T Minus 10 Days

Big, cross country move number 2 is now only 10 days away.  Also known as move number 5 in 3 and a half years.  To say the least, I'm really tired of this whole moving business.  No matter how well acclimated one is to moving, it's a stressful thing.  And one's excitement about the whole moving thing does nothing to relieve the stress that it can create. 

And it's becoming really obvious that I'm stressed out. 

This week has been exhausting, and it really shouldn't have.  When I woke up this morning, I heard my neighbors newspaper being delivered, and expected it was around the normal time of 5am.  Because that's the time it normally gets delivered.  I was shocked when I looked at my clock moments later to discover that it was 6:30am, and I had slept for nearly 10 hours last night.  And even now, after a huge cup of coffee (which, btw, always makes me grateful for my BFF, because she gave me the massive mug eons ago for Christmas) I am still feeling rather lethargic. 

It's one of those "I really need to get motivated to do something" days, and I just can't seem to get going.  Made even worse by the fact that I have many friends running 26.2 miles this weekend.  And I'll be lucky if I even run 2.6 miles. 

But I think I'm going to give myself a break on packing this weekend.  Pretty much from the moment I made the decision that I'm moving, I started packing.  And because I've done this so many times recently, it came really easy.  I knew exactly what order things should be packed in, and how to pack them so things don't get broken.  And before I realized it, 3/4 of my belongings were packed.  And sitting in boxes, taking up what little floor space I have left.  And 10 days might sound like I should get the rest of my stuff packed, but if I do that now, what will I do next weekend?  Besides, I'm not sure my tiny apartment could handle many more boxes at the moment.  And I do still have to live here for the next 10 days.  And the boxes have already been a hazard to my toes.  Currently, my apartment looks like this:

My Living Room/Bedroom.  You can almost see some of the floor.

My "Dining Room"

I've actually been really amazed at how much stuff I was able to cram into this tiny apartment. 

Anyway...10 more days.  I'm almost wishing that it was sooner, just so I could get this whole thing over with.  Being stressed out isn't something I enjoy (but seriously...who does???).  And I'm anxious to get started with my life in IL.  I have a lot to look forward to.  And beyond that, I've been eating like crap lately and just can't seem to stop eating like crap.  But once I get settled, I think it will be a little easier.  Getting back to a normal routine will be nice too. 

A while ago, I started a list of things that I'm not going to miss once I leave DC.  It was a pretty long list.  But it was also really negative.  And once I got through it, I just couldn't seem to post it because it was so ridiculously negative.  All of which makes me realize that I'm definitely making the right decision for myself about moving back home.  Things like rude bus drivers, and getting car sick while riding the bus, and air pollution, and sirens in the middle of the night, having the fire department called to my building twice in as many weeks because other people set their kitchens on fire, community laundry facilities...and The Beltway.  And I'll throw one in for my dad.  Dear Dad, my gift to you as I move home - You will (most likely) never have to drive around a DC traffic circle ever again. 

And there will be things that I'm going to miss.  For one, my friends here in DC.  It's heartbreaking to leave friends behind as you move, but I'm also looking forward to living much closer to a lot of my friends in IL.  And living 15 minutes from Whole Foods. 

A few weeks ago, I had to tell myself not to get too impatient, and to enjoy the last few weeks that I had in DC.  And I'm having to tell myself the same thing now.  Enjoy these last 10 days, because you will never get them back. 

So, I may get a workout in this weekend.  I may not.  But I will try to get out and do...something in DC.  Just because I can. 

The 40 Day Challenge - Day 12

12 days in, and I have not had a cookie, and I have not had any Peanut Butter.  Though every time I go to the grocery store, I longingly look at them as I walk past. 

But it's ok, because I have not caved.

So let's get to the really exciting part about my challenge...the new recipe's!  This has truly been amazing.  And I have absolutely loved every single one.  I've even tried the Sweet Potato with warm Black Bean Salad multiple times.  And it was just as good the second time as it was the first. 

This past Monday, my new recipe was Caramelized Onion and White Bean Flat Bread.  I cheated and used pre-made gluten free pizza crusts, but it was delicious.  And because I've been enjoying the whole new recipe thing, I've actually tried a couple more this week.  Yesterday, I found this great recipe from Whole Foods, their recipe of the day, Mushroom and Tomato Polenta.  Yum-yum.  And this morning, I tried a breakfast dish I saw on Pinterest, basically making an oatmeal...thingy...in a coffee cup in the microwave. 

Ok, so maybe I need a better description for stuff like that, because that doesn't sound appealing at all.  So let me re-phrase.  You take a quarter cup of dry oatmeal, and mix it with an egg, honey (though it was supposed to be brown sugar, but I threw away my brown sugar over the weekend because it was hard, and I'm not buying any new until after I move), cinnamon and a handful of blueberries.  Oh, and you're also supposed to add a splash of milk, but the only thing I had was some rice milk, which was sketchy at best...so I skipped that. 

But I promise, it tasted good.  The only problem was that I was hungry for lunch way early.  So in the future, it will need to be paired with something more filling. 

Ok, I'm a bit ramble-y today. 

So, let me be succinct.  I am loving this challenge.  Especially the new recipe thing, and plan on keeping that up long after the official 40 days are up! 

Comfort

I am sitting here, staring at my computer screen, willing myself NOT to buy 12 pairs of the comfy looking gaucho pants that I found on Target's website. 

As I was packing up part of my closet a couple of weeks ago, specifically, my shoe collection, it once again smacked me in the face (literally) that I am one of those girls that owns 15 pairs of sneakers, and 1 pair of high heels.  Ok, maybe 2.  And even when I do buy heels, I make sure that they are comfortable (yet stylish, as in my ridiculously cute AND comfortable red Mary Jane's...that I danced part of the night away at a friends wedding recently). 

As any single girl in her 30's should never admit, I fear the next statement being made public. 

Eh, what do I care.

I am hard pressed on the weekends, or rather, any hours I am not at work, to get out of sweatpants.  Workout hours not included.  I live for comfort.  I mean, what's the point of doing anything if you're not comfortable while you're doing it.  And I really only wear dress clothes to work because I am forced to.  Not because I really enjoy it.  I'm your jeans and a t-shirt girl, who even at age 30 will not give up my gold tooth pirate shirt, or Oscar the Grouch, or the crown jewel of my collection - Abe Lincoln the pirate.  Actually...in looking at my collection, one would think I have a thing for pirate's. 

Let's not get into the psychology of that. 

Anyway, my point here being - in two weeks, two tiny, short, weeks, I am no longer going to have a 9-5 job.  Which sounds fantastic.  But my concern is that I'm going to turn into a slob that wears nothing but sweatpants, and will also be highlighted on the People of Wal-Mart.  Because I'll be shopping at Wal-Mart now too.  Because that's the only option really when you live 50 miles from Target. 

So I'm sitting here, trying not to buy the gaucho's.  As I was so nicely reminded, I don't need to spend the money,  because for a while, I'm not going to know what my income is actually going to be like.  And I already have sweat pants, and access to a nice washer and dryer (not the crappy things in my current laundry room).  And I really don't need to buy them.  But I want them.  But I don't need them.

So I'm not going to buy them. 

I feel that I must redeem myself a little bit here.  I have already admitted that I don't really enjoy dressing up.  It's not really how I was raised - or more appropriately - my mom would have loved dressing me in frilly clothes growing up, but it because obvious rather early on that I preferred making mud pies than getting all dolled up.  She didn't fight it.  But she did always make sure I was clean, and looked presentable. 

(I did mention this to my mom not that long ago, and she had no idea that looking like a hot mess and walking out the door was not acceptable, or that that was instilled in me growing up.  But even now, my pj's have to match, and I only on rare occasions will I even go outside without showering, and even then, it's only when I'm going out to work out.  And even though I'm wearing comfy clothing, I still make sure I look presentable.)

But anyway...redemption:

I've got some game when it comes to dressing up.  I mean, if I'm going to do it, let's do it right.  I own nice dresses.  I own cute, stylish (yet comfortable) shoes.  And I can dress up if the occasion calls for it. 

But I promise you that once the requirement for being dressed up is over, I would much rather go back to living in my comfy clothes. 

To be honest, I feel like I can be more productive if I'm comfortable, because who wants to be working diligently all day long, and uncomfortable at the same time.  Wouldn't you much rather be comfy AND productive? 

I'm looking forward to my lack of 9-5 lifestyle, and I'm already making plans (plans that MUST be followed through on) to keep myself busy.  But I think one of the things I'm most excited about is NOT getting dressed up every day, and schlepping to the office.

