18th district for innumerable years, and then next to my dad on all of my dad’s side jobs for almost two decades. Because I often worked at these side jobs too throughout high school, college and grad school, I spent many-a-summer with this man.
When my dad was sick, this man was at out many morning a week, just to sit with my dad, share time with hear, hear another one of my dad’s famous stories, and do just what police officers do for each other in the time of tragedy – sit, listen, support.
This is one of those moments when you feel pissed for the injustice, sad for his family – biological and police- and their loss, and hopeful, because you can just see him sitting up with my dad “shooting the shit” like they did in my dad’s office, and cruising the Heaven version of EBay for sports memorabilia. Just like the old crew did.
But mostly, it just kinda sucks – the randomness and senselessness of it all.
I have no real profound thoughts on this.
It just is.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Two-Post Kinda Day
I can't seem to shake that run today.
By the time I got home, I was pretty salty. As in, my mood - not what was pouring from my dehydrated skin. Although, come to think of it, it could be both.
I keep going over and over in my mind what went wrong - wrong time of the day (11am), weather (stupid hot, humid and sunny), or something else I am not factoring into the mix.
But it pretty much set the tone for a what-would-become a very angry type of day.
OH! OH! OH!
I have NO IDEA how I ever forgot to tell this story, especially because it happened about two weeks ago, but I was reminded of it today. So gather around the old fan (I have no AC) and let me tell ya a little diddy.
About two weeks ago, I was crossing Sheridan Road, leaving the beach and walking the three blocks home. Just before I stepped into the street, a BMW with a man driver and a blond female passenger crossed my path.
Now, I was right where Sheridan Road curves into Main Street in Evanston, so as I walk across the street, their car takes the curve and they are basically parellel to me and I head east on Main.
All of the sudden, I hear the man driver screaming, "Nicole, come on! Come on Nicole! Nicole! Don't do this!"
And OF COURSE I'm gonna stare.
Have you met me?
Turns out that, as they made the turn, the blond (Nicole, I guess?) was trying to jump out of the car.
As it was moving.
Bitch was trying to jump out of a moving car!!!
Like in the movies!
But without the cameras!
And the guy just keeps screaming instead of just pulling over and stopping.
Well, eventually he does, she jumps out and start walking back the way they came. He drives up to the corner and parks, and I could see him trying to make a call on the cell phone.
Odd, he didn't, like, chase after her or anything. He just sort of sat there in his car while crazy-car-jumping girl walked home.
Well, maybe not so weird.
Because in my opinion, if I was dating someone crazy enough to actually try to jump out of a car, not only would I LET him, but I would hit the gas HARD and get the eff out of there before he could get my license plate number.
'Cause that?
That is shit-nuts crazy.
And what reminded me of this cute little story today, of all days?
This afternoon, I was driving to my office and in front of the Starbucks, a man was sitting in his car, opened his door, leaned out, and threw up.
I know, RIGHT?
Moral of the stories?
People do some weird things in their cars.....
Sigh.
I feel oddly better now....
By the time I got home, I was pretty salty. As in, my mood - not what was pouring from my dehydrated skin. Although, come to think of it, it could be both.
I keep going over and over in my mind what went wrong - wrong time of the day (11am), weather (stupid hot, humid and sunny), or something else I am not factoring into the mix.
But it pretty much set the tone for a what-would-become a very angry type of day.
OH! OH! OH!
I have NO IDEA how I ever forgot to tell this story, especially because it happened about two weeks ago, but I was reminded of it today. So gather around the old fan (I have no AC) and let me tell ya a little diddy.
About two weeks ago, I was crossing Sheridan Road, leaving the beach and walking the three blocks home. Just before I stepped into the street, a BMW with a man driver and a blond female passenger crossed my path.
Now, I was right where Sheridan Road curves into Main Street in Evanston, so as I walk across the street, their car takes the curve and they are basically parellel to me and I head east on Main.
All of the sudden, I hear the man driver screaming, "Nicole, come on! Come on Nicole! Nicole! Don't do this!"
And OF COURSE I'm gonna stare.
Have you met me?
Turns out that, as they made the turn, the blond (Nicole, I guess?) was trying to jump out of the car.
As it was moving.
Bitch was trying to jump out of a moving car!!!
Like in the movies!
But without the cameras!
And the guy just keeps screaming instead of just pulling over and stopping.
Well, eventually he does, she jumps out and start walking back the way they came. He drives up to the corner and parks, and I could see him trying to make a call on the cell phone.
Odd, he didn't, like, chase after her or anything. He just sort of sat there in his car while crazy-car-jumping girl walked home.
Well, maybe not so weird.
Because in my opinion, if I was dating someone crazy enough to actually try to jump out of a car, not only would I LET him, but I would hit the gas HARD and get the eff out of there before he could get my license plate number.
'Cause that?
That is shit-nuts crazy.
And what reminded me of this cute little story today, of all days?
This afternoon, I was driving to my office and in front of the Starbucks, a man was sitting in his car, opened his door, leaned out, and threw up.
I know, RIGHT?
Moral of the stories?
People do some weird things in their cars.....
Sigh.
I feel oddly better now....
Checklist
Things seen on the Chicago lakefront during my long run (attempt):
1. The backs of a family of four pedaling one of those bike-made-for-four (as they passed me).
2. A girl running with a full face of make-up (hey, I'll all about looking cute out there, but make up? No joke that it was like, 90 and humid. Too bad I didn't stay out there long enough to see her on the turn around - I bet that shit would have looked AWESOME when it melted down her face).
3. Girls running in pants (see aforementioned comment).
4. Life guards - now that's the kind of job I need - stand around, looking bored while getting a great tan and people watching. It's genuis.
5. A woman riding a bike in her bikini. Now, here's the thing - I may or may not have used my bikini for alternative purposes (i..e. underwear) at various times in my life, but I can securely say I have never doubled it as workout gear. Seriously, people. And ever notice that, while in, say, South Beach, the women doing this are like these hot Brazilian model types with big fake boobs and long flowing hair. But alas, here at Oak Street Beach in Chicago, they're all like 65, wrinkly and leatherly with stringy white hair and God only knows what the waxing situation might be. Ah, life. So unfair to the eyes sometimes.
