Goals are good.

Like most of the people I know, I seem to have more interests than time.

It seems like every time I make a choice to do something I enjoy, it is also a choice NOT to do something else.

I can either blog or read books.

I can either run or craft.

I can either cook or sew.

I can either keep my house clean or work in my yard.

I can either watch tv shows or watch movies.

I can either play video games or read magazines.

But what I can't do?  I can't do it all.  At least, I can't do it all to my liking and to the extent I want to do it.  

But I still try.  Sometimes my to do list includes things like "read Runner's World magazine from last month," just because the new one has come already.  But anyway, for me it's always, always, always a challenge to prioritize what I want to do and accomplish with my limited "free" time.

Last year, I used 122 hours of that time to run, logging just under 700 miles.

Considering that for the entire month of November I ran only four (yes, four) of those miles, I'll have to say that while 700 is a good number, it could have been better.

So that's why for 2013, I'm committing myself to running 1,000 miles.  

That's just shy of 20 miles per week.

At my current pace, that's about 180 hours of my life.

That's 180 hours that I won't be sewing or cooking or crafting or reading or watching tv.  It's also 180 hours that I won't be cleaning my house or playing with my boys.

It's a big commitment.  REALLY big.

 I'm going to have to stay on track EVERY week to make it happen, which is scary and daunting when I think about it too much.

So instead of thinking about it, I'm just going to do it.

Just watch me go.

I'm tracking my progress in the sidebar.  Feel free to egg me on and/or ridicule me to do better.

Geeky shoes for all the geeks in the world.

So, because I am somewhat insane, and because I am somewhat cheap, I decided that I would craft many of my Christmas gifts this year.

I know.

Insane.

I used to love to craft things.  My friend Natalie and I used to craft all kinds of things.  Well, ok, maybe we didn't really FINISH any of them, but we did buy lots of beads and wire and things and spontaneously yell "WE COULD MAKE THAT!" every time we would to see something cute and shiny and dangly.

I used to quilt.  Not well, but I did it.  And I loved it.

I'm not sure why I stopped, exactly, but I'm sure it has something to do with having a job with responsibilities and then having a house that seems to always need to be cleaned and then having these boys who always need to be fed and loved and such.

But I feel like I'm back on the crafting wagon, such as it is.

Anyway, so far most of my crafting has consisted of pinning things I would like to make, but not actually making many of them.   Oh, and also, I've spent a whole lot of time shopping for craft supplies.  Michael's is like a time warp.  I walk in at 10 and come out at 2, feeling like I've only been there 15 minutes or so.

But I have done a couple things.

A couple weeks ago, I made these shoes for myself - not a Christmas gift, I know - and they were easy and fun.

I was inspired by Pinterest, of course, and a better description that I could ever give can be found here:

at Cut Out and Keep.

So now I'm currently working on these for my nephew:

My nephew, by the way, never reads my blog and better not start now or he will see part of his Christmas present early.

DO YOU HEAR ME, JUSTIN??  DO NOT READ THIS POST!!!

The next project on my list will require use of my sewing machine and I'm a bit rusty.

Wish me luck.

I'm going to need it.

 

Zombie toes, part two. Or, about my recent shoe fitting.

I have foot issues.  Feet issues.  Whatever.  It's both of them.  One just more than the other.

Anyway, here's a little background.

My feet are small.  Not, "awww... how cute, she wears a 6" small, but more "awww... all her shoes have sparkles and cartoon characters because she has to shop in the kid's department" small.  Now, that has a few benefits.  Kid's shoes are generally much cheaper than adult shoes.  Ok, it has ONE benefit.  Try shopping for cute hooker heels for date night in a size little girls 3.5.  It ain't easy, folks.  Sadly, it's possible, but it ain't easy.

Oh, and also, one foot is wider than the other one.  Like, by half a size or so.  Enough to matter.

I've stumbled - literally - through my adult life wearing sandals, Crocs, and too-big boots, and I've managed just fine.

Up until now.

Up until running.

Once I started running for real, it became a quest to find running shoes that actually fit.

I went through about six pairs of running shoes, feeling all the while like Goldilocks.  "This one's too tight."  "This one's too big."  "This one's a device of torture."  You know the drill.  Being a huge Nike fan, and since most Women's shoes start in a size 5.5 or 6, my choices were somewhat limited.  Ok, they were incredibly limited.  I finally settled in on a pair of Nike Pegasus, size 5 wide to accommodate my fat foot, and was happy with my choice.

Until I started putting in some real mileage in them.  Three miles, fine.  Five miles, ok.  Eight or nine miles at a time, and my toenails all started turning black.  And falling off.  And then the part underneath the falling off part would turn black again.  And get blisters.  And ooze.

Ug. Ly.

And just in time for sandal season!

So, I did what any semi-intelligent person would do.

I ignored it.

For a REALLY long time.  Like, until I only had two toenails left.

Finally, RJ intervened and insisted I go get fitted at a real running shoe store, by someone who had a clue... So, off we went.

We walked into the cute little store, ooohed and aaahed over the cute little shoes we saw for a minute, then were approached by an helpful and earnest looking young man.  "What can I help you with today?"

"My wife needs new running shoes." RJ isn't one to mess around.

