Home improvement

After entertaining a house guest for six days and exercising my brains out for five of them, there was nothing I was looking forward to more than a long, hot shower in the privacy of my own home.

Mmm... Nothing says "relaxing" like bare bathroom foundation. Restoration Hardware should take note.

So naturally, yesterday would be the day that my bathroom was being remodeled, requiring me to take my next few showers at the gym.

I'm not, despite appearances, complaining about getting a new bathroom. Last week, my shower curtain rod collapsed, bringing a small chunk of wall down with it. After discussing with my landlord, she decided they should just install shower doors, and sent someone over to my apartment to take measurements. That's when they found that my tile and linoleum floor were so old they were a health hazard (awesome!) and decided to redo the whole thing.

The landlord told me the process would take all of Monday, but would be finished by Tuesday morning. The above photo was my bathroom Monday night. Tonight, things are bit further along, and I am told it will be finished tomorrow, but I am afraid to be optimistic. I am, however, thankful. Thankful that this did not take place while Julia was here. And thankful that my gym is actually a lovely place to take a shower. They offer free Kiehl's products in the locker rooms now. I passed some delightful quiet time in the steam room yesterday. The challenge is navigating through the busy morning rush, fighting for a hair dryer, and remembering to pack along everything I might need to get ready for the day. I almost forgot shoes to match my work outfit this morning.

But overall, I have little to complain about. Except that all this is making it very hard for me to ever move out of this apartment.

Working on my fitness

You know how most people go on vacation, or have guests come visit for a week, and their whole healthy lifestyle gets temporarily put on pause? Homecooked meals are forsaken in favor of restaurant dining, and exercise is all but thrown out of the window?

This has not been one of those weeks.

My high school friend Julia came to visit me this weekend. Well, she traveled here specifically for her cousin's bar mitzvah, but flew in a few days early to spend time with me. Julia is a triathlete, marathon runner, trail runner, and all-around exercise fiend. You thought I was dedicated to the gym? She wakes up at 5 AM to train every morning. In the cold/dark/rain/snow of west North Carolina. So nothing was getting put on pause this week, and in fact, my schedule has been set to Fast Forward.

She arrived Wednesday night, and we had a nice evening in, catching up over a bottle (or two) of wine. Thursday morning, we got up, made breakfast, then went to yoga, and then went on a hike. Friday morning, we got up, went to 8 AM pilates, and then went on a power walk around the neighborhood. This morning, we got up and went on a 7 AM walk, to fit in an hour of exercise before her cousin's event.

I am EXHAUSTED. In a good way.

My muscles ache mildly - not enough that I can't walk, but enough to let me know they have been challenged. My arms, legs, abs and ass feel tighter, even when I am lying, spent, face down on the floor. What's more, Julia - in a complete coincidence - has also been using the Lose It program, so we're both helping each other record every single calorie.

In between all of this activity, I've been accompanying her to some of the more informal family events, and generally running around town trying to fit everything in. I expect we'll go on one final walk tomorrow morning, before attending the farewell brunch on the beach, at which I will happily help myself to unlimited mimosas and possibly pass out in the sun. Not from being drunk, of course, but from sheer physical exhaustion.

Which, in the expected 75 degree weather, sounds like a perfect way to spend the day.

On the table: taking up tobogganing

I've been sicky/coldy/sneezy for the last half of this week, and now, after staying home from work yesterday and after two nights of 12+ hour sleep, I can't decide if I'm finally feeling better or just feeling the effects of my coffee's caffeine powering its way through my empty stomach.

A flatter-than-usual empty stomach, mind you. I do love being sick.

For the past two weeks, I have been kind of obsessed with this iPhone app called Lose It. You enter in your height, current weight, and how many pounds you want to lose over a period of time, and then it tells you how many calories you can eat, per day. You then enter everything you eat and how much you exercise, and the app calculates how many calories you have banked and how close you are to meeting your goal.

Like a good piece of technology, it has a lot of information pre-stored. So, for instance, you can enter that chicken drumstick you ordered at a restaurant and it will likely have calculated all the oil and fat that went into it. On the flip side, it has at least 50 different types of exercise, including my favorites like like running, walking, elliptical, and yoga; to sports activities like archery, badminton, baseball, and billiards; to the daily mundane calorie-burners like carpentry, gardening, house cleaning, and music playing. I always get a laugh when I scroll through these activities, as they include such random (to me) things as: Broomball (wtf?), Fencing, Hang Gliding, Jai Alai, Luge, Sexual Activity (!), Tobogganing, and my personal favorite, in case you are using this app in the mid-1980's, Slimnastics.

An hour of Slimnastics, by the way, burns 300 calories. An hour of sexual activity only burns 18. Possibly why people gain weight when they are in relationships.

The first week, I went over my daily calorie limit every day. Mostly because of wine/alcohol. That was okay with me, though, figuring I needed a week to see exactly where my calories were coming from before I could wrap my head around making changes. This past week, I have been under every day except one, though from Thursday on, that has been due to being sick. This coming week might be tough, as I have a friend from HS coming to stay with me, and I expect we'll go out to eat some and drink wine, some, but I know we'll also be exercising a lot as long as the weather holds up. Overall, I am only looking to lose five pounds or so, and it doesn't even really need to happen that immediately, but I have been the same weight and have had the same stomach/ass/hip issues for so long, I need a little help and reassurance that I can actually do something about them.