Ahhh...comfort. 

The 40 Day Challenge - Day 6

I am 6 days in.  I have not had a cookie.  And I have not had peanut butter.

But since I am allowing myself other dessert-y type things, I am totally jonesing for some chocolate cake right now. 

But I don't have any chocolate cake.  So I ate a banana. 

I mean, it's almost the same thing, right? 

Banana, chocolate cake, chocolate cake, banana.  Totally the same thing.  Oh, and it almost helps that I ate a piece of dark chocolate before I ate the banana.

But in all seriousness...the week hasn't been THAT difficult within the parameters of the challenge.  The new recipe that I tried on Monday (Meatless Monday, in fact) was delicious, and I already foresee this becoming a staple in my diet.  It was Eating Well's (via Cat) Sweet Potato with Warm Black Bean Salad.  With slight modifications, because I don't currently own Cardamon, and refuse to buy kitchen staples like that until I move, so I used Chili powder instead.  And instead of sour cream i used goat cheese.  Utterly delicious. 

Other than that, it's been a "meh" week.  I've been in a grumpy, cranky, I don't want to deal with people mood most of the week.  I mean, there have been some good moments.  But by and large...one big ugh.  And of course, when those moments hit, they only lead to more frustration and the smallest thing will frustrate me, or make me sad, or frankly, just piss me off.  Ok, so mother nature hates me. 

I also just realized today that I have 2 weeks left of work.  Two weeks!  That is not a lot.  And though I'm excited, really excited, now is the time when it's starting to hit that I'm moving in 2 weeks! 

Side note - it became apparent who does and does not read my blog, even when I post it for the world to see on facebook.  Apparently, it was still a state secret to many that I was moving half way across the country.  But I think I'm in too cranky of a mood to actually write about my feelings about that.  Because it's probably not as severe as I actually am perceiving it to be right now.  So maybe I'll wait to write about it next week. 

Anyway...the 40 day challenge continues. 

The next new recipe is also from Eating Well, Flat Bread with White Bean Puree and Caramelized Onions.  Again, with modifications for my genetically inferior self. But still, it sounds tasty. 

Be Happy!

I am one happy camper right now.  I am.  I'm not bragging...just stating facts.  OK, so maybe, just maybe, it has something to do with moving, and the fact that I'm ridiculously excited about that fact.  Just a hunch on that one.  And at the same time, I feel like I should be...I don't know...sad, or something, about leaving DC.  And I'm going to miss my friends and everything.  But the sadness about that whole situation hasn't really hit me yet. 

That being said, it seems lately that I've gotten more emotionally invested in really sad stories in the news.  And for this, I blame my 108 year old neighbor.  Bear with me here.  I have a very sweet, elderly (obviously, since I call her my 108 year old neighbor, though I don't actually know her age) neighbor, who was pretty much the first person I met in my building.  Like, the day I moved in.  I introduced myself, she introduced herself.  She told me that she used to live in my apartment, and how it's such a nice efficiency. 

Since this initial encounter, I have subsequently been re-introduced to her many times, on an almost bi-weekly basis.  And a couple of weeks ago, on a weekend morning (granted it had been more than the usual 2 weeks since I had seen her), after living just down the hall for 11 months, yes, she introduced herself to me.  Like we'd never met before.  Most often, I've chosen to have a little chuckle about this, her being my cute, 108 year old neighbor.  But this last time really affected me.  Maybe it's all of the other stuff that I have going on in my life right now.  Or maybe I can't be as happy as I am without feeling some pang of sadness.  Whatever it is...this latest re-introduction made me sad.  I know that she's suffering from some type of dementia, or Alzheimer's - the cruelest of all getting old diseases, and for that, I just couldn't laugh this time.  Because that sealed the deal.  That made whatever disease is affecting her mind real to me. 

And since that time, I've been sucked in to news stories that might not have caught my eye previously.  Most recently, it's been a story about 2 identical twins who were found dead in their house, with no known family members.  And even more sad, it appears that they died within moments of one another.  Most likely because one of them died, and then the other just couldn't handle life without the other one.  They had lived a secluded life for many years, having no other close friend than the other twin.  They had no family.  And had gotten even more secluded in the past few months.  In fact, it was days before anyone even found them, and only then, it was because the police were kind enough to do a routine stop at their house to make sure everything was ok.  Well, this time, it wasn't.  Fortunately, the update today made me happy, because so many people who had also gotten sucked into the story had done research, and actually found family members for these two women.  So an almost happy ending there.

But beyond this, stories about school shootings, and trials of hate crimes, and hate crimes happening in my own home town...the home town I am moving back to...make me sad.  I know, and have known, for many years that the news often highlights the bad things that happen.  Because apparently stories that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside don't sell.  Apparently, drama sells.  Hate sells.  Death sells.  And apparently, Snooki being both pregnant *gasp* and engaged *gasp, gasp* are what really sells. 

Ok, so I haven't been sucked in to actually reading any of the stories about Snooki.  I just can't do it.  Seeing the headlines day after day after day just makes me sick.  As if a beach bum from Jersey being both pregnant and engaged is news worthy?  Is it really that rare of an occurrence?  If so...maybe THAT should be the story instead. 

And let's not even talk about the Republican primary's right now, or Rush Limbaugh...because my brain cells are more valuable that writing even more about two topics that have had more written about them than any of the other stories I've mentioned.  And that's fine, I have opinions...but my brain is tired of them both.

So what do I want?  Beyond just a chance to vent my frustration...let's just...be happy.  Let's talk about positive things.  Let's focus on something good that has happened.  Do something nice for someone.  It doesn't have to be anything big.  Sometimes, just asking if someone needs help is all that they need. 

Let me give you an example.  Last night, I decided it was a good idea to finally carry home some of the boxes I've been collecting in my office.  I had several, and they were getting in my way.  And I should probably fill them up this weekend anyway.  So I collected them, and put one box together, and put the rest in that box.  And let me add, I didn't have any real packing tape in my office...just your standard scotch tape.  I think you can probably guess where this story is going.  Let's just say, approximately 2 blocks from home, the box that was verging on coming apart came apart.  And as a result, all of the other boxes ended up on the sidewalk.  So I devised a new method that actually worked to keep all the boxes together...let's just say I should probably have an honorary Engineering degree for what I worked out.  Or at least a MacGuyver certificate.  But as I was being all mad and frustrated, collecting boxes...with other people not close, but...you know...around...and of course no one stopped.  And at that exact moment...just when I was wishing that someone cared...a woman pulled over and asked if I needed help.  I politely told her I didn't need help.  Because I didn't need her help.  What I did need, and what she gave me, was the knowledge that I wasn't alone. 

So, when, a block later, my MacGuyver certificate was momentarily yanked back when all of the boxes once again ended up on the ground, I didn't feel so bad. 

And then, when one of my building mates almost locked me out of the building, because he didn't notice I was right behind him.  With a massive amount of boxes.  He seemed genuinely upset that he wasn't polite, and held the door open for me. 

Lately, this has been a good reminder that people can actually be genuinely good.  And it's been nice to see.  And I think in a world where so much negative abounds - it's nice to see someone do something positive.  And pass it on. 

The 40 Day Challenge - Day 1

I'm going to do it.  I'm going to do something for 40 days.  But it's going to be more than just giving something up for 40 days.  My goal in this...project...if you will...is to do something for myself, that is going to be a benefit both to my physical health, and my mental well being.  So I will be giving something up, but I'll also be doing something for myself as well.  

So, the parameters are:

1) No cookies and/or Peanut Butter - Both of these are trigger foods that once I start eating, I don't stop eating them.  Most of the time.  And they are both things that I love.

2) At least once a week, try a new, healthy recipe - This is going to be a lot of fun.  I love food, and I love looking through recipes, and doing research.  Plus, the added bonus of changing things up in the food department.  Realistically, this is something that needed to happen anyway, and was already considering doing, just not on such a "strict" basis.

3) Meatless Mondays! - I grew up eating really good meat.  Meat that I had seen raised myself.  And as an adult, I do love a good steak.  But at the same time, I've also went through periods where I just couldn't stomach a piece of meat, or even the thought of eating a piece of meat.  As a result, I spent 6 months being a mostly vegetarian, and loved it.  But then I got yelled at by my nutritionist because I wasn't eating enough protein.  So I still love meat, but I think feeding my inner vegetarian at least once a week is a good idea. 