"Ok, come on over here and have a seat and" - glancing down at my sandal-clad feet - "OH DEAR GOD!  I'll be right with you.  In a minute.  As soon as I do... something... in the back... for a minute.  Just a minute."


He quickly made his way over to a couple other employees and began to whisper frantically under his breath, all the while making large hand gestures and carefully avoiding looking in my direction.  There was a quick game of rock, paper, scissors, which he lost - Dumbass.  Everybody knows you NEVER pick paper - then he headed back toward us, trying not to stare at my feet.  He failed miserably.

It's like that thing when you see someone who is morbidly obese, or only has 2 limbs, or has a hole where his nose should be.  You KNOW you shouldn't stare, but you don't want to be obvious about NOT LOOKING, so in the end, you don't know where to look at all and you end up looking at his crotch or something, which is WAY more comfortable for everyone.

Yeah, it was kinda like that.

Just as he shored himself up and started to do his duty, a lady, clearly his supervisor, walked up and asked him to go wrap a knee, which I assume is code for "I don't think you can handle this; go in the back, eat a Snickers, drink some water, take some deep breaths, and get over it.  We all have nightmares.  This is yours."

Anyway, the lady stepped in and took over our transaction like a pro.  She glanced at my feet, dook a deep breath, and said "Looks like you need some new shoes.  What I see there is never good."

At this point, she began to measure, assess, test, pull, push and shove my feet around.  I ran on a treadmill for a few minutes, and was labeled an "overpronator," which always makes me think of big noses for some reason, but really means I run all knock-kneed, kinda like Forrest Gump.

Then she started bringing out the shoes.

First pair, too big.

Second pair, too big.

Third through fiftieth pairs,  too big.

Along the way, there were a few lame jokes about my wearing shoes that light up, etc.  Yeah, heard it all before, thanks.  Anyway, finally, I said "When I buy little girl's dress shoes, I usually get buy a 3.5."

She went to the back again, and came out with a pair of Brooks Universal Platform stability shoes, size 4 in little girl's.  They have purple daisies on them, because - Hello!  Little Girl's!

And they fit.

Assured that my life would change now that I had shoes that fit, I set out to run 13.1 miles the next day.

Wearing my new shoes, on the advice to the nice lady who seemed to know what the hell she was talking about.

Yeah, bad call.

At the half mile mark, they started to tingle a little bit.  By mile two, my left foot was throbbing.  By mile five, I was vomiting from the pain, and I have a pretty extreme tolerance for pain.  Just ask the nurse who threatened to tie me to my bed when I was walking around 4 hours after my last c-section.  By mile 8, I had taken it off and was walking barefoot.

After the race, I've done a handful of easy runs in these on the treadmill, and although the searing pain hasn't returned, my feet hurt in places that my feet have never hurt before.  Like the heel.  And the bottom.  And the top.  And the sides.

So it's back to square one for me as far as running shoes go.

Anybody out there know of some shoe elves who might come over in the middle of the night and make me a new pair of running shoes?  Or maybe I could just borrow a pair of theirs.  They would probably fit.

  

Yeah, I just ran a mini marathon. My feet could star in a zombie movie. With redneck playlist!!!

So the running bug bit me a while back and it bit HARD.   I'm not an especially good runner.  My form is bad, my pacing is poor, my toes are black and look like they have been stepped on by an overweight elephant.  Also, I'm not really at a training level to run a mini-marathon.  Oh, and my feet... My poor, battered feet...  I am currently missing a toenail, am about to lose another one, and only have two that aren't black or bruised.  I have feet issues.  Serious ones.  But whatever.  I'd post a picture, but I don't want to run both my readers off.  It's ugly.  Maybe, just maybe, if you're lucky, I'll tell you all about my most recent shoe fitting, which led me to wear a pair of brand new, un-broken in, untried shoes for my longest race ever,  but for now, let's focus on the race, shall we?

Anyway, I signed up for, ran (mostly) and successfully completed this little mini, feet be damned.  Here's how it went down:

Starting Line - on the playlist:  Harper Valley PTA by Bobbie Gentry  I always wonder about the women at these races who have to get up at least three hours early to tease and/or otherwise bouffant their hair and carefully apply their makeup.  That woman up there has AT LEAST half a can of Aqua Net on her beehive.  That shit is going to melt once she starts sweating.  Hey!  Why is she in a faster corral than me?  Oh, here we go!!!

Mile one - on the playlist:  Van Lear Rose by Loretta Lynn  Ok, I wanted music to start that would help me pace myself, but... this song is so SLOW I'm practically running backward.  Hmmm... these shoes aren't feeling too great.  Actually, my left foot sort of seems like it may explode soon.  Hey Will, 5:30 Asics Pace Runner, do your really thing dropping trou and going pee in the middle of the race while a pace group is following you is a great idea? Ok, I guess you do.  Carry on, then.  And I kinda need to pee, too.  And what's that weird smell?