6. Dads pushing strollers or riding bikes with their offspring. Yeah....I have no sarcastic comment for this one - in fact, it pretty much warmed my stone cold heart. Good stuff.
7. Lots and lots of campers - as in, the 5-8 year olds and their counselors heading to the beach. Ah, I remember the days of my Chicago Park District free summer camps excursions. My mom used to pack our lunches in brown bags 'cause we were, well, broke, and she would wrap our soda in tin foil, as if to try and keep it cold when it was 98 degrees and we were forced to walked three miels in the blistering sun to the Gompers Pool. Oddly, it never did keep the soda cold, and the heavy can always smashed the bag of Fritos and the PB&J sandwich so all the jelly squished out of the sides.
8. The Summer catalog model crew for Abercrombie and Fitch - and not becuase I was looking, but because all eight of them seemed to miss the yellow divider line on the running/biking path by North Avenue beach, so they put their four brain cells together and took up the ENTIRE path, northbound and southbound. Sigh. It must be nice to be good looking and unaccountable for your stupidity.
And do you know what all of these people saw in return?
1. A bright-pink-faced, 30-something year old who was gasping for air, taking periodic walk breaks and yet still getting slower with each 1/2 mile, but was at least smart enough to leave all her IM-labled stuff at home so as not to tarnish the reputation of race accomplishment by her embarressment of a run today.
So, uh, yeah.
I guess that means that jokes on me.
1. The backs of a family of four pedaling one of those bike-made-for-four (as they passed me).
2. A girl running with a full face of make-up (hey, I'll all about looking cute out there, but make up? No joke that it was like, 90 and humid. Too bad I didn't stay out there long enough to see her on the turn around - I bet that shit would have looked AWESOME when it melted down her face).
3. Girls running in pants (see aforementioned comment).
4. Life guards - now that's the kind of job I need - stand around, looking bored while getting a great tan and people watching. It's genuis.
5. A woman riding a bike in her bikini. Now, here's the thing - I may or may not have used my bikini for alternative purposes (i..e. underwear) at various times in my life, but I can securely say I have never doubled it as workout gear. Seriously, people. And ever notice that, while in, say, South Beach, the women doing this are like these hot Brazilian model types with big fake boobs and long flowing hair. But alas, here at Oak Street Beach in Chicago, they're all like 65, wrinkly and leatherly with stringy white hair and God only knows what the waxing situation might be. Ah, life. So unfair to the eyes sometimes.
6. Dads pushing strollers or riding bikes with their offspring. Yeah....I have no sarcastic comment for this one - in fact, it pretty much warmed my stone cold heart. Good stuff.
7. Lots and lots of campers - as in, the 5-8 year olds and their counselors heading to the beach. Ah, I remember the days of my Chicago Park District free summer camps excursions. My mom used to pack our lunches in brown bags 'cause we were, well, broke, and she would wrap our soda in tin foil, as if to try and keep it cold when it was 98 degrees and we were forced to walked three miels in the blistering sun to the Gompers Pool. Oddly, it never did keep the soda cold, and the heavy can always smashed the bag of Fritos and the PB&J sandwich so all the jelly squished out of the sides.
8. The Summer catalog model crew for Abercrombie and Fitch - and not becuase I was looking, but because all eight of them seemed to miss the yellow divider line on the running/biking path by North Avenue beach, so they put their four brain cells together and took up the ENTIRE path, northbound and southbound. Sigh. It must be nice to be good looking and unaccountable for your stupidity.
And do you know what all of these people saw in return?
1. A bright-pink-faced, 30-something year old who was gasping for air, taking periodic walk breaks and yet still getting slower with each 1/2 mile, but was at least smart enough to leave all her IM-labled stuff at home so as not to tarnish the reputation of race accomplishment by her embarressment of a run today.
So, uh, yeah.
I guess that means that jokes on me.
Monday, June 30, 2008
And So It Goes
"Diet" is "Evil" Spelled with Different Letters
So I have figured out where I may have gone wrong in this whole food business.
Of course, there are the obvious pot holes – the bad foods, yada yada – I get it, no sugar.
And I have been doing really good with the whole "no candy and ice cream" bit, even if it means I have resorted to knawing the skin off the side of my fingers right by the fingernails.
Anyone else notice that blood can, in a delerium, taste like cookie dough?
But lately I have been eating those 100-calories packs – you know the ones that actual take the guess work out of it and do the whole appropriate measuring for you?
See, my former fool-proof method of NOT eating entire bags of stuff was too keep the bag in the cabinet across the room, so that I would have to actually get up when I wanted more.
And since we all know how lazy I am, it was a safe bet that after two handfuls, no potato chip tasted THAT good for another trip.
But then this little trick stopped working. Why? Well, mostly because I live in an apartment where the kitchen cabinet is three feet from my bed.
You do the math.
So back to that 100-calorie packs. See, I figured this would be my new fool-proof method, and I thought, "Self, you know what 100 calories look like - so you have one pack and move one! Genius! Back to skinny Ironman jeans in no time!"
Turns out my 100-calories guess-timate weren’t all that far off.
If I was a eating for a family of six.
When you actually look at it, 100 calories is really not that much. I mean, it’s like four Triscuits. Who eats just four Triscuts?
Well, I guess me…now.
Shucks.
And I love this whole idea of making everything "mini" - like, you won't know your only eating four Triscuts if they're cut up into twenty ant-size crackers.
Mmmmm, yummmy....can I get a side of air with that?
Bottom line? I can cut out all the sweets in the world, but if I am inhaling eight packages of 100-calorie Chex mix, well then what’s the point?
Ah, moderation.
I hate you.
Fire-Fighting
And on the topic of weight - Here’s a question.
Why are running partners important?
It’s always good to have someone on hand to stop-drop-and-roll your chub when you catch fire from the friction of inner thigh rub.
Without ‘em, you’re just another girl making a run for the waters of Lake Michigan with smoke coming out of her ass.
So I have figured out where I may have gone wrong in this whole food business.
Of course, there are the obvious pot holes – the bad foods, yada yada – I get it, no sugar.
And I have been doing really good with the whole "no candy and ice cream" bit, even if it means I have resorted to knawing the skin off the side of my fingers right by the fingernails.
Anyone else notice that blood can, in a delerium, taste like cookie dough?