I'm excited about this new challenge, and am hopeful in the next few weeks of insanity, things won't fall off the deep end.  And it's not like I won't be able to indulge myself at all.  I mean...I can still eat ice cream...so I think I'll be ok there.  At least I hope so.  I even have my first new recipe all picked out thanks to my friend Cat - Sweet Potatoes with Warm Black Bean Salad.  I've been wanting to try this one since I first read about it.  And...bonus! It helps satisfy 2 of my parameters!!!  As long as I don't have cookies for desert, I'll be good to go!  

I had a weird dream last night.  And I'm 50/50 about whether or not I remember the dream or not.  But at least part of the dream I do remember.  I was swimming in a pool, and people kept swimming in my lane, and getting in my way.  And then at the end of the dream, the water was draining out, so by the time I got to the end of the lane, I couldn't swim any more because the water was so shallow.  Now, I don't do this all the time when I remember a dream, but the ones that really stick out to me, I do.  I look up what the dream interpretation can mean.  My BFF has helped with this, but often I just look it up online.  Most of the time, stuff like this wouldn't mean that much to me.  I'm not really into horoscopes or anything, but every single time I do read the interpretation for my dream, it really resonates with what is going on in my life - so I do give it some credit.  

According to DreamMoods.com seeing a swimming pool in your dream means:

Swimming Pool
To see a swimming pool in your dream symbolizes relaxation, calmness, luxury and ease. You need to take a break. Alternatively, a swimming pool suggests that you need to acknowledge and understand your feelings. It is time to dive in and deal with those emotions. You need to cleanse yourself and wash away past hurts. Consider the depth of the pool. If you were swimming on the deep end, then it means that those emotions are deeply seeded and may be harder to confront.. You will need to work through it, no more matter how difficult. If you are swimming on the shallow end, then it implies that you should be able to easily deal with your feelings.

See what I mean about resonating with me?  I do need a break.  And I do feel the need for a cleansing.  And oddly enough, without realizing it, I've been trying to do that in my day to day life anyway.  It's not that I don't shower, because I do at least once a day.  But lately, I've felt the need to just do an extra good job at it.  Partly because I've been packing, and am incredibly dirty by the time I get done.  And part of it...well...it just makes me feel good.  

Now, because I was also actually swimming in the pool, we can look at:

Swimming
To dream that you are swimming suggests that you are exploring aspects of your unconscious mind and emotions. The dream may be a sign that you are seeking some sort of emotional support. It is a common dream image for people going through therapy.

So, I'm not going through therapy right at the moment.  But part of this still resonates with me.  Lately, I've been talking to one of my friends especially about what is going on in my life, with moving half way across the country, and taking on a job that is a completely new adventure.  And though she's excited for me, and could not be happier that I'm doing what I really want to be doing, and living where I want to live, she's also sad that I'm leaving.  We see each other almost every single day, and it's just going to be a big change.  And I get that.  And I know at some point, it's probably going to just smack me in the face that I'm not going to see her every day, and at that point, I'm going to be sad too.  Not that I don't realize the changes that are going to be happening.  But at the moment, I am so ecstatic about the move, and the new job, that those emotions just haven't showed up yet.  And it feels a little weird that I'm not really sad at all about leaving DC...which to me truly means that I have made the right decision.  It's almost like I'm in a euphoric state when I think about moving.  And at some point, I'm sure I'm going to have a bit of an adrenaline crash about the whole thing.  Who knows when that is going to happen.  But I'm positive it will.  And I think my unconscious brain is trying to tell me that I need to be prepared for that to happen.  Or maybe my  brain is already starting down that path.   Or maybe I feel like I should be slightly less euphoric, and a little more sad about leaving.  Who knows.  But something is definitely nagging me a little.  

That was definitely a bit of a side track.  But at the same time, it all resonates to the same thing.  I need to kick things up a little, make even some slight changes.  Hence...perfect timing for my 40 day challenge.  

Oh, I didn't mention one of my other goals about the challenge.  To write about what's going on.  And write often.  Maybe not every day.  But write about it.  How I'm feeling, how is it going.  Remember how I feel.  So check back, check in, and please, don't give me a cookie :) 

 

40 Days

I am not Catholic now, nor was I raised Catholic.  So I have never given anything up for Lent.  I was, however, raised in a Catholic community, where conversations about what you were giving up for Lent were commonplace.  Considering my family didn't participate in this practice, nor did any of my close friends, I never really paid much attention to what it was, or why they were giving something up that they so dearly loved.  And, of course, no meat (except fish) on Fridays. 

But the true history of Lent has a much deeper meaning, and according to the Catholic Encyclopedia, Lent is a time of fasting (typically from something one considers a luxury) and an opportunity to grow closer to God.  My thought about 7th Graders giving something up for Lent is that it's more of a custom or tradition, and these kids are likely going to miss the big picture here, and aren't going to spend a whole lot of time considering how they are growing closer to God.  I'm not saying it's not possible...it's just not likely. 

And again, not having a lot of Catholic friends, I haven't honestly given Lent, and giving something up, much thought over the past 10 years or so.

It wasn't until recently that my mind came back to this topic.  A few of my friends had posted on Facebook about Lent, etc.  But it was another friends comment that really got my mind spinning.  And it's likely that the reason is that the comment came from a different angle.  It was more along the lines of "doing something for 40 days."

Other than normal, bodily functions (like breathing, eating, sleeping, blinking) have I ever done anything for 40 days straight? 

The answer?  No.  Not with purpose. 

So over the past week, I've been mulling over the idea of either doing something for 40 days, or giving something up for 40 days.  Or maybe even doing both.  And if so, what is it going to mean to me.  I'm still not Catholic, and I don't plan on converting.  And what would I choose to do and give up for 40 days?  Work out 40 days in a row?  Go 40 days without eating a cookie? 

I have historically been a person that gives myself guidelines to follow (eat healthy, do not buy peanut butter, do not buy cookies, get up early every day and work out) but I've also frequently succumbed to "life happens" and fallen off the wagon faster than a gun drawn at the OK Corral.  I just try to do well one single day.  And then the next day, try to do well that day too.  And if life happens, well, life happens.  Try to do well again tomorrow. 

But the idea of doing a 40 day challenge is intriguing to me.  Obviously, I wouldn't be aligning my challenge with the actual Lent dates, and I'm not even using the opportunity to get closer to God as a reason (though if it happens, kudos!), but the more I think about the idea, the more I like it.

So, dear readers, especially you Catholics out there...I want more information.  What do you often choose to give up?  What does this mean to you?  Please, share your stories.  Because right now, I'm not sure I'm even going to do this, and I'm definitely not sure that attempting such a feat in the middle of a cross country move is the right time.  But I'm intrigued, and I might just give it a shot.  Maybe now is the perfect time.

Almost Thursday 13

1) There is a problem when you are responsible for only cooking for yourself.  At least I have a problem.  I make the same thing ALL THE TIME.  Literally, every week, I "grill" an entire package of chicken.  Made a batch of rice.  And continue to eat that for the rest of the week.  It's getting boring, and it's showing.  I've been much more willing to cheat on my "diet" and I'm sure this is one huge reason why.

2) Please send any healthy recipe's you might have, or think I might enjoy.  That are easily made for 1, or are good as leftover.

3) Moving stinks.  Boxes are everywhere, and my body is covered head to toe in bruises that I got from packing.

4) Ok, some of the bruises are from hitting one of the desk supports underneath my desk. Which I might have done 3 times.  Within 2 hours. 

5) My dear old friend insomnia seems to be back.  Last week I thought it was just because I was sick.  But I woke up at 2am today, and could not get back to sleep.  Ugh.

6)  I'm really excited about moving!

7) I'm even more excited by all of the wonderful comments, and excitement I'm getting from my friends.  Especially the ones I'll be living near again.

8) Yes, living a mere 95 miles from my BFF, who I haven't lived that close to in, oh, 12+ years is at the top of my excitement list.

9)  That, and having an actual bedroom.

10) I'm already planning my Cardinal's baseball viewing schedule.  There is 3 and a half years that need to be made up for.

11) Ok, so it's technically only been a year since I've seen the Cards play, but they were in DC.  Not Busch Stadium.  It's just not the same.

12) Nerd alert: I'm reading Undaunted Courage by Stephen Ambrose, which talks about Merriwether Lewis and my Revolutionary War crush Thomas Jefferson...and this morning I read a chapter about how long it took just to communicate with people across the country, and how long it took to travel from place to place.  For example, from DC (Washington City) to St. Louis (the Mississippi River) took months back in the day.  It's now a 2 hour plane ride.  And a letter would take 6 weeks to cross that distance, and now, I can email, phone, instant message, text message, or whatever else instantly.  And though I wouldn't trade any of my modern conveniences (ok, some I would willingly give up) I think it would be cool to live in that era...if only temporarily.