Mile two - on the playlist:  I Don't Want To Get Over You by Norah Jones and Willie Nelson  It's my man Willie's birthday today!  Love ya Willie!  Aw... isn't it sweet that the band kids are playing for us?  But could you crank it down a notch?  I'm trying to listen to Willie here.  And... my left foot is REALLY going to explode now.  It's ok, I didn't like that foot very much anyway.   Hi Mr. Policeman.  You are doing a good job keeping the traffic from crushing us on these side streets.  I appreciate that very much.  I'd appreciate it more maybe if you weren't the THIRD COP IN A ROW who was either playing Angry Birds and/or texting your wife/girlfriend/both on your iPhone.  I'm on to you.  I have an iPhone, and I know what it means when you hold it sideways...  And I REALLY need to pee.  And I STILL smell that smell.

Mile three - on the playlist:  I Feel Lucky by Mary Chapin Carpenter   Hmmm... this isn't the best neighborhood, is it?  Damn, my foot hurts.  Anyway, you adorable pit bull, you... you just stay on that side of the chain link fence, ok?  I really don't feel like being bitten today.  Unless maybe you could gnaw my left foot off.  Then it might be ok.  Hey, is that a hooker passed out on that porch?  Also, I'm thinking about peeing on myself.  REAL runners do that, right?  That smell... not going away.  What could that possibly be?

Mile four - on the playlist:  You're the Reason Our Kids are Ugly by Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty  OMG IS THAT A PORTAPOTTY LINE?  I'm totally stopping...  8 minutes later... Whew, that's better.  I can totally do this.  Well, I could totally do this if my left foot weren't about to explode.  Ok, and that smell keeps getting worse.  And worse.  Are we near a dog food factory or something?  Oh... I think I figured it out.  I'M THE SMELL.  It smells like teen spirit up in here, y'all.  And it's bad stuff.  

Mile five - on the playlist:  Tainted Love by Soft Cell  Not.  Feeling. Well.  Nauseous.  Foot. Hurts.  And how the HELL did that song get on my playlist?  Maybe I'll step over here for a minute... My sincerest apologies go out to the members of the Daughters of the American Revolution and/or their groundskeepers for any vomit I may have left near your building.  I can assure you that it is in no way a reflection of how I feel about your fine organization.  

Mile six - on the playlist:  Lyin' Eyes by the Eagles  Ok, I feel better, except for my left foot.  And I'm not sure that will ever be the same again.  Did that Grandma in front of me just Jump. Up. In. The. Air. And. Do. A. Leprechaun. Heel. Kick?  Why yes, yes she did.  Go Grandma.  Right now I hate you with a passion that is indescribable, you and your show-offy heel kicky 70 year old feet that work properly.  Bitch.  I think I'm going to step over here to the side and maybe do a quick amputation.  Or maybe I'll just take my sock off and try running without it...

Mile six point one - on the playlist: Did I Shave My Legs For This by Deana Carter Alrighty, the no sock thing was a bad idea.  Guess I'll get out of traffic and put that sucker back on...  My left shoe, however, I think I can do without. 

Mile seven - on the playlist:  Mind Your Own Business by Hank Williams Jr.  Hi Old Guy.  You must be Gene, since your shirt says "Gene's 38th Mini Marathon."  Either you're Gene, or you rolled Gene in the parking lot and stole his shirt.  Yes, I know I'm carrying my shoe.  Yes, I know it's a bad idea to wear new shoes on race day.  Yes, I understand that the same thing happened to you back in '78 in Memphis.  No, really I don't care.  Gene, I appreciate your wise words and witty anecdotes and all, but I think I might move on over to the side and put my shoe back on.  No, no, you go on ahead.  I don't want to hold you up.

Mile eight - on the playlist:  It's A Great Day To Be Alive by Travis Tritt  Great news!  Now my left foot is completely numb, so it no longer matters if it explodes.  Except exploded foot is going to be Hell to clean out of those shoes before I return them... Hey!  Is this Churchill Downs we're running through?  Awesome!  Also, the smell of horse piss is stronger than the smell of ME, and also considerably more pleasant.  Hey lady?  Why would you stop in the middle of a race to take pictures?  Don't you know you can buy a postcard?  Whatever.  Cool!  Beer tents.  I'm gonna be over there asleep under that pallet of Bud Light Lime if you need me.

Mile nine - on the playlist: Delta Dawn by Tanya Tucker  I love this song.  It's one of those songs I just can't help but sing along to...  Oh, what are you looking at, lady?  It's a good song.  Besides, you are dressed like a middle aged, overweight Wonder Woman.  Clearly drawing attention to yourself is something you know a little bit about.  These people who stand out here and hand out water to all us thristy folks are awesome, but this group from Walgreens is the only group who is keeping the cups and bottles and other trash picked up along the way.  Clearly, being of the retail sort, they are used to picking up after other people.  And... my foot hurts. 

Mile ten - on the playlist:  One More Last Chance by Vince Gill Why are all the people around me congratulating each other?  We have THREE.  POINT.  ONE.  FREAKIN'. MILES. LEFT.  That's a 5k, people.  There is a more than even chance that SOMEBODY will drop out past this point.  Like me, maybe.  Wonder how that works?  Do I just raise my hand and ask to be excused?  Get a hall pass, maybe?  Or do I just go sit down on the side of the road and a bus comes and gets me in a few minutes and takes me to the gladiator ring with all the other losers and we get fed to the lions?  Hmmm...  I should have researched that a little better.  I hate being unprepared.  Guess I better keep going.