But lately I have been eating those 100-calories packs – you know the ones that actual take the guess work out of it and do the whole appropriate measuring for you?
See, my former fool-proof method of NOT eating entire bags of stuff was too keep the bag in the cabinet across the room, so that I would have to actually get up when I wanted more.
And since we all know how lazy I am, it was a safe bet that after two handfuls, no potato chip tasted THAT good for another trip.
But then this little trick stopped working. Why? Well, mostly because I live in an apartment where the kitchen cabinet is three feet from my bed.
You do the math.
So back to that 100-calorie packs. See, I figured this would be my new fool-proof method, and I thought, "Self, you know what 100 calories look like - so you have one pack and move one! Genius! Back to skinny Ironman jeans in no time!"
Turns out my 100-calories guess-timate weren’t all that far off.
If I was a eating for a family of six.
When you actually look at it, 100 calories is really not that much. I mean, it’s like four Triscuits. Who eats just four Triscuts?
Well, I guess me…now.
Shucks.
And I love this whole idea of making everything "mini" - like, you won't know your only eating four Triscuts if they're cut up into twenty ant-size crackers.
Mmmmm, yummmy....can I get a side of air with that?
Bottom line? I can cut out all the sweets in the world, but if I am inhaling eight packages of 100-calorie Chex mix, well then what’s the point?
Ah, moderation.
I hate you.
Fire-Fighting
And on the topic of weight - Here’s a question.
Why are running partners important?
It’s always good to have someone on hand to stop-drop-and-roll your chub when you catch fire from the friction of inner thigh rub.
Without ‘em, you’re just another girl making a run for the waters of Lake Michigan with smoke coming out of her ass.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The Difference a Day Makes
How funny that two days ago I posted about wanting to do another Ironman.
Why funny?
Because today I near killed myself trying to get through a 3hr ride/30 minue run brick.
By the time I got home, I was pretty intent on dropping out of Racine.
I feel somewhat defeated right now.
Like, I knew I was a bit undertrained, but today was reality's punch in the face.
Here is where I think I went wrong:
1. All rides post-Arizona have been on the trainer, and without any real intensity. I mean, I get on and pedal, but I do no speed or hill work. On the road, I felt like I was pulling through mud.
2. I rode with an old friend, Larry - you may remember him - old BF who I tried to stay friends with for about a year, then finally decided to part ways last summer? Hence, it's been a while since we have really talked, much less rode together. One thing that hasn't changed is his fitness (3x Ironman finisher), so I spent most of my ride trying to keep up with him without looking winded or slowing down (meanwhile, I think he slowed down so that I could keep up with him, but he would never admit to that - he just told me how good I was riding). Point? By the time I hit the run, I was DONE.
3. My bike is BEGGING for a tune up. The chain and cassette need cleaning, the gears are all effed up...but that's more of a side note as opposed to a reason for the grotesquness of my Sheridan Road expreince.
4. Umm...well...I think I might be out of excuses.
So, in summary - my training's been lazy, and I blew my wad on the ride.
While I can correct the second part, lazy training will ultimately do me in.
Sigh.
I likely won't drop the race (mostly because so many people are doing it and I REALLY want to meet everyone!), but I am slightly more worried about it.
However, like any downer, there must be an upper, and my upper for the day is this:
I am proud to say that I have been candy, cake and ice cream free for four days now. Never you mind the minor blip on Thursday when I discovered three bins of my mom's homemade cookies at Devin's house - I may or may not have taste-tested one (four) of them. But that's been my only slip, and I managed to go over there yesterday and didn't even make eye contact with the damn cookies.
Huh.
Huh.
Somehow that is not making me feel any better right now......
Why funny?
Because today I near killed myself trying to get through a 3hr ride/30 minue run brick.
By the time I got home, I was pretty intent on dropping out of Racine.
I feel somewhat defeated right now.
Like, I knew I was a bit undertrained, but today was reality's punch in the face.
Here is where I think I went wrong:
1. All rides post-Arizona have been on the trainer, and without any real intensity. I mean, I get on and pedal, but I do no speed or hill work. On the road, I felt like I was pulling through mud.
2. I rode with an old friend, Larry - you may remember him - old BF who I tried to stay friends with for about a year, then finally decided to part ways last summer? Hence, it's been a while since we have really talked, much less rode together. One thing that hasn't changed is his fitness (3x Ironman finisher), so I spent most of my ride trying to keep up with him without looking winded or slowing down (meanwhile, I think he slowed down so that I could keep up with him, but he would never admit to that - he just told me how good I was riding). Point? By the time I hit the run, I was DONE.
3. My bike is BEGGING for a tune up. The chain and cassette need cleaning, the gears are all effed up...but that's more of a side note as opposed to a reason for the grotesquness of my Sheridan Road expreince.
4. Umm...well...I think I might be out of excuses.
So, in summary - my training's been lazy, and I blew my wad on the ride.
While I can correct the second part, lazy training will ultimately do me in.
Sigh.
I likely won't drop the race (mostly because so many people are doing it and I REALLY want to meet everyone!), but I am slightly more worried about it.
However, like any downer, there must be an upper, and my upper for the day is this:
I am proud to say that I have been candy, cake and ice cream free for four days now. Never you mind the minor blip on Thursday when I discovered three bins of my mom's homemade cookies at Devin's house - I may or may not have taste-tested one (four) of them. But that's been my only slip, and I managed to go over there yesterday and didn't even make eye contact with the damn cookies.
Huh.
Huh.
Somehow that is not making me feel any better right now......
Friday, June 27, 2008
Lofty Goals
Yeah, so like any high-glam city girl rockin’ her Friday night, I’m sitting here in my bed listening to politically conservative podcasts and cruising blogs.
And what am I discovering?
Well, besides the pro v. con argument of open borders?
Yup – I am discovering that I WANT TO DO ANOTHER IRONMAN.
I think I have seen every single picture taken of the recent CdA IM, and I am overwhelmed with the desire to abuse my body yet again.
And soon.
And this is all pretty silly, especially since I am struggling right now to just complete my ½ Iron training for my upcoming race.
But there’s been this nagging voice in the back of my head, telling me, “You can do it, and you can do it BETTER.”
But man, I so loved my IM experience.