13) I want a new, more comfortable couch.  But will be stuck with my current one for a while.  It's a good thing I have learned some patience over the years. :)

Moving

First of all, for those of you that are just now hearing for the first time, I apologize for the delay, but getting things straightened out at work precluded me from doing a large Facebook announcement.  And the past couple of weeks have been a little busy.  So...here goes!

As of March 27, I will once again be an IL resident. 

This isn't a decision that has come lightly, or without a lot of planning.  Realistically, the decision has been coming for the past year or so.  And I am really excited about the possibilities.  I'll be leaving my current job, and will becoming an independent contractor for the same company.  So all of the traveling I've been doing the past 3 years will still be there, if anything, I'll probably be traveling more.  But I won't have the same job responsibilities on top of what I'm doing while I travel.  So that will definitely be nice.  And in addition to that, I'll get to set my own schedule.  Which...let's face it...is awesome. 

Never fear DC friends, I'll be having a going away party before I leave so I can see all of you one more time.  And I'll definitely be coming back to visit.  And of course, I'll be in Cedar Point in September.  So you won't get THAT much of an opportunity to miss me.

In the entire process of getting things ready to move, there are some pretty funny things I have come across.

1.)  I'll be moving from Connecticut Ave in Washington, DC to a rural route address in Southern IL.  To be honest, I can't think of 2 more different addresses.  And at the same time, I am so excited about it.

2.)  I'll be moving from a 350 square foot apartment to a 3 bedroom house with a full basement.  WAHOO!!  Yes, Cedric gets his own room.

3.) This will be my fifth...yes 5!...move in the past 3 and a half years.  And hopefully my last for a very, very long time.  I have clearly gotten too good at packing, because this past weekend, I packed over 3/4 of my stuff in less than 2 days, and didn't have to think twice about what needed to be done.  

4.) I have to buy a car.  And insurance.  Granted, my dad has been an amazing support through the whole process.  But it seems a little surreal. 

Though this has been coming for a while, the whole thing seems to be happening very fast.  But I absolutely cannot wait.  I'll definitely be keeping you updated on the progress, and in the mean time, I'll try to post some photos of the disaster that my apartment is going to be over the next month.

Wish me luck!

The Grill

There are few things in my life that I choose to spend an extravagant amount of money on.  Of course, my hobby is one of the more expensive ones, and I'm always spending what little extra cash I have on triathlon.  And, well, the remainder of my mad money is typically spent on food. 

At least I have my priorities straight.

And when I think about the stuff that I want for my life, I don't need extravagance.  When I can (hopefully soon) purchase a car, I'm probably going to buy a Ford Focus.  I buy a majority of my clothes at Target.  And in general, I'm not a high maintenance, must spend money for status as opposed to quality type of girl.

In most cases, that is. 

As mentioned in previous posts, I've been mentally re-decorating the house that I currently don't live in.  And I've been thinking about the things that I want to put in this house.  And when I think about the things that I've been living without while apartment dwelling in DC the past 2 and a half years, the thing I miss the most is a grill.  Food cooked with fire.  To me, there is absolutely nothing better in the entire world.  And I've eaten some pretty good food. 

So I have decided, no matter what it takes, I'm buying top of the line, can make food for 50 people, grill.  And it will be amazing. 

Say it's nature or nurture, whatever it is...I come from a grilling family.  In fact, when it comes to buying my dad presents, you buy the man tools or something to do with grilling.  We Hooks' make entire meals on the grill.  Pizza and french fries and baked beans, all cooked on the grill. 

So while the Dad and I were shopping for work gloves (me) and screws, drill bit, etc (dad) on Monday at Lowe's we spent an large amount of time drooling over the grill selections, determining which ones would work best, and fit the needs that we have for grilling.  And of course, all of the fun gadgets and tools that they have to accompany the grills.  In fact, the Dad got a sweet new LED light that attaches to the handle of your grill so you can see the food your cooking as you grill at night.  When I get a grill of my own, that light is going to be a must have. 

I can almost taste it right now.  Fresh, homemade, the cow was alive 3 days ago hamburgers.  Please excuse me while I wipe the drool from my face. 

The Travel Chronicles: Volume 1

Greetings from The Sunshine State!  As many of you know, I travel frequently.  And it has been mentioned to me before that I should write about some of my adventures.  So in a yet to be determined number of entries, I present a mini-series in the adventures of a young, female, single, business traveler. 

Prompted by something that happened at the end of my flight yesterday, we are going to start this mini-series with men. 

Depending on what airport you travel from, to or through, you're going to come a cross just about any specific type of traveler.  You have your George Clooney-esque (a la Up in the Air) business men (who typically provide some of the most entertainment, if only because they're really all the same man in a different body.  You have your families traveling to whatever destination vacation of their choice.  If you fly through MCO (Orlando) they will inevitably be dressed in some form of Disney character t-shirts, and 9 times out of 10, someone in the group is wearing Mickey ears.  If you're out west, you're going to have the random guy(s) with a mullet (yes, they really do still exist).  And if you're going through NY, Newark, or Boston, you're going to have a cluster f#%$ of really loud, annoying people. 

But as I said before, this go-round, we're focusing on men. 

Maybe I give guys too much credit, but I would think most people, males especially, would be more...well...with it...when they travel.  In the past month, I have had to remind a guy that his suitcase was still sitting at the end of the screening belt after going through security, directed 2 guys to a bathroom that was directly in front of them, and laughed at a guy sitting next to me for reasons we shall soon get to.  But this has made me realize that we womens need to take care of the men.  Even if they're only in our lives as fellow travelers. 

I'm a nice person.  And I've made my career out of talking to people.  So when I travel (unless you catch me on a morning when I haven't drank enough coffee) I try to be a nice, friendly person.  I talk to anyone.  But what has happened several times (too numerous to count, actually) is I'll be talking to a guy who just happens to be standing next to me in line to get on the plane, or sitting next to me on the plane, or wherever we happen to be.  They just happen to be the person next to me at the time.  I can't help it that they're male, and I'm female.  Or that I'm a single female to boot.  So I'm just going to put this out there:

I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE MARRIED.  I'M NOT HITTING ON YOU.  If we are having a conversation, it's more because I'm trying to pass the time, than to make a pass at you. 

Yesterday, when I finally got to my seat on the plane, the guy sitting next to me seemed friendly enough.  We chatted just a little bit before take off.  He threatened to start crying once the plane took off.  I threatened to punch him if he did.  It was banter.  It was not flirting (though I admit that there is occasionally a fine line between the two).  As we landed (no crying or punching during the flight, he worked, I read) we again made some small talk.  I did the standard "are you from here or here for work?"  And he hesitated before answering..."I'm here with a...uh...friend...and their family.  A...uh...mm...uh...(whisper) female...uh...friend." 

Me:  "Oh nice, vacation."  But what I really wanted to say is "do you really think I care you have a girlfriend?"  Good for you, would you like a cookie? 

I admit, perhaps he just didn't know what to think about the relationship, and doesn't know what term to call her.  But my guess is that if you're on vacation with her AND her family, it's at least got to be fairly serious.  No need to hide it.

Speaking of hiding things.  I'm an observant person.  I like to people watch when I travel.  It's one of the ways to pass the time and offset the impending boredom.  And I notice things...like wedding rings, jewelry of any kind really, what people are wearing, shoes, bags, etc..  Especially of guys having loud conversations around me.  So, when I happen to be the one next to you in line, and strike up a conversation, it's fairly obvious what you're trying to do when you keep that left hand cemented in your pocket.  Even when it becomes awkward, like walking forward, or handing the person scanning tickets your ticket with your right hand, while that left hand still remains in your pocket is awkward.  Again, you are not hiding anything. 

Now, maybe it's the fact that the male species needs a bit of an ego boost.  Or something like that.  To think that even though they're not single, some cute, single girl is talking to them.  And *gasp* possibly interested in them.  Or whatever the reason may be.  It doesn't matter.   The fact remains the same, I'm just a friendly person, looking the pass the time.  Not looking for a romp in the airport hay. 

So there you have it folks.  Boys (men, though if you continue the childish behavior seen above, I will continue to call you boys) take note.  And everyone, stay tuned for the next installment. 