Mile eleven - on the playlist:  The Church on Cumberland Road by Shenandoah Seriously?!?!?!  Do you guys really think a mini-marathon is a good place to come on a getting-to-know-you date?  Also, dude, I'm pretty sure a line that starts with "I've made lots of bad choices in my life..." is NOT the way to guarantee a follow-up date.  And honey, you are way cute, but you are a hot sweaty mess right now, and your ponytail, which was probably all cute and perky this morning, is all higgledy-piggledy and askew.  You really don't want a guy to see you like that until after the third date.  And... my foot cannot possibly still be a functioning limb at this point.  That's ok, though.  I'll just get one of those super duper replacements like the Bionic Woman has.

Mile twelve - on the playlist:  Bye Bye by Jo Dee Messina One mile and change to go!  At this point, it will be easier to finish than to quit, because of the car is parked pretty close to the finish line.  Smart thinkin', huh?  Hey, is that Austin Powers up there?  Dammit.  I must be dehydrated and delusional.  Nope, that really is some yahoo dressed like Austin Powers.  Also, maybe I'll just get a peg leg and become a pirate, since my left foot is going to fall off soon.  Pirates are in right now, aren't they?  I'd hate to be a pirate if they were so last week...

Mile thirteen - on the playlist:  Beer for My Horses by Toby Keith & Willie Nelson There are two free drink tickets in my pocket calling my name.  After I finish this #&!@*$# race, I will drink beer.  And eat.  Possibly a whole cow.  With a couple chickens and a loaf of bread on the side.  And a pizza for dessert. And maybe a bottle of wine.  Or three.  Oh, and ice cream... Right after I throw up again... 

Finish Line - on the playlist:  Ready to Run by the Dixie Chicks  I can see the finish line!!!  I'm running FULL OUT!  Ok, maybe not.  How about moderately paced?  Anyway, surely the 10,000 people or so standing around the finish line aren't done already.  Yep, they're done already.  Including all those folks over there who are actual marathon runners.  They've run twice as far as I have, plus they've all had time to cool down, dry off, grab a bite to eat, tell a few funny stories, and... OH WHATEVER.  I'm done!  I did it!  And I got a freakin' medal to prove it.  Hey, why does my medal say "Wal-Mart" on it?


And here I am a couple days later, happy I did it, proud I finished, sore, tired, and planning how to do better next time... and there will be a next time.  


Actually, it's kind of like being pregnant.  It sucks and you're miserable the entire time, but you forget quickly enough, and do it all over again, because the rewards are worth the pain.


So, here's to the Derby City Marathon in 2012. 


I'm thinking by then, I'll be ready to run the whole damn 26.2.

Reflections while running 10 miles. With Redneck Playlist!!!

So, I ran this race the other day, never mind the fact that I probably wasn't ready for a ten miler.  I did it, and I did it, and that's all there is to it.

The end.

Oh not really, silly.  There's a lot more to it than that.

I thought I'd give you a rundown, mile by painful mile, of everything in my head, and also everyone who passed me.  I hate them all.  Oh, and also what I was listening to on my iPod at the time.

You're welcome.


RACE STARTING LINE:  Me: Ok, I can totally do this. Oh dear - is that the crazy power-walking Asian I saw at the 10k?  I'm pretty sure her swinging arms gave me a black eye.  Lord, save me from the power walkers. Also, it is so freakin' cold I cannot feel anything that is not directly attached to my torso.  On the playlist: 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton.

1/2 MILE MARK:  Oh dear Lord IT IS HOT!  Jacket coming off, getting tied around waist.  Also, first dead thing spotted in the road.  Maybe it used to be a squirrel.  Or a dog.  On the playlist: Have You Left the One You've Left Me For? by Crystal Gayle


1 MILE MARK: Ok, I got this.  9 more to go.  No problem.  I. AM. A. RUNNER.  This is what I do.  On the playlist: Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under? by Shania Twain


1 1/2 MILE MARK:  Ok, this isn't so bad.  HEY!  Are those guys passing me on the other side of the street ALMOST FINISHED!  WTH??!?!??!  I'm just getting started.  How is that even possible?!?!?!?  Also, it is HOT.  On the playlist: Trashy Women by Confederate Railroad


2 MILE MARK:  There are sure a lot of people passing me.  What's up with that?  Ok, Grandma, just run right on by me like I'm in reverse.  Also, it is freakin' HOT.  But I'm ok.  This is fun, sorta.  And my time is good, and I'm on pace, and I like to run.  Slowly.  AND... dead thing number two in the road.  A bird, definitely a bird.  On the playlist: Jose Cuervo by Tanya Tucker


3 MILE MARK: OH DEAR LORD.  Where did this hill from Hell come from?  Well, keep positive.  What goes up must go down, right?  Right?  I'll get a break soon because this bad-boy hill will go DOWN next.  Oh, hello guy with a fake leg.  No, you go right on past me.  I don't mind a bit.  I'm just going to hold back a little and conserve some energy here.   On the playlist:  Ain't Going Down Till the Sun Comes Up by Garth Brooks