I want to have the structure of training for such a huge goal.
I want to feel that anticipation of the race getting closer.
I want to feel the exhaustion of a stupid long 7-hour brick, and still have dinner with my sister afterwards.
I want to see my family all together again.
I want to pull my goggles over my eyes and know that I CAN swim over 2 miles while simultaneously getting punched in the face.
I want to feel the sun on my shoulders over the 112 miles bike.
I want to feel the burn of my quads off the bike.
I want to see the 26.2 miles ahead of me, and think, “Phew! Almost over!”
I want to finish while it’s still light outside…which means a sub-14 hour.
I want to cross that line properly – by taking in every screaming spectators, slowing it down, and not flying in like I did the first time.
I want to actually hear my name called this time.
I want 140.6 miles to figure out where I am going to put my tattoo.
I want to win the lottery so I can fund this desire.
But I want to be there. Again.
Madison 09?
Good lord I need help.
And what am I discovering?
Well, besides the pro v. con argument of open borders?
Yup – I am discovering that I WANT TO DO ANOTHER IRONMAN.
I think I have seen every single picture taken of the recent CdA IM, and I am overwhelmed with the desire to abuse my body yet again.
And soon.
And this is all pretty silly, especially since I am struggling right now to just complete my ½ Iron training for my upcoming race.
But there’s been this nagging voice in the back of my head, telling me, “You can do it, and you can do it BETTER.”
But man, I so loved my IM experience.
I want to have the structure of training for such a huge goal.
I want to feel that anticipation of the race getting closer.
I want to feel the exhaustion of a stupid long 7-hour brick, and still have dinner with my sister afterwards.
I want to see my family all together again.
I want to pull my goggles over my eyes and know that I CAN swim over 2 miles while simultaneously getting punched in the face.
I want to feel the sun on my shoulders over the 112 miles bike.
I want to feel the burn of my quads off the bike.
I want to see the 26.2 miles ahead of me, and think, “Phew! Almost over!”
I want to finish while it’s still light outside…which means a sub-14 hour.
I want to cross that line properly – by taking in every screaming spectators, slowing it down, and not flying in like I did the first time.
I want to actually hear my name called this time.
I want 140.6 miles to figure out where I am going to put my tattoo.
I want to win the lottery so I can fund this desire.
But I want to be there. Again.
Madison 09?
Good lord I need help.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Bringing Home the Fat
Plane landed.
Luggage collected.
Guess what it’s time for?
A diet.
At some point, when you eat massive quantities of ice cream, Sour Patch Kids, Junior Mints, Twizzlers, Coke Zero (wha--?), and movie theatre popcorn, your ass looks up at you and says, “Come on, Meg. Really?”
Well, maybe not YOUR ass, 'cause that would be just weird - your ass looking at me.
I mean, MY ass.
And what an ass it has become.
Oh, and in case you might be thinking that I have exaggerated the amount of ice cream ingested, here’s a little story:
Last night, after a baseball game, complete with hot pretzels and peanuts (which I eat WITH the shells because I LOVE the salt), I came home, pulled out the quart of ice cream, and proudly proclaimed that I would finish the whole thing.
Cheese looked at me and said, “Yeah right. You can’t eat that whole thing.”
And them?
Them is fightin’ words.
Less then 20 minutes later – DONE.
And he may or may not have run screaming from the room, disgusted at the ugly display of gluttony I put on, wailing something about “Did not sign up for this food monster…who are you….your double chin is scaring me…..blah blah something.”
But I can’t be too sure, as I myself was laid out on the ground in a sugar coma, eyes in a transfixed state at the empty wrappers of candy in the garbage can, specks of sugar clinging for dear life at the corners of my mouth.
Twice-a-day running and pool visits apparently weren’t enough to assuage the pounds.
So instead, I came home from Oklahoma with belly fat and hips the size of the actual state itself.
Oh, and we are not even going in the direction of the GI issues.
Suffice to say that the body does not process, say, Gummy Bears, the same it would a meal of salmon and spinach.
Ugh.
I seriously can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep bitching about how bad I eat and how fat I am getting. I need to actually do something.
I need a detox.
And not the stick-a-tube-of-liquid-up-your-ass-and-flush kind of detox. Just a real good, back-on-the-good-food-wagon detox.
Wow. Sounds like I’ll be a bucket of laughs for the next few days.
Seriously.
Fruit and veggies have no sense of humor.
Luggage collected.
Guess what it’s time for?
A diet.
At some point, when you eat massive quantities of ice cream, Sour Patch Kids, Junior Mints, Twizzlers, Coke Zero (wha--?), and movie theatre popcorn, your ass looks up at you and says, “Come on, Meg. Really?”
Well, maybe not YOUR ass, 'cause that would be just weird - your ass looking at me.
I mean, MY ass.
And what an ass it has become.
Oh, and in case you might be thinking that I have exaggerated the amount of ice cream ingested, here’s a little story:
Last night, after a baseball game, complete with hot pretzels and peanuts (which I eat WITH the shells because I LOVE the salt), I came home, pulled out the quart of ice cream, and proudly proclaimed that I would finish the whole thing.
Cheese looked at me and said, “Yeah right. You can’t eat that whole thing.”
And them?
Them is fightin’ words.
Less then 20 minutes later – DONE.
And he may or may not have run screaming from the room, disgusted at the ugly display of gluttony I put on, wailing something about “Did not sign up for this food monster…who are you….your double chin is scaring me…..blah blah something.”
But I can’t be too sure, as I myself was laid out on the ground in a sugar coma, eyes in a transfixed state at the empty wrappers of candy in the garbage can, specks of sugar clinging for dear life at the corners of my mouth.
Twice-a-day running and pool visits apparently weren’t enough to assuage the pounds.
So instead, I came home from Oklahoma with belly fat and hips the size of the actual state itself.
Oh, and we are not even going in the direction of the GI issues.
Suffice to say that the body does not process, say, Gummy Bears, the same it would a meal of salmon and spinach.
Ugh.
I seriously can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep bitching about how bad I eat and how fat I am getting. I need to actually do something.
I need a detox.
And not the stick-a-tube-of-liquid-up-your-ass-and-flush kind of detox. Just a real good, back-on-the-good-food-wagon detox.