Guilty Pleasures

This week, I spent 4 days doing nothing but lay on the couch.  And for a little excitement in my life, I would occasionally lay on my bed.  Watching trashy day time TV.  But hey, when you're sick, what else are you going to do?  One afternoon, I was watching The Chew on ABC, and the entire show was dedicated to guilty pleasures.  At the time, it was rather entertaining to watch the 4 goof ball hosts laugh about their secret guilty pleasures, including a fried egg and bologna sandwich, Judge Judy, and ironing. 

Though it really didn't resonate at the time (my mind being a little befuddled with illness), the concept eventually got me thinking about what my guilty pleasures are. 

My first thought was coffee.  But then I realized, I don't really feel guilty about drinking coffee.  In fact, I would say that it's necessary for me (though I did go without coffee while sick).  The me you all know and love does not exist without coffee.  But I know I'm not alone in this either.

So then I got down to business, and started listing what my real guilty pleasures are.

1) Spoon + Jar of PB + Jar of Strawberry Jelly.  - Allow me to sit down with this combination, and I will be one happy camper.  Because it's also a ridiculous amount of calories, and tends to leave me feeling less than stellar, this doesn't happen that often.  But when it does...mm mm mm mm mm.

2) Watching cable TV - when I'm traveling only, because I don't have cable of any sort at home.  I will sit in my hotel room for hours on end (because, let's face it, I often don't get sent to great destinations) and watch marathons of crappy TV.  USA and the Food Network are by far my faves.  Ok, so when I'm home, my antenna does have ION, which also is a good substitute for real cable channels. 

3) Laying in bed.  Ok, I'm not talking about the doing nothing but laying in bed for 4 days straight, incapable of doing nothing else (like this week).  Every morning, when my alarm goes off, I hit snooze a couple of times, and many mornings, I'll just stay in bed.  Now that I'm not currently doing 2 a day works outs, this has been happening a lot lately.  I stay in bed, and enjoy the warmth, and fantasize about a number of different things.  Occasionally, I'll think of all of the wonderful things I could accomplish if I called in sick that day.  Or how I want to redecorate my house (that I don't currently live in).  Or what I want for my future.  Or what groceries I need to buy, or what food I want to make soon.  It's typically a random assortment of topics that pass through my brain, but it's really just my favorite time of day.  Before I get up and shower and head to work, because my fantasy about calling in that day never seems possible unless I'm actually sick.  And I walk around my tiny studio apartment, and stub my toes, elbows, or whatever other body part sticks out, and wishing that I was living in a much larger home. 

There are probably a multitude of other things, mainly foods that I rarely allow myself to eat (including a grilled goat cheese sandwich, bacon, pie, and chocolate cake).  But those listed above are really what does it for me. 

So...what is your guilty pleasure?

Writing It All Down

I am a writer.  Not that I get paid to do so.  But I'm a writer.  Obviously, you're reading something I've written right now.  Some things I write to share with other people, some things I write just to get it out of my head, and them immediately wish I could burn it...never to think about that thing ever again.  Over the years, it's become a comfort to me.  And through my writing, I have gotten support, feedback, contradiction and compassion...none of which I would have received had I not written it down.

There are other aspects of my life that seem to be recorded for posterity...or other pursuits as well.  I write down what I eat to keep track of calories.  I (occasionally) write down how much money I spend to keep track of my budget.  But oddly enough, the one thing I haven't done well at is writing down how many miles I ran, rode, or swam.

My Grandma, yes, the crazy Grandma that roller skated down a huge hill, wrote everything down.  For years growing up, I was amazed at what she wrote down.  Every single day, she would write how many steps she would take, with the goal of being taking a certain number of steps every day for exercise.  And I'm not just talking about the times she actually went for a walk, the woman included the steps she took to go to the bathroom, or out to the kitchen.   EVERY SINGLE STEP.  Beyond her exercise goals, she still wrote everything down.  Of course, she and my grandpa came from the era where most of their courtship was handled from letters.  Unfortunately, we'll never know her side of the story, because after my grandpa wanted her to throw out his letters, she did the exact opposite.  She stashed his letters away, and burned her own.  This is one of the most unfortunate things I can imagine, because there was one afternoon growing up that my family sat down (sans grandparents) and read my grandpa's letters.  It's the hardest I ever remember laughing.  Beyond that, it's the hardest I ever remember my dad laughing growing up (which is saying something if you know my dad).  To date, there are still journals of my grandma's that my parents refer back to when the need arises to know when a certain cousin's birthday is, or when some other significant life event happened.  Even when they built the house in Florida, my grandma wrote down every single thing they paid for, and how much it cost.  Looking back, it may not all be relevant to life today, but, it's still interesting.  It's like a history lesson.  Ok, it's not like a history lesson.  It IS a history lesson.

So...what is my point here?  Some would say that I write a lot of stuff about my life down.  And I do.  But I think I could do better.  I'm not about to start recording every single step that I take a day, or writing a daily journal of what I do.  But something I have found helpful is to be able to quantify what I have done.  Maybe if I had recorded how many laps I had swam last year, I would have been prompted to take action about quantity there before.  Or knowing how many miles I've ran to train for a marathon.  It doesn't matter if I share it with anyone, but it may actually help to keep track, keep myself accountable for what I do.  So I've tried to do...better...this year so far about recording what workouts I've done when.  So maybe, by the time September rolls around, and I (keeping all fingers, toes, and all other appendages crossed) cross the finish line at Cedar Point, I'll be able to say...yes, today I crossed 140.6 miles today.  But x amount of miles is what the journey really included.  Or something prolific like that. 

I try not to dwell on the past very often.  It happened, it's done.  Let's move forward.  But my history, history in general is something that we carry with us no matter who we are, or where we go in life.  And there is something to be said that we can't really move forward until we know where we've been.  To put it another way, I've been down that path before, and it didn't work out so well, so why would I be crazy enough to do it again?  So every once in a while, I find it useful to take a look back, see where I've been, where I am now, and reflect on the journey to get from point A to point B.  I'm not the same person I was 10 years ago, I'm not even the same person I was a year ago.  There are definitely pieces that are much the same, but I've grown a lot.  Changed, some might even say.  But I do carry those pieces of me moving forward.  The written reminder just helps to remember it correctly. 

Salad Stylings

Hello, my name is Johanna, and I hate salad.

If you're trying to eat a healthy diet of food, salad has always been at the top of the list of things to eat.  And, of course, doctors have told us for many years that eating a lot of leafy green veggies is one of the keys to a successful healthy lifestyle. 

But here's the thing, I really just don't enjoy salad.  In all honestly, I probably never have, even way back to when I was a kid.  In fact, I remember one meal when I was at some buffet-type restaurant, and I loaded up my plate with a little bit of lettuce, and a lot of toppings.  As my dad was going through the line behind me, he even commented that I really wasn't putting a salad together, so much as a mixture of the yummy stuff.  (At the time, he probably phrased it quite differently, but the sentiment is still the same.)  Even now, I will eat whatever leafy greens make up the actual "salad" portion of the meal, and then leave the toppings for last.  It's nice to know that some things never change.

As I mentioned previously, if you're trying to eat healthy (like I do) salads are the staple food.  But also, when you happen to be genetically inferior like me (gluten AND dairy free...not just by choice) you are often relegated to the world of salads.  For example, last week, I was presenting at a school, and some of the directors wanted it go to lunch together.  Not knowing the city we were in, I was at a loss for what to suggest.  The executive director took over, and suggested an Italian restaurant.  I immediately prayed that actually had salad, because even if the standard salad comes with cheese, it's not a huge deal to request that it not come with cheese. 

But are you getting the idea that I'm fun to eat with?  Because it's a joy sometimes, and makes me feel ridiculously high maintenance.  Perhaps I should just wear a button that says "I'm not really high maintenance, it's just my GI track that is."  There have been many meals where I've had to order something like: I'd like a bowl of chili, but no cheese on that, and I'd like the grilled chicken sandwich without the bread.  Yes, just give me all the toppings, and the chicken, but not bread.  Or when the meal actually comes out: I'm sorry, the description on the menu didn't include that you poured an entire cup of cheese over the spinach, so I would really appreciate (and so would my traveling companions) if you could take that back to the kitchen, not spit in it, and bring it back dairy free.  Thanks!  Or even: I ordered the naked tenders, not the regular ones, so no, I'm not going to keep the thing that I didn't order, and yes, I'm going to cut your tip because you didn't pay attention to what I ordered, brought me the wrong thing, and then expected me to eat it anyway.  :)

So anyway, back to the scary Italian restaurant.  They did have salad, they actually had salad that didn't automatically come with cheese on it, thus my looking like an ass hat that doesn't like food was significantly reduced.  And I ate the salad.  There were even moments that I enjoyed what I was eating.  Admittedly, those were the moments when I was eating the toppings, but still...there were a few enjoyable bites in there.  And of course, I ate the entire thing because even at 2pm, I was aware that this would be my only chance to eat any amount of food of substance until after 10pm when I would get back home. 