4 MILE MARK: Ok, this is ridiculous.  How is it possible that this hill is STILL. GOING. UP? Pretty sure I'm going to get hit by an airplane soon at this rate.  Oops, dead thing in the road.  Might be a possum.  Or maybe a giraffe.  Am I drinking enough?  I feel sort of light-headed.   Oh, hi there lady in A SKIRT.  Not a cute running skirt like my friend Dianna wants, but a full-length denim number.  And...  you just run right past me, too.  I don't mind.  Really.  I have plenty of time to catch up.  Plus, you're probably going to trip soon anyway.  Ya know, ON THE SKIRT.  On the playlist: The Bug by Mary Chapin Carpenter

5 MILE MARK:  I am halfway.  UP. THIS. FREAKIN'. HILL.  And I am still going up.  What circle of Hell is this, exactly? Ok, concentrate, mj.  Pull it together.  You are half-way, you got this.  Hi Guy With a Do-Rag, Multiple Tats, an Eyebrow Ring and a WALLET ON A CHAIN.  It's clear sports and fitness are high on your priority list, so run right on by me.  I don't mind.  Really.  On the playlist: Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash

6 MILE MARK:  More than half way.  Hey, if this were a 10k, I'd be almost done now.  Wonder what's for dinner tonight?  I'm burning so many calories I can eat whatever I want.  Or drink.  Maybe a bottle of wine.  Or two.  I really like that Black Cherry I had the other day.  Well, hello, 8 year old boy and Dad.  Just go on, I don't mind if you pass me.  It's probably the kid's bedtime soon and you have to get home, right?  Go right on ahead.  Really.  On the playlist: Gotta Get Drunk by Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson

7 MILE MARK:  Three more miles.  I can do this.  Actually, I don't see a lot of other options.  I mean, I guess I could just sit down with those nice spectators for a while and text RJ to come pick me up here when he's finished.  OH, HELLO, paramedics on bicycles.  Can you give me a little ride?  Just for a couple miles or so?  Ok, fine, ride on by.  Clearly I don't look near death enough for you to aid and assist.  Didn't you have to take some sort of oath?  Whatever.  On the playlist:  Heaven's Just a Sin Away by Kelly Willis

8 MILE MARK: Two more miles.  I can do this.  Oh, hi dead thing.  I think we met before...  At this point, I'm not sure there is anybody else behind me, because I've been passed so many times...  Oh, guess I was wrong.  Go on Shadowboxing Grandpa.  Rocky much?  In other news, I can't feel my a$$.  At all.  It's likely a blessing.   On the playlist: How Do You Like Me Now?  by Toby Keith

9 MILE MARK:  One Mile Left!  I can do it!  I can do it!  Also, still no feeling in my a$$.  I may have to get a transplant.  Are a$$ transplants mainstream yet, or will I have to have surgery in some jungle in South America?  Sure, Richard-Simmons-Headband-and-Shorts-Wearing-400-Pound-Guy, go on ahead of me.  It's fine.  Really.  On the playlist: A Few More Rednecks by Charlie Daniels


9 1/2 MILE MARK:  OH. DEAR. LORD.  Another hill?  Not ok.  Just not ok.  Whatever, it's almost over.  At this point I'm motivated by the thought that I'll get to stop soon.  Oh, hello lady, just go right on by -  OH HELL NO!  I WILL NOT BE PASSED BY A POWER WALKER.  It's on, bitch.  Don't even think about it.  On the playlist: You've Got to Stand For Something by Aaron Tippin

FINISH LINE IN SIGHT:  I did it.  Where'd my a$$ go?  Where am I?  Oh, wait, wake up, mj and FINISH STRONG!    Hey, is that pizza I smell?   Cause I could totally go for a pizza right now.  *gagging a little* Or maybe I'll skip the pizza.  Whatever.  I. AM. DONE!  I. DID. IT!  On the playlist: Ready to Run by the Dixie Chicks




Also, as I was running 10 miles and writing this post in my head, it's quite possible I was delusional from the dehydration it was much funnier.  In my head.  That happens a lot, ya know.  Sorry 'bout your luck.

On running. And running. And running...

A few months ago I quit my job to be a stay at home Mama, and one of the deals I made with myself was that I would find a way to lose some weight, get in better shape, and deal with the constant lack of energy that had been plaguing me for the better part of the past 36 years or so.

Enter running.

Running and I got off to a bit of a rocky start.

After I healed, I attacked it again.

I even made some grand internet promises that at least two people heard about.

I've gotten all the cool running gadgets and gear.  I love me some Nike, and the Nike + iPhone ap and sensor are too cool for words.  If you ever plan to run, or jog, or even walk really fast, you HAVE to have one of these.

I've been through four pairs of running shoes before finding some that fit my fat, gnarled feet.  Thank goodness for Road Runner Sports' very generous exchange policy.

I've been walking shuffling jogging running for going on four months now.

But today, for the very first time, I actually felt like a runner.

I set a goal.

I beat it.

I felt the burn.

I pushed through it.

My muscles are still protesting.

It's a really great feeling.

Now don't get me wrong.  I realize I'm nowhere near fast.

My stamina still needs a LOT of work.

I have a lot more work to do.

But it's ok.

I'm a runner.

And runners can push through anything.

The one where the Vietnamese nail lady tried to steal my husband.

Until yesterday, I was a 36 year old woman who had never had a professional manicure or pedicure.

True story.

You can weep if you want to.