Wow. Sounds like I’ll be a bucket of laughs for the next few days.
Seriously.
Fruit and veggies have no sense of humor.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Still Alive, Still on Vacation, and Still Random
How have I been spending my vacation in hot ass Oklahoma?
Sleeping in, eating obscene amounts of candy and ice cream (or, as I like to refer to it - "breakfast"), going to the movies and eating obscene amounts of oil-drenched popcorn ("dinner"), watching the entire Arrested Development series on DVD, and reading (which keeps getting interupted by napping).
Oh, and lest I forget the enjoyable day (not sarcastic - it was actually enjoyable) at the public city pool, during which I managed to score myself a hot, itchy, sweet sunburn (not so enjoyable).
I am pretty convinced it will turn brown in another day, unless the skin just falls right off, in which case....well, let's just hope it turns brown.
I have also been training out here...well, really...running a ton. Oklahoma City has this great running path that treks along the river - and the other night we went for a 7-mile down it.
It was quite nice.
Oh, and speaking of training - good news.
I FINALLY broke the 2000-yard mark in the pool (yes, I have threatened myself with this very high marker that, three months ago, would have been 1/2 a workout, but hey). I struggled to get to 1500, but then, once I got there, I felt like I could keep going, so I did.
End of story.
I think I am going to a baseball game tonight. Since it's Oklahoma, it's a AAA game, but the park looks nice and I am SURE there are hot pretzels there.
Is it me, or is my life starting to revolve around food?
Just a thought.
Sleeping in, eating obscene amounts of candy and ice cream (or, as I like to refer to it - "breakfast"), going to the movies and eating obscene amounts of oil-drenched popcorn ("dinner"), watching the entire Arrested Development series on DVD, and reading (which keeps getting interupted by napping).
Oh, and lest I forget the enjoyable day (not sarcastic - it was actually enjoyable) at the public city pool, during which I managed to score myself a hot, itchy, sweet sunburn (not so enjoyable).
I am pretty convinced it will turn brown in another day, unless the skin just falls right off, in which case....well, let's just hope it turns brown.
I have also been training out here...well, really...running a ton. Oklahoma City has this great running path that treks along the river - and the other night we went for a 7-mile down it.
It was quite nice.
Oh, and speaking of training - good news.
I FINALLY broke the 2000-yard mark in the pool (yes, I have threatened myself with this very high marker that, three months ago, would have been 1/2 a workout, but hey). I struggled to get to 1500, but then, once I got there, I felt like I could keep going, so I did.
End of story.
I think I am going to a baseball game tonight. Since it's Oklahoma, it's a AAA game, but the park looks nice and I am SURE there are hot pretzels there.
Is it me, or is my life starting to revolve around food?
Just a thought.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
To My Sister, With Love
Dear Devin:
With any endurance sport, there will always be variables which we cannot control.
Sometimes, our months of training can be flawless, perfect in every way, and bring us to race day with high hopes and a focused mind.
But these variables can sneak up – they can take a hold of our bodies when we least expect it, and they can quickly dash all those months of hard work.
Yesterday, you toed the line in Minnesota, hundreds of miles away from the comfort of our Chicago lakefront, with one goal in mind: Qualify for Boston.
You knew that, even though your hip problem continued to nag, and you woke up with a spasmed and knotted back, there was nothing that was going to stop you from crossing that finish line.
And while the first several miles went as planned, somewhere along the way, things stopped working. At some point in the race, your body stopped working for you, and instead started working against.
You vomited. You ached. You knotted. You twisted in pain.
But the thing is, Dev, you never quit. You could have – you could have pulled up to the curb, stretched your back, hit the medical tent, and gave a big middle finger to Grandma.
But you didn’t. You stayed in the race.
You stayed in even when you had to walk more than run.
You stayed in even when you knew that you would not qualify.
You stayed in even when the disappointment you felt choked you with sobs.
You stayed in even when you had miles and miles stretched ahead of you, and you simply couldn’t get your body to move any faster.
When I think about what you went through on that course yesterday, my heart and my eyes swell with pride.
The fortitude you have in your heart is indescribable – it is something that, in my darkest hours, I hope I can recall and emulate.
It doesn’t matter what time you crossed that line yesterday – you were already my inspiration, my pride, my hero, and my sister.
While almost ever runner at some point dreams of qualifying for Boston, few ever actually try. And for those that try, few succeed.
Not only did you have the courage to try, but you had the courage to try twice, and to stay in a race despite all odds.
Boston will be there for you one day, Dev.
And if I know you, you won’t stop trying until you get it.
Keep your chin up, Kid. You are tough as nails, and an inspiration to all of us.
Love,
Me
With any endurance sport, there will always be variables which we cannot control.
Sometimes, our months of training can be flawless, perfect in every way, and bring us to race day with high hopes and a focused mind.
But these variables can sneak up – they can take a hold of our bodies when we least expect it, and they can quickly dash all those months of hard work.
Yesterday, you toed the line in Minnesota, hundreds of miles away from the comfort of our Chicago lakefront, with one goal in mind: Qualify for Boston.
You knew that, even though your hip problem continued to nag, and you woke up with a spasmed and knotted back, there was nothing that was going to stop you from crossing that finish line.
And while the first several miles went as planned, somewhere along the way, things stopped working. At some point in the race, your body stopped working for you, and instead started working against.
You vomited. You ached. You knotted. You twisted in pain.
But the thing is, Dev, you never quit. You could have – you could have pulled up to the curb, stretched your back, hit the medical tent, and gave a big middle finger to Grandma.
But you didn’t. You stayed in the race.
You stayed in even when you had to walk more than run.
You stayed in even when you knew that you would not qualify.
You stayed in even when the disappointment you felt choked you with sobs.
You stayed in even when you had miles and miles stretched ahead of you, and you simply couldn’t get your body to move any faster.
When I think about what you went through on that course yesterday, my heart and my eyes swell with pride.
The fortitude you have in your heart is indescribable – it is something that, in my darkest hours, I hope I can recall and emulate.
It doesn’t matter what time you crossed that line yesterday – you were already my inspiration, my pride, my hero, and my sister.
While almost ever runner at some point dreams of qualifying for Boston, few ever actually try. And for those that try, few succeed.
