Who else gets it?

Ever want to brag about how many miles you racked up at lunchtime, but realize that no one cares?

I hate that.

I sent one of my best buddies a text message earlier today trying to brag about my new increase in both mileage and speed - she knows what a long, hard road it has been for me to run again, about the injuries, about my first race, about all of it - and she completely ignored the whole thing. Her next text messages to me were regarding her dog. Why is that?

I then sent a quick email to hubby telling him I was excited because I had increased my mileage. No reply. Why?

Why doesn't anyone care that I can run for miles now, though just 6+ months ago I couldn't run .25/mile?

I can see now that those who train for triathalons and who train CONSTANTLY for more than mere running must really be starved for appreciation.

I APPRECIATE YOU. I GET YOU. I ADMIRE YOU.

p.s. I awoke to find that I have muscles in odd places just above my ankle area in the back. I know this because they hurt like hell (I read that this might happen after barefoot running - there's an entire running "movement" who are pro barefoot running).

BAREFOOT RUNNING!

Yee haw!

I ran on the treadmill today barefoot - and it was WONDERFUL. No rubbing, chafing or any sort of bothering of "Texas," though I did start to get friction burns after 3 miles and had to stop.

But wooohooo!

Moleskin and tape

Godsends! It takes me back to my ballerina days, in fact. (which IronMary pointed out in a comment). I forget that you were a ballerina for a long time too, Mary.

The photo of Texas (which is the name I've given my blister) was taken AFTER having been drained, so even then it was on the mend. Lucky for me I can doctor it enough to continue running. First it gets a good coating of liquid bandage. Then I cover it in a piece of paper towel, cover that with a big piece of moleskin, and then cover THAT with tape wrapped completely around my foot a few times. It works well, though I found my toes to be quite purple yesterday after my run when I removed my sock. I'll have to be more careful about taping too tightly. It's been a while since I've had to tape my feet and I'm rusty.

I could easily say that the reason I continue is that I'm disciplined (see above regarding my prior life as a ballerina). If I were to be more honest with myself, however, I might have to admit - perhaps grudgingly - that I've become quite addicted to running.

And isn't the first step toward recovery admitting that there is an addiction issue?

Ok, so I'm not interested in recovery. This running addiction IS my recovery!

With each step I'm getting closer. Closer to fine.

Ahh, there she is, in all her glory. the disgusting, huge, fugly blister. The things we do for fitness!

At least the elliptical didn't hurt - I put moleskin over the spot in my shoe that was rubbing and tied the shoe very loosely. Since feet don't move on the elliptical all was well.

Weird dream this morning.

I dreamed about one of the bloggers whose blog I read often. I have a link to her blog (Iron Mary). The details of the dream have faded away, but I have perseverated on the oddness of having dreamt of a blogger whom I have never met in person.

I am certain that it was due to my beating myself up over my shitty 5K time in comparison with people like Mary who train constantly for REAL races, such as triathalons. And here I am trucking along like an old lady in my little 5K turkey trot.

Truthfully, and the way I have resolved to look at this from this point forward, my shitty time was certainly better than the time of all those who walked, and certainly better than all those who didn't participate at all (thanks, crumbs). And the simple fact of the matter is that a year ago I couldn't run .25 mile, much less 3.1 miles, which makes my little turkey trot a feat indeed.

I'll post my exact rank as soon as results are posted. I'm very anxious to see....just knowing this information could very well boost me.


I will improve in time. I will be patient and diligent.

30:16

I ruefully type the time, hanging my head in shame.....

At least I wasn't last - neither overall nor in my age group. 1,000 women took part. Not sure of my ranking - only the top 3 in each age group were announced afterward, the rest will be listed at a later date.

Mile 1 was fabulous for me and I was sure I would do much better than I had first thought. I continued trucking until I hit just past mile 2.

Mile 2 was composed of nothing but hills (2 loooong, though not terribly steep, hills followed by 1 ridiculously and heart-stoppingly steep one). Also at around mile 2, the silver dollar-sized blister on the bottom of my right foot, which I had so carefully painted with liquid bandaid and covered with a bandage and TWO socks, became the bane of my existance. There were moments that I wasn't sure if I would make it, certain that my entire foot must be rubbing off.

But then an old lady passed me and that shook me up. I somehow pushed the pain down and got into gear. Unfortunately, it was too little, too late, and I finished with the shitty time above.

Sigh.

But the tee shirt is adorable and comfy and I've already begun planning the next 5k. I will have that dreadful blister taken care of (new shoes must be in order) and nothing will deter me. It would be hard to do WORSE than that, after all, so things can only get better.