Ok, now that we've had a moment to morn my lost opportunities at shininess, I can tell you that the situation has been rectified.

See, I've always been of the practical sort, and it always seemed silly to spend money on a manicure that I would ruin in 2.5 seconds flat at work.  And as for pedicures, well, nobody ever even saw my feet, so why bother?  Really, just a waste of money, right?

However, since I quit my job a few months ago, I've developed a fascination for girly things.  RJ looked at me the other day and out of the blue said, "You really are a girl, aren't you?"  Strangely enough, he meant it AND I took it as a compliment.

Anyway, the other day we were walking around the mall looking for some new running shoes for RJ.  Kids were at the sitters, we had just enjoyed a relaxing three margarita lunch, and we had nowhere specific to be for hours.

We walked by a nail salon in the mall - you know the one, every mall has it - and RJ said to me "Hey, wanna get a manicure?"

"I will if you will."  I was still drunk enough feeling rather adventurous that day.

So in we go.

RJ marches up to the counter, ignores the sign-in sheet, and announces, "We're here for manicures and pedicures."

The lovely Vietnamese matriarch type says, "For her?" and gestures toward me.

"No, for both of us."

At this point, a small, unassuming man whom we later determined to be the owner stepped in.  "We can do that," he said, with a sharp look at the other lady, who was clearly trying to cut into his profits.   Ok, so apparently this wasn't a place that was used to giving manicures to men.  Whatever.

After being directed to go pick out our polish - I chose a lovely shade or dark red, by the way - we sat down on the pedicure chairs.  There were two chairs ready, one staffed by a young Vietnamese woman, and the other by the gentleman we had encountered at the counter.  I naturally gravitated toward the young woman, and left RJ to sit down with the man as his pedicurist.  Which immediately earned me the stink eye from the young lady.

Immediately a flurry of talking began.  It was mostly one sided and coming from the young lady, but the gentleman would occasionally nod or make an agreeing type noise.  Throughout the entire conversation, she continued to glance at RJ every minute or two, then look away quickly.

Finally the man spoke in English to RJ.  "She say you look familiar somehow.  Where you from?"

RJ told the man he was from the area now, had lived all over the world, and his dad is American and his Mom is Vietnamese.

Matriarch lady had also been listening to the conversation, and immediately came over to join in, abandoning her customer with 4 of 10 nails painted.

"That why you look so familiar.  You look like the men from my country, but much taller and much more handsome."  A giggle from the young lady who is now vigorously scrubbing the second layer of skin from the bottom of my left foot with something that looked like a cheese grater.  Matriarch gestured to the young lady.  "She think you very handsome."  Then she turns to me.  "You his wife?"  I nodded.  "You do not need to let him leave house without you, understand?  He VERY handsome."

Was that a threat or a compliment?

"Uh, thank you?"

More rapid-fire Vietnamese from the young lady, punctuated with glances at RJ.

Matriarch translated.  "Do not worry, though.  She (gesturing toward the young lady) very happy with her husband."

Oh good.

I was totally worried that I would enter the Vietnamese nail salon WITH a husband, and walk out without one.

Happens to me all the time.

A performance evaluation of my first 60 days of being a stay at home Mama.

Exactly two months ago today, I worked my last shift as a store manager at a major retail bookstore.  I'm not really sure what I expected the stay at home Mama gig to be like.  I had worked more than full time for my entire adult life, so this was a bit of a departure, to say the least.  In my former life as a retail manager, most of what I did revolved around providing and receiving constant followup and feedback, so I felt like a performance evaluation for the past two months was in order.  Sixty days is usually a pretty standard probationary period, right?




Areas of Strength:
Mj, since becoming a stay at home Mama (SAHMama), you have clearly excelled in Facebook, Twitter, Digg, and other internet related pastimes.  Your  devotion to your iPhone and iPad are also noted.  Your skills in wasting time on the internet internet navigation have improved dramatically.  Also, it is notable that you have become a powerhouse in Words with Friends.  Thank your for your willingness to spend countless hours improving your vocabulary.  

Mj, thank you for your attention to your toenails.  Your new interest in painting them all the colors of the rainbow shows a creativity that had been previously untapped.  Also, your newfound interest in shopping for girly clothes and cute shoes, while fiscally challenging for the J household, shows great potential in the "Getting Out of the Frumpy" category.  Your interest in treadmill running, while short lived, shows a desire for self improvement, which is a desirable trait for a SAHMama.

Also, it is noted that you have a new interest in setting foot outside the house social interaction.  Your playdates with Natalie, Jennifer, Jenny and Jenna, as well as your willingness to go on dates with RJ, take the children to the park, go out to eat, and go bowling show a willingness to change your previously hermit-like ways.  Continue to hone this skill, as it will serve you well in this position.


Areas of Opportunity:
Mj, since assuming the posiition of SAHMama, your housekeeping skills have not improved and are not to standards.  While it is noted that you clean house more often, your inability to maintain this cleanliness is an ongoing issue.  Also, your inability to keep the appropriate laundry washed so that RJ can wear the correct colored shirt to work on the correct day has been addressed previously, and no improvements have been made.  You must make immediate and sustained improvements in this area.  Also, your desire to take on micro tasks (like alphabetizing the spice drawer) in lieu of more practical ones (like cleaning the bathroom) has caused your overall productivity to suffer.