Not only did you have the courage to try, but you had the courage to try twice, and to stay in a race despite all odds.
Boston will be there for you one day, Dev.
And if I know you, you won’t stop trying until you get it.
Keep your chin up, Kid. You are tough as nails, and an inspiration to all of us.
Love,
Me
Thursday, June 19, 2008
HUGE Weekend
Wow.
Lots of stuff happening.
First and foremost, just want to give my sister yet another shout-out for her race this weekend. I have nothing but confidence that she will meet her goal - I am just sorry I won't be there for it.
Second, MAJOR MAJOR positive thoughts to all those doing IM CDA this weekend - incuding Mom, Tri-Dogma, and Tea. I know there are a ton of other people out there, and I really apologize for missing you, but I will definately spend some time in the next day catching up on blogs and then following people on the computer. Still fresh off my own and first IM, I got chills just thinking about how everyone is preparing in these last few days.
I am not really one for super inspirational words, but for all those doing IM this weekend - take it in - ALL OF IT - love every second, and bask in the day - no matter how cold the swim, how hard the ride, or how miserable the run. You earned your place out there, and come Monday, it's back to real life.
Enjoy!
And to Prin, who is celebrating a birthday this weekend - enjoy your secret plans!
As for me, I am outta here for a couple days - using up the last of my vacation days before my contract year ends July 1st. Of course, I can't go anywhere without my computer, so I will still be checking in, catching up on some VERY overdue emails (sorry!) and taking a break from the craziness of life.
To all those not qualifying for Boston, or doing and IM, or having a birthday - Have an AWESOME AWESOME weekend, enjoy the weather and the first day of summer!!
Lots of stuff happening.
First and foremost, just want to give my sister yet another shout-out for her race this weekend. I have nothing but confidence that she will meet her goal - I am just sorry I won't be there for it.
Second, MAJOR MAJOR positive thoughts to all those doing IM CDA this weekend - incuding Mom, Tri-Dogma, and Tea. I know there are a ton of other people out there, and I really apologize for missing you, but I will definately spend some time in the next day catching up on blogs and then following people on the computer. Still fresh off my own and first IM, I got chills just thinking about how everyone is preparing in these last few days.
I am not really one for super inspirational words, but for all those doing IM this weekend - take it in - ALL OF IT - love every second, and bask in the day - no matter how cold the swim, how hard the ride, or how miserable the run. You earned your place out there, and come Monday, it's back to real life.
Enjoy!
And to Prin, who is celebrating a birthday this weekend - enjoy your secret plans!
As for me, I am outta here for a couple days - using up the last of my vacation days before my contract year ends July 1st. Of course, I can't go anywhere without my computer, so I will still be checking in, catching up on some VERY overdue emails (sorry!) and taking a break from the craziness of life.
To all those not qualifying for Boston, or doing and IM, or having a birthday - Have an AWESOME AWESOME weekend, enjoy the weather and the first day of summer!!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Post #2 - Boobs aka Triathlon Giveth and Triathlon Taketh Away
So I noticed the other day that my strapless bra fell off.
Like, slide right down my belly.
Now, one with a rationale mind might think, “Oh, my boobs must have gotten smaller.”
Not me.
I blamed the bra.
“Oh, it must be stretched out…by my enormous jublies.”
So today I took myself bra shopping.
I grabbed a couple of D’s, and threw in some C’s - you know, just in case training really has taken a toll that I was not aware of.
When the D’s left room for a whole separate watermelon, I reluctantly tried on the C’s.
No matter how much I hoisted, pulled, twisted, adjusted – the suckers just would not fill the cups.
So I did what I am best at –
Turned on the denial, and bought myself some ice cream.
And then bitched up a storm.
Seriously.
Seriously.
A B-cup?
Not since the 5th grade had I ever sunk so low.
And it’s crazy – for as long as I could remember, I have lamented my large boobies– couldn’t wear the cute little tops, had to buy the orthopedic-looking bras – you know the drill, my large-breasted friends.
But now, all I can think of is that it’s not fair.
The whole episode trigger a memory of a scene from one of my favorite movies – “Beautiful Girls.” If you’re familiar with the movie, it’s the scene where Rosie O’Donnell give Timothy Hutton and Matt Dillon a tongue lashing for their love of all things Playboy and airbrushed.
She says that, in summary, God is a fair man – he gives heavier women big boobs, and skinny bitches small boobs.
And every time I watch this, me and my double D’s would scream at the tv, “Hell YEAHH!!!! Right on!!!”
Then I’d high-five each boob and eat a cheeseburger.
But now I’m like, “Hey - WTF?”
Okay, fine – I do work out a lot. And yes, my body has changed as a result.
But if God was going to take away my basooms, why’s he stop there?
What? He can’t see the sizable ass and hips from Heaven?
Doubtful.
The Man, I am told, can see all.
Shit’s not right, man.
Like, slide right down my belly.
Now, one with a rationale mind might think, “Oh, my boobs must have gotten smaller.”
Not me.
I blamed the bra.
“Oh, it must be stretched out…by my enormous jublies.”
So today I took myself bra shopping.
I grabbed a couple of D’s, and threw in some C’s - you know, just in case training really has taken a toll that I was not aware of.
When the D’s left room for a whole separate watermelon, I reluctantly tried on the C’s.
No matter how much I hoisted, pulled, twisted, adjusted – the suckers just would not fill the cups.
So I did what I am best at –
Turned on the denial, and bought myself some ice cream.
And then bitched up a storm.
Seriously.
Seriously.
A B-cup?
Not since the 5th grade had I ever sunk so low.
And it’s crazy – for as long as I could remember, I have lamented my large boobies– couldn’t wear the cute little tops, had to buy the orthopedic-looking bras – you know the drill, my large-breasted friends.
But now, all I can think of is that it’s not fair.
The whole episode trigger a memory of a scene from one of my favorite movies – “Beautiful Girls.” If you’re familiar with the movie, it’s the scene where Rosie O’Donnell give Timothy Hutton and Matt Dillon a tongue lashing for their love of all things Playboy and airbrushed.
She says that, in summary, God is a fair man – he gives heavier women big boobs, and skinny bitches small boobs.
And every time I watch this, me and my double D’s would scream at the tv, “Hell YEAHH!!!! Right on!!!”