I'm sure I can't be the only one out there that doesn't like salad.  I've admitted it, it took a long time to do so, but I did it.  And I would like to stand up and say that it's ok not to like salad.  It doesn't mean that I don't eat healthy.  But I'm more likely to eat tomatoes, avocado, bell peppers, and whatever other veggie I'm in the mood for sans lettuce, spinach, arugula or whatever leafy green you might throw my way.

A Year in Review

Typically, I do my yearly reflection around my birthday, but considering I was peaking for Ironman training, among other things that kept my brain less than fully functioning, even if I had attempted to do anything like that, it wouldn't have been overly successful.  So, now at the end of the year, why not. 

I'm not one to make resolutions.  I never have been.  I don't need a holiday to celebrate something, and I don't need the end of a year to incite me to make any significant life changes.  But the fact that the end of the calendar year coincides with other events to lead me to make some changes is merely a coincidence.  I swear. 

In looking back over the past year, the first thing that comes to mind is...do I feel any different than I did a year ago?  Did anything major happen?  And my first instinct is to say...no.  I don't feel any different than I did a year ago.  But taking a step back, of course, the changes are there.  Was it really just a year ago that I was preparing to run 42.4 miles in the course of 3 days.  And a year ago, I was ramping up to my first Ironman. 

It's been a rough year.  Let's leave it at that, because re-hashing the failures of the past year isn't a positive thing in my head right now.  And would only cause more pain than they're worth.  But to say that I have learned things is obvious.  I've learned things about myself.  I've learned things about racing.  And beyond anything else, I have learned that being cold really sucks. 

But let's point out a few key positive points from the past year.

• I learned that I can, in fact, run 42.4 miles in the course of 3 days and survive.  When it comes to racing, this is definitely the highlight of the past year.  And I have a lot of bling as a result.  
• Not so much a learning experience as an overcoming experience...I started having fun riding my bike, and I lost some of the fear that having half of my face scraped off a couple of years ago gave me. 
• I have a long way to go, and an uphill battle all the way.  But I work best when I have tough circumstances to fight against, so I'm putting this in the positive column as well. 

In looking at the past,  I want to leave it there, in the past.  The rough training and racing days.  The thousands of airline miles I have accumulated over the past year, and none of it for a truly relaxing experience (except the one I'm nearing the end of right now).  The bad dates, and not really any good ones (bad just isn't nearly a good enough descriptor for some of the things I've experienced over the past year, but we don't have nearly enough time to re-hash all of that right now...nor should I need to).  The fun, the pain, the joy.  All of it.  Sometimes I really do just want to leave it all in the past.  Locked away for good, never to see the light of day ever again.

It isn't possible.  All of the experiences that I've had in the past go with me everywhere I go.  I can't let them weigh me down, as that would impede progress of any form.  But it's all back there, as a gentle reminder.  Some of it reminds me to work harder, no matter how tired, or cranky I am.  Some of it reminds me of the things I have overcome.  But it's all there.

So...what's next?  If I thought the past year was a big one, I think the upcoming year is going to be even bigger.  And hopefully better.  And I have goals, a lot of goals.  One of them is slightly dependent upon an email I'm supposed to receive on January 6, which could affect where I am 6 months from now.  But I'm still trying not to think about it too much (is that creating enough suspense?)  (It really shouldn't, just look at past posts)  I know that I want to get more comfortable in the water this year.  Not that I'm uncomfortable.  Ok, so I don't want to suck as badly at swimming.  And beyond that, there are race goals, personal goals, weight goals, everything.  But I'm hesitant to say I want to finish x amount of races before I can do y, and if I don't weigh z before then I'm going to be really upset with myself.  Nothing good can come from that.  I will do what I can do, and I will be as pleased with the result as I can be. 

Ok, so I finally want to finish a stupid Ironman.
I want to get into Law School.
And I really want to drop 30 (35?) pounds before all of that happens.

There.  I said it.  It's all out there in the open.  But one of the most important things that the past year has taught me is that you absolutely should set goals, and you may or may not accomplish them.  But it's what you do after that that is most important.  You can either lay down and quit, or you can get up and fight.  Fight for what you want.  Strive for what you want.  Figure out what you need to do to make it happen, whatever that may be.  But...Do. Not. Quit. 

I think it's obvious the path I have chosen. 

The Retirement Lifestyle

At the ripe old age of 30, I'm well on my way to becoming a full fledged snowbird.  Accidentally, of course.  It all started with my grandparents around 35 years ago.  They somehow heard of this community in the middle of Florida that was affiliated with the Free Methodist Church.  It was perfect for them.  It started off as a campground for retired folks, and over the past 50 years has blossomed into a somewhat normal retirement village.  And 30 years ago, my grandparents built a house.  As a child, it was a grand adventure for my family to visit my grandparents.  We were able to leave the cold of Middle America behind for a brief foray into the 80 degree sunniness that Florida tends to be in the middle of winter.  And it's a gated community, so my parents could kick my brother and I out of the house to play without fearing for our lives. 

When my grandparents passed away 10 years ago, my parents inherited the house, and thus the tradition of migrating South for the winter.  And because I needed a relatively cheap vacation getaway, I started visiting my parents while they were here, as they had visited my grandparents.  And as my parents realized when they picked me up from the airport Tuesday evening, this is at least my fifth year in a row that I have visited them here. 

Disclaimer, the previous two times that I visited here, I did just about the most anti-retirement thing possible.  I ran a marathon.  And a half.  So I think my days of having blue hair and driving 5 miles an hour are not in my immediate future. 

I think I truly started appreciating this place when I was in college.  And not just because it offered a very cheap housing option to 4 rather destitute college girls.  It's a place to relax.  It's incredibly quiet.  Safe.  And the biggest thing you have to worry about is my Grandpa's best friend coming to say hi at 10pm, wondering what we youngsters were up to.  And then the utter disappointment in his voice when we told him that we were going to bed.  Apparently, we were too boring for him because he was off to a friends house to play games. 

But that trip really defined what this place is to me.  It's a place to relax.  Where I can sit on the front porch reading a book, and waving to the neighbors as they go by.  A place with all of the comforts of home, without the cold weather of home.  A place where the clothes that I put in the dirty laundry bin magically turn up clean and folded on my bed.  It's the place where old men stand in the middle of the street solving all of the worlds problems  A place where I can help my dad hang Christmas lights while wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and go for an hour long bike ride and not break a sweat.

I have to say, I think I love it here. 

Taking a step back, and looking at things, I should hate it here.  It's a planned community (strike 1) in the middle of redneck country (strike 2) where you can go to the grocery store and see a man in a tank top (strike 3) with a tattoo on his left arm saying "white" and on his right a tattoo saying "pride" (strikes 4, 5, 6 and 7) (and maybe 8), and all around you see bubba trucks and Confederate flags (strikes 9 and 10).  With little to no cell phone service (we'll chalk that one up under the positive column for now).  And often I am the youngest person sitting at the table, by more than 20 years (most often, I am neutral on this one).  Outside the walls of this community, I should never visit here.  Nevermind the fact that it's 45 minutes from Disney World (positive column) and 45 minutes from the beach (negative, considering I hate the beach).  But aside from the fact that the actual town has way too many chain restaurants, it's not so bad.  Oh, and a really awesome tourist trap about 20 minutes away with the largest collection of antique planes in America (huge mark in the plus column, as I am a nerd and enjoy visiting places like that).  So, all in all, the area has enough positive features that I don't go insane. 

Plus, 80 degrees and sunny in the middle of December, yes please! 

I do think I would make a good retiree.  You don't really sleep in, but you don't set an alarm either.  You get up, and make coffee, without really needing to be in a rush about it.  Whenever you're hungry, you make breakfast, and read, and do whatever else you want.  And then, if the mood strikes you, you can take a bike ride, or go for a walk, or just sit around doing not much of anything because that's what you feel like doing.  You bake when you want to.  And you get to invite your friends over in the evenings to have dinner, or snacks, and play games.  (I totally cleaned up last night playing 5 Crowns, by the way). 

Actually, can't I just retire now? 