Another area requiring attention is in the area of personal hygiene.  While it is noted above that you have taken a renewed interest in maintaining your appearance, a solid foundation (i.e. showering and hair brushing daily) is necessary in order to maintain standards in this area.



Summary:
Mj, in conclusion, your performance as a SAHMama has had some bright spots but some work remains to be done.  It is noted that this entire endeavor has been a stretch assignment for you; therefore, a second sixty day probationary will be granted with regular and ongoing performance evaluations to follow, and a formal action plan will ensue.

Cute Shoes.

So as you may remember, I quit my job a few weeks back.  Or you may not remember.  Hell, you probably don't even care.  But I did, and that's the first part of this story.  Are you having a hard time keeping up?  Well, so am I.  Brilliance like this ain't easy, you know...

Anyway, back to my shoes.  

One of the strangest things has happened as a consequence of the aforementioned job abandonment.  Something I could have never imagined.  I have suddenly become interested in shopping.  For clothes.  And shoes.  And cute, girly, frilly things.  It's really, really bizarre.  

Of course, now that we're down to one income, I can't really afford it, which figures...

But here's what happened.  A few weeks ago I was out of my house and in a store that had clothes.  I was wandering around and suddenly I realized that for the first time in over 16 years, I did not have to look at practical work clothes.  I could look at cute clothes, because I no longer go to work.

Here's some background on that.  For the past 16 years or so, I have worn black pants, comfortable (and UGLY) shoes, and some sort of shirt that wouldn't show book dust too terribly badly.  That was all I ever shopped for.  Practical stuff.  Ugly stuff.  Crocs.  Rinse.  Repeat.

As I was walking around, it was like a whole new world of clothes had opened up to me.  Colorful stuff that doesn't match black pants? I could wear that!  Dresses? GASP!  I bought two last week.  Cute shoes?  I NEED some cute shoes!!!!  I no longer have to stand on concrete floors for ten hour shifts, so practical just isn't practical any more...  

This post is a final farewell to all the practical clothes and shoes in my wardrobe.  

I don't need you any more.

I'm breaking up with you.

You are no longer an important part of my life.

Of course, I'm going to look like a crazy person walking around my house all day in red high heels.

Whatever.  Don't judge me.

This has been a long time coming.

The Alphabet Exercise DVD totally kicked my butt. For real.

Yeah, so...

I took up running for about a minute, and even though that didn't work out really, I decided that I could do some low impact stuff to keep up with the good exercise habits I was building.

I had some (unopened) yoga and pilates dvds from years ago, and I decided to give them a try.

I. Hate. Yoga.

I. Hate. Pilates.

They are both boring.  I don't understand it.  I can't do all those moves.  I tip over a lot.  They are boring.  I can never, ever, ever find my center.  I don't even know what my center is.

In a completely unrelated move, I bought the Alphabet Exercise dvd for zj a few weeks ago.  It's a nice little deal where a creepy guy in a purple hat and way too much eye makeup does exercises along with every letter of the alphabet.

I is for isometric.  Really?  That was the best you could do?  

I turned it on for zj the other day, and since cj was down for a nap, I thought to myself "Self, you should get up and move around with your kid.  It's not REAL exercise, but since you have a bum ankle, it will be SOME movement, anyway.  Right, self?  Am I right?"  So I went through the whole thing with zj.  All 26 letters.  By about "N" - which is for "nap" by the way, zj was done.  He told me "Mama, I'm just gonna watch, ok?  But you can do it if you want to."  Thanks, kid.

At that point, I was winded, sweaty, and grouchy.  But Alphabet Exercise Guy was NOT going to get the best of me.  He looked like he could afford to loose a few pounds himself.  And he got a little TOO into the "swooshing" that accompanied "F", which is for flying.  But I'm not here to judge.  I'm just here to win.  And if my competition is THAT guy and a four year old with the attention span of a gnat, I can surely win this one.

So I kept going.  

A few times, I got zj back into it.

We both really enjoyed the twist.  And we got to lie down somewhere toward the end, although I can't remember what letter that was, and I really liked that part.

But after it was all said and done, I had been working out for thirty minutes.  I was tired.  It is probably a pretty good indicator of my overall fitness level when a kid's alphabet dvd can kick my ass like that.   Clearly, I have a lot of work to do in this category.

So bring it, creepy Purple Hat Guy.  

I'm ready for round 2.

The treadmill of doom.

Long ago and far away, RJ used to be a runner.  A hardcore, thousand miles a day, faster than the speed of light kind of runner.

But life, as it tends to do, got in the way, and it's been years since he ran regularly.

So, for Father's Day this year, the boys and I (I'm still waiting for them to chip in their share, by the way.  Deadbeats.) got him a new treadmill, so it would be easier and more convenient to take it up again.   

I'm not very good at surprises (or able to lift a treadmill by myself in order to purchase it), so I arranged for a sitter, bundled RJ off to Dick's, and let him pick out his own.  