*I've been so upset with my finishing time that I considered lying about my time on the blog, just for the sake of saving face for the 2 or 3 people who read this. Of course, then I'd be lying in my diary and who the hell does THAT?*

Have no fear - I am still here

To my lovely ladies who said they missed me....bless you! I have missed you as well. I have also missed my rants.

I've been so busy at work (which is when I can usually find a few minutes to write), and blogging at home is out of the question really (my blog is my secret), hence the great nothingness lately.

But I'm here. I'm well.

Workouts:
I'm still running and doing the lunch-time elliptical or treadmill, depending on which is available. But for some reason I'm at a weight plateau, which is really pissing me off. I'm working so hard to beat my body back into submission, and the effing scale isn't showing me what I need to see. I tried to convince myself a few times that the scale is broken. Unfortunately, it seems to correctly weigh the 10lb. weight I put on it now and then (to check for calibration, of course). So there's that....

News on the workfront:
Miss gag-snort had a "talking to" recently, and, according to human resources her hours have been reduced to 30 per week, for which she will now be paid, rather than the 30 she was actually present though she was paid for 40. So a round of applause is needed there....

Running news:
My first 5k is THIS Saturday bright and early. I'm scared shitless about it and I get butterflies every time I think about it. I'm not scared of running - I do that every day. I'm not worried that I won't finish - I run 5k all the time. I'm scared that I'll disappoint myself by finishing with a terrible time. I hate disappointing myself. It will absolutely kill me to see other women, possibly a good bit older than I am, truck right past me with no apparent effort. I'm just too damned competitive for my own good.

What other news can I relay?

Atlanta news:
Downtown Atlanta fell victim to its very first tornado Friday night. That was a shock. Hubby and I were out that night (another shock). We had dinner and then went to a small music-hall bar to see a live Irish band. That was interesting. I'm quite irish by the looks of things (actually, half Scotch-Irish with a dash of German and half English), but I had never heard any of the songs they played, nor had I ever seen Irish dancers (who popped up on stage to dance a few times). It was a fun time, despite how different and odd the music and crowd were and how out of place I felt. As we were leaving, the crowd was told that most of downtown was closed off because a tornado had hit. That was how we learned of it. We weren't affected by road closings or high wind damage, but I heard that initial damage estimates are in the multi-millions. Whew!

My car has been "in the shop" since last week. I had several things going on with it which needed fixing - and it was due for a routine servicing anyway. The good news is that the car is ready today and hubby is picking it up this morning (I drove his car to work today). The bad news is the price for the work: $2,300. Holy shit! Oh, the clothes and shoes I could buy with that! But I guess that's the price one pays for driving a luxury car, eh? You have to put ONLY premium gas in it (to the tune of almost $4/gallon) and the cost for servicing the effing car is out of this world. Sigh.

Oh yes! A fun story for me, but possibly boring for readers:
Monday night my man cub had baseball practice at one of the parks where I like to run. I made woman child go with us and decided to take dah big dog because it was her birthday (2) and I thought a 3+ mile run would do her some good. So after dropping off man cub at his practice "area" and ordering woman child to watch over until we returned (the park loop is about 3.25 miles), I took our Scooby Doo dog for a run. There were people and dogs everywhere and she was so excited. We had just begun the warm up walk when she leaned a bit to her left to sniff a couple walking by. As we passed, the man said loudly "GOD, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU! YOU CAN'T EVEN KEEP YOUR DOG TO YOURSELF!" I'm not sure why his reaction pissed me off so much. Maybe I was pissed because it's a family park and there were upwards of 100 dogs in and around that park at that very moment. Maybe it was because it was completely uncalled for - my dog merely SNIFFED them in passing. Maybe I'm PMSing. Or maybe I'm just a bitch. Whatever the reason, I stopped and turned, seeing that the couple had also stopped and turned so that we were facing each other with about four feet between us. And suddenly I heard myself say "Oh, kiss my ass," to which the pale skinny geek guy said (quite loudly) "Fuck you!" and to which his velour-panted foreign girlfriend replied (even louder) in a thick European accent: "Zoo dunt eben haab wan." The guy ranted and raved further, though I couldn't understand him because the girlfriend kept repeating the same thing so loudly. As I stood there trying to decide if I should walk toward them and order my big bad dog to EAT THEM, I suddenly realized that the girlfriend was trying to say that I didn't HAVE an ass to kiss, and was suddenly quite pleased. I grinned like a drunk redneck at a strip club and said "Wow! Thank you!" And my big puppy and I promptly resumed our warm up walk. I happily repeated her "insult" throughout my run. "You're such a good girl," I told her.

Maybe the running IS working this ass off after all.