Then I’d high-five each boob and eat a cheeseburger.
But now I’m like, “Hey - WTF?”
Okay, fine – I do work out a lot. And yes, my body has changed as a result.
But if God was going to take away my basooms, why’s he stop there?
What? He can’t see the sizable ass and hips from Heaven?
Doubtful.
The Man, I am told, can see all.
Shit’s not right, man.
Devin
I know I promised my sister I wouldn’t do this, but I can’t help myself.
I have held the secret for too long.
This weekend, in Duluth, MN, my sister Devin will be running the Grandma’s Marathon in an attempt to qualify for Boston!!!!!!!!!
Dev’s really amped up her training these last few months, and I would post pics of her running, but she’s so fast now, they all come out blurry…..
So before she leaves tomorrow, I just wanted to say:
“KICK GRANDMA’S ASS!!!!!!!!!!”
I love ya kid.
Now go run you tiny ass off.
Meanwhile, I'll start booking the flights to Beantown.
I have held the secret for too long.
This weekend, in Duluth, MN, my sister Devin will be running the Grandma’s Marathon in an attempt to qualify for Boston!!!!!!!!!
Dev’s really amped up her training these last few months, and I would post pics of her running, but she’s so fast now, they all come out blurry…..
So before she leaves tomorrow, I just wanted to say:
“KICK GRANDMA’S ASS!!!!!!!!!!”
I love ya kid.
Now go run you tiny ass off.
Meanwhile, I'll start booking the flights to Beantown.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
In The Mail
A small white envelope, opened up to this card:
This is what I see when I look at you:
I see a remarkable woman with a kind and caring heart who is beautiful in every sense of the word
When I look at you I see a smile that lights up the room
And laughter that is truly contagious
I see a strength and wisdom beyond anything I have ever known
I see love – pure and true
Compassion and thoughtfulness
I see a woman who walks though this world with gentleness and grace
I admire you for all that you are and for all that you do
You are everything wonder in this world
And if I had just one wish it would be that you could see what I see when I look at you
Thinking of you
Love Always
Mom
Thanks Mom - I'm trying.
Believe me, I am trying.
This is what I see when I look at you:
I see a remarkable woman with a kind and caring heart who is beautiful in every sense of the word
When I look at you I see a smile that lights up the room
And laughter that is truly contagious
I see a strength and wisdom beyond anything I have ever known
I see love – pure and true
Compassion and thoughtfulness
I see a woman who walks though this world with gentleness and grace
I admire you for all that you are and for all that you do
You are everything wonder in this world
And if I had just one wish it would be that you could see what I see when I look at you
Thinking of you
Love Always
Mom
Thanks Mom - I'm trying.
Believe me, I am trying.
Monday, June 16, 2008
If at First You Don't Drown, Try, Try Again
And so goes another round of pool fun.
Not much else to report except that I am going to increase my yardage tomorrow. I have pretty much hung around the 1500 yard range since returning to the pool last week, which, in writing, seems so, well, low.
But it's all about rebuilding, yeah?
Yeah.
In other Megan news, I ate two ice cream sandwichs for breakfast, one for lunch, and then a balenced meal for dinner.
It's like my own little Weight Watchers program.
Except without the "watching."
Or, uh, the weight loss.
Dang my life is boring today.
Tune in tomorrow - maybe a Leprechaun will show up and work his wiley magic on me.
Now THAT would be a good story, right?
Sigh.
Back to report writing.
Not much else to report except that I am going to increase my yardage tomorrow. I have pretty much hung around the 1500 yard range since returning to the pool last week, which, in writing, seems so, well, low.
But it's all about rebuilding, yeah?
Yeah.
In other Megan news, I ate two ice cream sandwichs for breakfast, one for lunch, and then a balenced meal for dinner.
It's like my own little Weight Watchers program.
Except without the "watching."
Or, uh, the weight loss.
Dang my life is boring today.
Tune in tomorrow - maybe a Leprechaun will show up and work his wiley magic on me.
Now THAT would be a good story, right?
Sigh.
Back to report writing.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Making Me
In a recent conversation, Cheese and I were discussing accountability in the world, the US in particular. Among the topics were the politics of education and the Democratic way of thinking.
The conversation was started by a recent report of a suburban school here, where about 50% of the 8th graders did not graduate. The school sent notices home all semester, provided tutoring and tons of extra services, but yet the children still did not pass. And then the parents were on the news saying, “It’s not fair, it’s not fair – nobody warned us, they never told us,” and the kids were saying, “Man, it’s not fair – now I gotta go to school in the summer.”
Huh? What part of that is not fair? The part where you didn’t do the work so you couldn’t graduate? Who’s fault should it be?
When do we start holding parents accountable for their children? When do we stop passing off the responsibility of raising children to teachers, and then plead ignorance when the kid doesn’t pass? Where are the parents in this – the parents who should be instilling the ethics of hard work and value of education? That stuff is what is learned in the home – if a parent can't be bothered enough to know how the child is performing in school, or actively dismisses academic reports or teachers phone calls – what does that teach the child? What is that modeling for them?
And during this conversation, Cheese said something that hit me hard – he talked about my grandfather, who was a bridge tender here in Chicago, a real blue collar guy who had no money and no wife (my grandmother died when my dad was like 8), but worked his ass off to get my dad out of the “neighborhood” and send him to private high school. He was a guy that knew life could be better for his son, and worked hard to make that life for him. He was a guy that eventually raised a son who had the same high value on education and work ethic, who didn’t just sit back and say, “I’m poor, so what are you going to do for ME?”
And my father, in turn, was the same way. He was a full-time police officer, pulling himself up through the ranks to captain during his 33+ year career. He worked 5-6 side jobs at any given time, often working up to 20 hours a day, just so his kids could go to the best high schools. Sure, we were living paycheck to paycheck and broke as hell most of the time – but we were educated. And we saw how hard he, and my mother, worked to give us that. We may not have had electricity at some points, but gosh darn, we had diplomas.
And Cheese said, “Do you think your grandfather ever thought that all his hard work would ultimately produce a doctor in his family? I mean, all those years ago, when he was sending your dad through school – do you ever think he ever thought that all those painstaking hours of work would give him a doctor? You being a doctor was three generations in the making – it didn’t happen overnight, and it happen because of the hard work that came before you – that’s what was modeled for you.”