A very earnest and uninformed young Sales Guy was there to help us.  RJ had many, many, many questions about the various types, models, differences, features and benefits of all 20 treadmills on display.  Sales Guy had no clue, and kept talking about the training he was going to get on THAT model next week.  Next week was going to be a busy week for Sales Guy.  Anyway, we narrowed it down to two - A Sole, and a (according to Sales Guy) fairly new player in the treadmill market, a Livestrong.  I was all for the Livestrong.  It was WAY cheaper.  I mean, Lance Armstrong is an icon, right?  Surely he wouldn't make bad equipment.  Plus, those little yellow bands are cool.  All the cool kids have one...

We decided on the Livestrong.  Good deal, good equipment, harrowing trip home with it tied into the back of the car, even more harrowing trip down the basement stairs because we can no longer use our outer basement door.  But we did get it home, and set up.  RJ could not wait to use it, and went for a brisk two mile run that very night.  

And, he hurt himself.

Badly enough that he had to go to the doctor, who diagnosed a torn Achilles tendon, and recommended six weeks of rest, anti-inflammatory drugs, and frequent icing.

Never one to be wasteful of such a lovely new toy, I decided that I would take up a bit of jogging myself, because after all, I have found myself with a bit more free time lately.  And I'm tired of being fat, but that's another story all together.  

Anyway, I got myself hooked up with the Couch to 5k program, and commenced with the running.  It was fun.  It was exhilarating. I loved it.  I did it every day for a week.

Until the day when I woke up, and my heel looked like this:

So yeah.

Guess what?

It appears that I have exactly the same injury that RJ does.

On exactly the same foot.

 Of course, I didn't go to the doctor for mine.  Google is my doctor of choice, and we diagnosed the same (if not quite so severe) injury that RJ has.

So...

Anybody need a good treadmill?

I've got one for cheap.

So, let me tell you about Day 1 of being a stay at home Mama.

8am:  Slept in.  What???!!?!??  I haven't slept this late since that time in college when I drank a fifth of Wild Turkey.  Oh well, zj needs to learn how to get his own breakfast, anyway. Survival skills are important.

10am: Fed both the boys breakfast - hey, I don't judge your parenting skills - stay the hell out of mine.  Decided that today would be the day to start weaning cj off the bottle.

10:30am: Got a text from my sis B.  "Are you doing ok?"  I texted her back: "What, do you think I'm going to go crazy or something?"  Her response: "Yes."

11:30am: Made lunch. Yeah, yeah, I know.

12:00pm: RJ left for work, then I put cj down for a nap, and let zj play in the pool.

1:00pm: Decided to take up jogging.

1:03pm: Decided to give up jogging.

1:06pm: Took back up with jogging, but at a MUCH slower pace.  See the widget on my sidebar to track my progress :)

2:00pm: Worked on the alphabet with zj.  We made it all the way through "A."

2:45pm: Folded some laundry.  Sent zj upstairs to put some of his clothes away.

2:48pm: Heard: CRASH! THUMP! WHAAAA! "Mama, help me!  I think I broke my bone!"

2:49pm: Determined that zj had jumped from the fifth step onto the floor "in a different way" than he normally does and that he hurt his foot.

2:50pm: Texted RJ:  "I think z broke his foot. I am the worst stay at home Mama ever."

3:30pm: Determined that zj's foot was probably just bruised.  Whew.  Remembered that there was something else I was supposed to be doing... What was it?  What was it?  What was it?

3:31pm: Got cj up from his nap.  Oh, now I remember.  There are TWO of them.

4:00pm: Played X-Men with the boys.  Had to give it up because cj kept eating the Hulk.

5:00pm: Started drinking thinking about making dinner.  I have to have a hot meal waiting for my man when he returns home from a hard day at the office, right?  Perhaps a steak?  Or maybe a delectable chicken entree?

5:15pm: Determined that a trip to the grocery was in the near future.  Thawed out some hamburger meat and made Chili Casserole Surprise, which was totally made up and contained a can of diced tomatoes that expired in 2007.

6:30pm: RJ returned home from work.  I passed the kids off for a minute and got another drink. started looking in the classifieds for a new job.  took a minute to reflect on how my first day as a stay at home Mama was really going.

7:30pm: Fed everybody.  Bathed everybody (well, not RJ - this is not THAT kind of blog).  Put cj in bed, and read a chapter out of a big boy book to zj.  He loved it.

8:30pm:  Continued to drink at an alarming rate.

9:30pm: Decided I would try it again tomorrow, then passed out  went to sleep.

 

I promise this is the last post I will write about going on vacation. Really.

I have terribly unattractive feet.

Not that feet are ever pretty, really, but mine are at about the top of the ugly scale.

They're fat.

They're different sizes.

They're stubby.

My toes are all gnarled and bent.

They're hairy.

I have never bothered to paint my toenails, because that's just like putting lipstick on a pig.

RJ likes to point out every so often that he loves me even though I have the ugliest feet in the world.  I think that's just mean.

My feet also tend to be a little bit on the rough side - you know, callouses, peeling skin, general funk.

However, after a few days or so walking on the beach, I began to notice a difference.

They were still ugly, of course, but they were... soft.  Smooth, even.

But then I started freaking out a little.

Because if the sand exfoliated my feet so nicely, it must have done the same for countless others before me, right?

Right?

So basically, I had been walking around in other people's dead foot skin.

For days.

Ick.

I wore my flip flops the rest of the trip.

Beauty just ain't worth it.