Oh, you say the minimum age requirement is 55? 

Damn, I guess I'll just have to wait another 25 years. 

I Admit It, I'm a Wuss

When it comes to being cold, only.  As previously mentioned, I have always been sensitive to cold weather.  Not that it stopped me from wearing flip flops in 40 degree weather.  Because I did on a regular basis. 

But now, not so much.  The whole hypothermia thing has definitely made me a wuss when it comes to being cold.  I've even been *gasp* willing to put socks on.  When I'm just hanging out in my apartment.  I overdress when I know I'm going to be outside for longer than 5 minutes.  I even brought a pair of gloves to wear at work because they keep our office somewhat colder than an icebox (at least that's what it feels like to me).  And I'm not even upset that I'll be missing a cold Christmas. 

This seems very strange to me.  But if it helps prevent hypothermia again in the future, I suppose I'm all for it. 

But that still doesn't mean I have to like wearing socks all the time.

The Healing Process

Ironman Arizona was 2 and a half weeks ago.  I've now been back to work (in my office) for a week.  Every day in the 2 and a half week, every single day, I've had to explain to someone what happened.  I have accepted what happened that day from the very beginning, in fact, probably before I actually missed the cut off, I had prepared myself for this.  And I also knew from the very beginning that I was going to have to tell people.  And that telling people was going to suck.  And I was fairly certain of the responses that I was going to get from people.  From my endurance athlete friends, they surpassed the anticipated support and comfort offered.  Occasionally, from my non-endurance athlete friends, you get the deer in the headlights look.  I've told them what happened, and they really didn't understand what I was doing in the first place, or what it really meant.  So then to hear that I wasn't successful is baffling to them.  They REALLY don't know what that means.  This is also, occasionally, amusing.  But far more frequently, it's frustrating.  I understand that people mean well when they ask about it.  But it's getting really freaking old.  How much longer am I going to have to answer this question?  Days, weeks...MONTHS??? 

In an attempt not to go bat-shit crazy, pull my hair out, or beat anyone who might ask me the dreaded question with a 2x4, I am instead using this as motivation.  Motivation in the form of "I never want to answer this question ever again, so I'm going to make sure I don't have to" type of motivation. 

I knew long before the race that I wanted and needed to take some time off.  Other than when I was recovering from surgery, I haven't really taken time off from working out, or at the very least, given myself permission to take time off...so I wouldn't feel guilty for not working out.  I gave myself 2 weeks, and then a week of transitional time (which we're currently in the middle of). 

The two weeks off were...somewhat fantastic.  I wasn't at home, which was fine.  I spent time with family, I ate pizza and cookies with great pleasure, and I had some very lovely wine.  I gained weight, and I knew at the time what I was eating was going to make that happen.  And I gave myself permission for that to be ok.  So what happened at the end of the two weeks?  I came back home, and felt like crap because I had been eating pizza, and other assorted yumminess and stepped on the scale.  My first thought was "huh, I didn't gain as much as expected."  Ok, so it was 4 pounds. 

I immediately got back on the wagon of eating healthy (except for one, well deserved evening where I consumed a mostly liquid dinner with two of my favorite people...and the following day where the fastest way to feel better was to eat some greasy food).  I even did my first official, structured work out this week.  And it felt great. 

So, at the moment, I'm feeling a bit of...what's next?  Where do I go from here?  Well, my winter goals of strength training and swimming are still at the top of the list.  And I need to make a more structured training schedule for myself.  Nothing super intensive, no two a day workouts.  Something manageable, but productive.  Any maybe throw in some stuff that isn't swimming, biking or running.  *gasp*  Maybe doing something else that  -

Sorry...my mind began to wander.  And I found myself incapable of finishing that sentence. It's purely to blame on sentence structure because I was thinking "other things that make you sweat" and in my head I was referring to cleaning my apartment (because mopping floors can be hard work).  And then I listened to my own sentence in my head.  And now I'm sure you're thinking it too. 

You're welcome :)

It's funny, one would think it's the physical trauma that your body needs the most recovery from.  And while your body does need rest, I often think/wonder if it's the mental recovery that takes longer.  I know I definitely need the time.  And I'm looking forward to checking off a few of things on my "when I have time, I should really..." list. 

Am I Positive?

Over the past week and a half, I haven't been able to write.  Ok, so I've been able to write, but I'll get half way through something, deem it crap, and discard it.  In the precise moment I let everyone know what happened at IMAZ, and subsequently wanted to be left the F*$^ alone...my friends and loved ones did the exact opposite.  I was immediately flooded with emails, text messages, comments, etc.  Turns out, what you all did was exactly what I needed.  [Side note: Thank you doesn't do it justice.  It really doesn't.  I'm still rather speechless about it all, so until better words are formed in my brain, thank you will just have to do.]

But the content of what everyone was saying to me shocked me just a little.  I still got called a rockstar.  And many people commented on my positive attitude.  In fact, one person mentioned the desire to bottle my positivity and hock it on QVC. 

Now, positive is not necessarily a word I would typically use to describe myself.  Being the formerly really fat girl with eating disorders has always bread more of a self doubt type of rational going on in my brain.  So, my insistence on not quitting until either 1) I got my chip pulled or 2) finishing isn't something I see as being positive.  I see it more as being stubborn.  And my willingness, in fact, insistence upon immediately trying again may have more to do with the fact that I'm 1) again, stubborn, and 2) already signed up for Cedar Point.  And in fact, internal positivity is something that I deemed worthy to add to my list of stuff to work on over the next year.  I can do this...I WILL do this.  You know, stuff like that. 

In fact, in the not to distant past, one person actually told me that I should be a more positive person and that way, more people will want to be around me. 

But what I will admit to is that over the past few years, I have gained an incredible amount of self-confidence.  There are always days where I feel fat and ugly and like I can't do anything.  Let me tell you, having taken two weeks off completely from working out and eating healthy has me feeling down in the dumps about myself a little bit.  Well, maybe not down in the dumps per se.  Frumpy.  I feel frumpy, and unattractive. 

But maybe, just maybe, I'm not frumpy and unattractive.  I was on a business trip this week for work, staying in the middle of no where in Iowa.  Ok, I was in Des Moines.  And most of Iowa should be considered the middle of no where.  Except for where this really adorable 19 month old lives.  After a long day of work, (and have I mentioned not only am I feeling frumpy, I am also sick with a cold.  Bonus points added to the I'm not so hot this week column) I walked into the lobby of my hotel.  And there was a huge group of guys.  And I'm a girl.  And I just walked in the room.  Every single pair of eyes in the room was on me.  My immediate reaction was to shyly put my head down and walk through the room as quickly as possible.  But then I remembered I was wearing my super cute new red heels.  And no one wearing super cute red heels should shyly put their head down and walk through a room filled with guys, whose attention is focused on me in that moment.  So I lifted my head, put my shoulders back a bit (ok, so I had on a backpack and my shoulders were already pretty much back) and walked through the room.  I may have even smiled.  Eat your heart out boys. 

In that precise moment, I made a pact with myself.  Don't shy away from the boys attention.  There will come a day when walking in to a room isn't going to turn heads, so you might as well enjoy it while you can. 

So where was I going with all of this?  Maybe, just maybe, somewhere along the line, I somehow became a rather positive person.  And gosh darn it, people like me.  You really like me.  And I can do anything that I set my mind to. 

Hypothermia Sucks

While this can't actually be called a "race report," (as so few of my reports can actually be called) we will, instead, call this an "event report."

Never in my life has one single event caused so many nightmares - true nightmares - including waking up in a panic, unable to breathe, and immediately checking to make sure that Cedric was still in one piece.  I even blame Ironman for several work inspired nightmares.  So, to say the least, I knew my subconscious was aware that this was a huge freaking deal.

(May I make a side note here that the coffee maker in our hotel is the slowest I have ever encountered?  Because it's ridiculously slow, and anything impeding the intake of coffee should be shot)

The last 24 hours have sucked.  There's no other way to describe it.  They sucked.  Big time.

I have always had a tendency to get cold extremely easy.  I literally turn purple in 60 degree weather if I'm not dressed appropriately.  And it is difficult, and often takes extreme measures for me to get warm again.  In fact, even since we have been in Arizona, I have been bundled up in warm clothes, and still feel the chill.  And it's been 70 degrees.  But even looking at other people in tank tops and shorts makes me shiver when I'm feeling chilled.  One would look at me and think that I have enough insulation that this wouldn't be a problem, but even when I weighed nearly 300 pounds, I still had this issue (though, admittedly, not as bad).  But my mom is often the same way, so I'm blaming her bad genes.