My dad died before I graduated with my doctorate, though he was calling me “doctor” long before I earned that title. In the months before he died, he told me that he thought he was a “terrible father,” referring to his work-related absences, his hard-nosed approach to discipline, and his alcoholic past. I think he regretted a lot of things he did, but yet I don’t know if he gave himself credit for those things, either.
There were a lot of years as a child that I was ashamed of our blue collar status in a white collar neighborhood. I was embarrassed of not having the things my friends did – the summer homes, the designer clothes, etc. But now, looking back on where all those other kids are and where I am – it’s clear that what my father gave me was more important then the things you wear or drive, or the places you go.
My father, with my mother, made me who I am.
I am driven, focused, educated, “hard-headed” and sometimes too hard on myself.
And I am NOT ashamed of that.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
I think you’d be proud.
Huh? What part of that is not fair? The part where you didn’t do the work so you couldn’t graduate? Who’s fault should it be?
When do we start holding parents accountable for their children? When do we stop passing off the responsibility of raising children to teachers, and then plead ignorance when the kid doesn’t pass? Where are the parents in this – the parents who should be instilling the ethics of hard work and value of education? That stuff is what is learned in the home – if a parent can't be bothered enough to know how the child is performing in school, or actively dismisses academic reports or teachers phone calls – what does that teach the child? What is that modeling for them?
And during this conversation, Cheese said something that hit me hard – he talked about my grandfather, who was a bridge tender here in Chicago, a real blue collar guy who had no money and no wife (my grandmother died when my dad was like 8), but worked his ass off to get my dad out of the “neighborhood” and send him to private high school. He was a guy that knew life could be better for his son, and worked hard to make that life for him. He was a guy that eventually raised a son who had the same high value on education and work ethic, who didn’t just sit back and say, “I’m poor, so what are you going to do for ME?”
And my father, in turn, was the same way. He was a full-time police officer, pulling himself up through the ranks to captain during his 33+ year career. He worked 5-6 side jobs at any given time, often working up to 20 hours a day, just so his kids could go to the best high schools. Sure, we were living paycheck to paycheck and broke as hell most of the time – but we were educated. And we saw how hard he, and my mother, worked to give us that. We may not have had electricity at some points, but gosh darn, we had diplomas.
And Cheese said, “Do you think your grandfather ever thought that all his hard work would ultimately produce a doctor in his family? I mean, all those years ago, when he was sending your dad through school – do you ever think he ever thought that all those painstaking hours of work would give him a doctor? You being a doctor was three generations in the making – it didn’t happen overnight, and it happen because of the hard work that came before you – that’s what was modeled for you.”
My dad died before I graduated with my doctorate, though he was calling me “doctor” long before I earned that title. In the months before he died, he told me that he thought he was a “terrible father,” referring to his work-related absences, his hard-nosed approach to discipline, and his alcoholic past. I think he regretted a lot of things he did, but yet I don’t know if he gave himself credit for those things, either.
There were a lot of years as a child that I was ashamed of our blue collar status in a white collar neighborhood. I was embarrassed of not having the things my friends did – the summer homes, the designer clothes, etc. But now, looking back on where all those other kids are and where I am – it’s clear that what my father gave me was more important then the things you wear or drive, or the places you go.
My father, with my mother, made me who I am.
I am driven, focused, educated, “hard-headed” and sometimes too hard on myself.
And I am NOT ashamed of that.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
I think you’d be proud.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Three Tragedies and Some Idiots
#1. Tim Russert, dead at 58. What a shame. For months, I would mount my bike at 9am on Sunday, turn on Meet the Press, and watch the man work. I don’t claim to know a lot about politics, but I could appreciate the man’s intelligence. And he reminds me of someone who would have been a friend of my dad’s – just a really home grown, friendly kind of guy. It’s really too bad.
#2. R. Kelly, Not Guilty on all 14 counts. What a fucking sin. This mother fucker is as guilty as the day is long. Lemme tell you this – R. Kelly is from Chicago, where it is WIDELY known that Mr. Kelly has a – how do I say this? – thing for young girls. The girl on the tape is only one of a long list of other victims, and now this asshead gets to walk free knowing he had sex with strings of underage girls AND GETS AWAY WITH IT. God, it must be nice to be able to pay off so many people. This makes me sick to my stomach.
#3. Midwest weather. Oh my gosh, half of Wisconsin and Iowa are underwater. And the rain keeps coming. Plus all the tornadoes and high winds – is it me or has the weather been really bad this year? Weird, though, I don’t recall seeing any fund raising telethons a-la-Katrina, to help out. Maybe I’ve been watching the wrong tv stations.
Idiots: And speaking of things seen on tv, why do people try to drive their cars through five feet of water? Seriously, if I have to watch any more tv coverage of people trying to climb out the windows of their submerged cars, I will go running for the hills. Note to idiots – if your neighbors are floating by on dislodged roof tops and the police are patrolling in row boats, chances are your 1989 Ford Tempo is not going to make it.
Just a thought.
#2. R. Kelly, Not Guilty on all 14 counts. What a fucking sin. This mother fucker is as guilty as the day is long. Lemme tell you this – R. Kelly is from Chicago, where it is WIDELY known that Mr. Kelly has a – how do I say this? – thing for young girls. The girl on the tape is only one of a long list of other victims, and now this asshead gets to walk free knowing he had sex with strings of underage girls AND GETS AWAY WITH IT. God, it must be nice to be able to pay off so many people. This makes me sick to my stomach.
#3. Midwest weather. Oh my gosh, half of Wisconsin and Iowa are underwater. And the rain keeps coming. Plus all the tornadoes and high winds – is it me or has the weather been really bad this year? Weird, though, I don’t recall seeing any fund raising telethons a-la-Katrina, to help out. Maybe I’ve been watching the wrong tv stations.
Idiots: And speaking of things seen on tv, why do people try to drive their cars through five feet of water? Seriously, if I have to watch any more tv coverage of people trying to climb out the windows of their submerged cars, I will go running for the hills. Note to idiots – if your neighbors are floating by on dislodged roof tops and the police are patrolling in row boats, chances are your 1989 Ford Tempo is not going to make it.
Just a thought.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)