Instant gratification

I was born with peach colored fuzz. As I grew up, I learned that my particular hair color is called "strawberry blonde." To a kid, it's simply RED. And having red hair as a kid is a very bad thing indeed. It makes you different. Other kids call you "red," "carrot top," etc. And adults! Everywhere we went some well-meaning adult would feel the need to point out what I was already painfully aware of. Did they really think they were the first ones to ask, "Where'd you get that red hair?" Argh. And so my hair color insecurity was born.

I begged my mother probably a hundred times to let me dye it or highlight it - anything to get rid of the red. I was never allowed to....

As an adult I was afraid to change it. Because I had never been allowed to experiment, I was deathly afraid of what would happen, how I would look, how to pick the right color, etc. And so I did nothing. Until about two years ago. I started to feel that I needed a change. I opted for highlights.

I liked it. It was great. Subtle, but different. And of course I wanted more. MORE, MORE, MORE. Make me a blonde, I said. And he did. And then he took my $150 and said he'd see me in 4-6 weeks.

Honestly, I'm far too low maintenance to need all that maintenance! I never got touchups on time, so I have been walking around with darker roots showing for forever. Who really has that kind of time and money to keep up with blonde highlights?? (Aside from 95% of the mothers at my kids' school, that is...)

As I sat and pondered the sheer awfulness of my hair on Monday, I decided to have it dyed my natural color. I called the salon across the street and they could take me THAT afternoon. Woo! I'd have no more roots and I'd be back to the ole me in no time. I even took along a photo which clearly showed my natural haircolor.

After discussing the color and looking at several, the colorist talked me into going a color that was (to me) obviously darker than my natural color. I loved her to death - very sweet - very young - talkative as hell. Several times she mentioned that the color was "beautiful" and that it was "probably richer than you're used to," which should have sent up enormous red flags. But I was there. In the chair. Being worked on. And it felt good.

The rinse and blow dry went well. I could tell that it was indeed darker than my natural color, which disappointed me. I didn't WANT darker. I wanted ME. Everyone in the place ooed and ahhed about the color. I was told it was so gorgeous, brought out my eyes, etc. etc.

I got home and casually walked into the well-lit kitchen to start dinner and see what husband would say. I saw the shock in his eyes. "It's so red," he said. "Wow! It's red..." he repeated, with an uncomfortable laugh. That just was not the appropriate response, and I ran out in tears. Once in my brightly lit bathroom, I inspected it closely. I cried harder. Yes indeedy it was red. But not MY red. It was more of a purple-red.

I went to work with my head bowed and my hair pulled into a tight ponytail, with hopes that few people would notice. I immediately called the salon and made an appointment for her to "fix" my color, blaming my husband, "My husband hates my hair," I said. Didn't mention that I hated my hair...Couldn't see me till Friday. FRIDAY! Ohmigod. I immediately began to research (google). "red is too red;" "salon screwup;" etc. And I found a product called Colorfix.

*You'll want to write this down, ladies.*

The product removes all permanent haircolor. For me that meant all the red (purple), and 2 years worth of blonde highlights. I was so nervous. So was husband. He paced downstairs and tried to come up several times. I had to ask him to please stop hovering and let me be for a bit.

I emerged as myself. The strawberry blonde (MY red) was back. Phew.

And so the next time I get a wild hair up my ass and want instant gratification, I will hopefully remember this lesson I learned. And if that doesn't work, I still have half of the Colorfix left.

I've got a meetin' the ladies' room
I'll be back real soon
Uh-oh, uh-uh-oh
I've got a meetin' the ladies' room
I'll be back real soon
Uh-oh, uh-uh-oh

I've got a meetin' in the ladies' room
(Get yourself some business, baby)
I'll be back real soon
(And leave my man alone)
I've got a meetin' in the ladies' room

Meeting In The Ladies Room - Klymaxx

Quick note about my paranoia

To my handful of lovely blogger friends:

Of course the paranoia of my posts has nothing to do with you. It's related ONLY to people who might guess from my words that it is I - people who are associated with my family, my work, my kids' school or with my husband's work.

So rest easy. I'm still here, just more careful about pictures and names and such. :-)

Have to write later about my narrow escape from hair dye hell.

Paranoia can strike at any time....

....like late Sunday night....

I couldn't sleep last night after reading a comment. The comment basically said that I wrote true-to-life and heartfelt posts and that she wished she were brave enough to put it out there like that.

I started to think that perhaps I should be more careful...the reason for the blog is an outlet for my thoughts, feelings, and anonymity is key. As a parent and a spouse, my actions affect more than myself. My words could get me fired from my job, they could cause problems for my children at school and they could cause marital problems.

And so I deleted some of the blogs which were too much, and any photos which might link my children or myself to the blog. Sure, those who really know me would know right away that the words are mine, but hopefully the only people reading these words are people far away or people who won't ever meet me or who won't care that I am, in fact, keeping it real.

And then I was able to sleep.