Knowing this, I knew that a 2.4 mile swim in 61 degree water was not going to be fun.  But I had survived a 1.2 miles swim in 63 degree weather less than 2 months ago.  I had neoprene booties, and a full wetsuit, so I was as prepared as I am going to be.  There is the option of a neoprene cap, but that has a chin strap, and my asthma often manifests in my throat, and having the extra constriction there is going to cause other problems.  Breathe and feel the cold even more, or not breathe and feel slightly less cold.  It's the Catch 22 of swimming in cold water.  Considering I've already had one asthma attack coming out of the water, I chose breathing as the higher priority for yesterday, and didn't even seriously consider the neoprene cap.  Looking back, had I, we'll never know.

So, I jump in the water yesterday morning, and get quite a shock.  The water if freezing cold, and feels much colder than 61 degrees.  So shocking, it makes me hyperventilate a little bit.  And as I'm "swimming" to the start (which really meant that I was doing a half assed job of a side stroke) I try to calm myself down, remind myself to take some deep breathes.  So I do, and that works.  But then I look up, and see the Team Z coaches.  Who surprised us by flying in for the race to support everyone.  So then I'm crying.  Ya bastards.  We yell back and forth, and wave.  And before we knew it, it was starting.

Leading up to the event, I reflected on past swims, and I often don't enjoy the swim.  I just can't wait to get out of the water.  It's not that I really don't like swimming, it's just that I kinda suck at it.  I don't have awful form, but I'm just slow.  But even with being slow, I had done the math, and if I were to swim my slowest average pace for the entire 2.4 miles (barring any unforeseen incident) I would still make it out of the water with plenty of time to spare.  So I really worked on having a conversation with myself (as I occasionally do when I need to really focus on something) and tried to remind myself to enjoy the swim.  Enjoy the entire day, but instead of being impatient with the swim, enjoy it.

The first half, this works.  I end up towards the back of the pack, which I expected to be there anyway, but, (woohoo!!) I wasn't there alone.  I actually rather enjoy the swim course for IMAZ.  It's a one loop course, starting under the Mill Ave. Bridge, down to Rural Rd. bridge, past it just a bit, then turn around and swim back.  Simple enough.  I get under the Rural Rd. bridge, and one of the kayakers tells me we're at 52 minutes, which means I'm right on pace.  But I swear, getting to the turn buoy, and then across the lake took FOREVER!  It was against the current, and it pissed me off a little.  So once I got to the turn buoy heading back down the lake, I stopped for a breather.  A few seconds later, and I was swimming again, thinking I was doing really good because now we were swimming with the current.

But this is were I really started feeling cold.  My hands were completely numb, and my feet, even through the neoprene booties, were almost as bad as my hands.  So I stopped again, and hung on to a kayak.  The guy in the kayak was very nice.  Asked my name, where I was from, so I told him.  And because I thought he was being nice, I asked his name too.  It was Garret.  It wasn't until I started swimming again that I remembered something Robin told us at the BBQ the day before about her stint as a volunteer at the finish line.  Ask the participants their names and where they are from as an indicator if they need medical attention or not.  And I realized that's what he was doing to me!  But I knew my name, and where I was from, so we're all good.

One of the things I like about being at the back of the pack swimming is you get your own personal escort back to the finish.  Sometimes 2 or 3.  You get company, and sighting is a breeze.  One of the guys on a paddle board kept talking to me as I was swimming, and kept letting me know how much time I had, and was supportive, kept telling me that I had good form, my breathing looked good, etc.

But I was getting really cold.  And I knew that I was going to be cutting it close to the swim cut off.  So I prepared myself on the swim back.  If you don't make the swim cut off, it's ok.  Go back to the hotel, shower, and come back and cheer for everyone else.  But you WILL keep moving forward until they take your chip.  Towards the end of the swim, in the few lucid moments that I had, I was so miserable, I was actually going to be really upset if I did make the swim cut off.

I'm not exactly sure where I was when things started going south, and fast.  I know it was on the swim back.  And I know at that point I had either a paddle boarder or a kayak on each side of me.  And I know that there were other people out there with me still swimming.  But things got really fuzzy for me.  I was tired, and I don't think I realized at the time how tired I was, and how much that was slowing me down.  At one point, I remember breathing, and turning my head to site, but not being able to because I realized my eyes were closed.  But I kept moving forward.  Because that has (apparently) been ingrained in my brain.  You keep moving forward no matter what happens.  So I kept swimming.  And on the turn back to the dock, everyone was yelling and cheering for us.  My kayaker kept yelling my number, telling me to pull and dig deep.  At least I think that's what they were saying.

I get to the bottom of the stairs, and there is a volunteer there to help us get out of the water.  And he literally had to pull me out of the water because I couldn't help myself at all.  I think it was someone else (as I said, things are a little fuzzy) and I basically collapsed against him, and leans down and tells me that I didn't make it.  I shake my head, and they carry me up the stairs.  Realizing that I can't hold myself upright, they sit me down on the steps and take half of my wetsuit off. One of the medical volunteers comes up to sit next to me, asks how I'm doing and I just remember saying "cold" over and over.  After a couple of minutes, 2 guys walk (drag) me to the warming tent, where they put me in a warm bath, take off the rest of my wetsuit, and make sure I'm not close to death.  Which is pretty much how I felt at the time.

I have to say, the medical volunteers and staff there are top notch.  One volunteer sat with me, and I kept telling her that they had to tell my mom I was ok.  I knew that she would be worried, and I didn't want her to get upset.  She'd been through Musselman with me, and I knew that if she had another experience like that, I'd never get her to another race again.  So she asked what my mom was wearing, went out twice to find her, with no success.  Which made me even more worried.  But I was also still really freaking cold.  While in the warm bath, my hands felt like I was getting stabbed with 1000 needles, which made me want to pull them out of the water, but they kept telling me to stay in the bath.  Until another old guy came in the warming tent, and one of their ideas was to put us in the warm bath together.  Uhh...no thank you.  So I willingly moved to one of the cots they had set up, and they wrapped me up like a burrito.  And then I started shivering.  I'm not sure how long it took to start feeling better, but, to me, it was faster than I expected.  So I get wrapped up in a couple of mylar blankets (because all I was wearing at the time were my tri shorts and a sports bra) and I walk out of the tent, and there are my parents waiting for me.  I walk over, and put my head on my mom's shoulder, and I tell them that I didn't make it.  Then I ask my mom if she would be really mad if I wanted to try this again sometime.  Her answer was "let's not talk about this right now."  She wasn't mad though (whew) and by the end of the day, she mentioned how doing IMAZ again wouldn't be so bad because it's well organized and it's easy for spectators to get around.  Yeah...she'll be back.

So I walk around, figure out what I need to do, which is get my gear bags, turn in my chip, and then I'm free.  So I do that, and I tell the parents that I want to go back to the hotel, shower, and come back and cheer.  They agree, so we head back to the hotel.

As I was getting my gear bags, one of the volunteers came up to me and asked if she could give me a hug.  I agree, and she told me that she was proud of me for just getting out there.  I had been doing ok in the not crying department, but I really almost lost it right there.

So I showered, realized that I had more wetsuit hickeys than I originally thought, and got dressed to head back out to the race.  The only other time I almost lost it was when we first saw the bike course.  I teared up.  But I was there to cheer.  So I did.  I think the best moment was on the run course, I saw Nicholas, and the look of shock on his face when he saw me on the sidelines was just a little funny.  But by this time, I was still cold.  Everyone around me was, at most, wearing a long sleeve shirt, or a light jacket.  I had on 3 shirts (2 made out of wicking material) and a fleece jacket.  And I was still shivering.  And beyond that, I was drained.  My mom has always told me she knew when I was younger when I was faking being sick because she can always tell in my eyes how I'm feeling.  And yesterday evening, I wasn't doing so well.  So our day was done.  On one hand, I'm disappointed that I didn't get to see everyone finish.  But at the same time, I don't think I could have handled seeing everyone else finish when I didn't get to join them. 

There are many days that I feel like I do a better job at being a cheerleader than I do a participant.  Which also makes me wonder why, after the year that I've had, I still want to do this.  I think the best answer is that I don't want to quit.  I have this goal, and yesterday just wasn't my day.  This year wasn't my year.  But I don't want to quit.  As one of my friend's said yesterday "you'll fight another day."  And I will.

But for right now, I need some time.  (But not too much...Cedar Point is next September)