I bought my first pair of skinny jeans a few weeks ago. (Yes, I know - three+ years after they came back into style.) I fit into them and even look flattered by them; however I would just like to feel a bit more confident in them. I've never been one to care about the numbers on the scale as much as the numbers on my clothes - and those have pretty much remained consistent - but I think I could look just a little bit better.

I'm interested to see if/how much this changes my habits, or if I'll lose interest at the first sign that I can't change, at all. But, for now, it has been enlightening to see exactly what I'm putting into my body, and has made me feel like just maybe I have a little bit of control.

Eat, pray, leave entirely underwhelmed

I'm having a hard time striking up enthusiasm for this blog, but am just not yet ready to quit. I keep thinking that my writing wit will come back and I'll want a place to put the words, but for now, I'm totally phoning it in. I keep putting off the blogging, waiting til I'm feeling it, but then days go by and it never comes.

That sounds an awful lot like my approach to online dating.

So why am I writing now? For posterity. Because if I don't write things down, I may forget. And if the 20 pound box of journals under my bed hasn't given this away, I need to have a written record of everything. This week I partook in two activities I would like to add to my archives:

Wednesday night I went to magazine release party and met yummy tattooed Top Chef Michael Voltaggio. I don't find tattoos attractive in real life, on real people, but I will grant him the exception. He was kind and gracious and entirely delicious and I would learn to cook if it meant more time with him.

Last night I attended a special two hour yoga class set to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon album. I know, I know - when did I become such a hippie? It was one of my favorite gym instructors teaching at a different studio, and the whole thing just sounded so cool and different, I couldn't wait to try it out.

It was okay. For one thing, it's been so long since I've taken a class anywhere besides my own gym, I arrived a little unprepared. My gym has towel service - something I know is a rarity in LA, but is an amenity I'm so used to, it never even occurred to me to bring one. I also completely forgot to bring the big water bottle I had purchased specifically for this class. Turns out I didn't really need either. Despite the class being two hours, I barely broke a sweat.

The album, apparently, is not even an hour. So I think we started a little late, then did a really long meditation warm up, and at the end, did a really long shavasana. Which was nice, I guess. Relaxing. But I could have done that at home. I was really expecting something more challenging. Additionally, the yogis on both sides of me annoyed me, throughout. People almost never annoy me in yoga. I am pretty focused, and so is everyone else. But that's at my gym, which I guess is a little more hardcore than the hippie-dippy yoga studio. The people on both sides of me were chatting, laughing - nothing major, but I was never unaware of them.

Of course, the whole point of yoga - aside from learning how to center yourself and tune out everything else - is that there are no rules and you do what feels good and blah blah birkenstock granola crunch. But you know, I am a serious person and apparently that is how I like my yoga as well. Shut up, show up on time, and let me find peace in peace.

Perhaps I have a little more work to do.

Just another day in LA and all that jazz

Because of the ongoing wildfires, our office was closed yesterday and we were all instructed to work from home. While normally I would be thrilled at a free day off (snow day! fire day?) I wasn't thrilled about the heat level in my apartment. I did some basic work and email until around 1:30, when I just couldn't take it anymore. I jumped in the shower, then headed to the gym where I figured, at least, there'd be air conditioning.

(Yes, I showered before the gym. I couldn't fathom breaking a new sweat without rinsing off the old one.)

I actually had a great workout - a running/walking combo that has my knee buckling in pain today but yesterday had me feeling strong and fab about my fitness. Walking out the door, I was engrossed in my iPhone, but looked up at the voice of a pretty blond woman.

"Are you Sandra?" she asked me. "No, sorry" I answered, distracted, tossing out a quick smile of apology. Then I realized that the pretty blond woman was Renee Zellweger. "Uh, why?" I asked, suddenly helpful and desperate to continue the conversation. She answered back something about someone meeting her there about her car, but I couldn't pay attention. She was so adorable, and skinny, and damn you Bridget Jones, how dare you score Daniel Cleaver and Mark Darcy and lose all that weight, to boot?! I quickly scanned the room for Bradley Cooper.

I said "sorry" again and ran down the stairs to post something on Facebook. (Because if it's not socially networked, did it really happen?) By the time I got home, I had a number of responses, including one from Randi, who commented that Renee had just been in a car accident that day. She jokingly suggested that "Maybe *Sandra* hit her car???!!" I hadn't posted the "car" part of the story, so Randi had no idea. But how funny that our conversation clearly had something to do with it.

Well, funny for me anyway. I can't imagine Renee finds much humor in her fender-bender.

It did lift my spirits, though. These fires have put a strain on the city, and I'm not referring to our resources. They're depressing, and scary - not in a My-Life-is-in-Danger kind of way, but just as a constant reminder that life is so fragile and unpredictable. You can't go outside without wondering how many homes are at stake, without wondering why, with earthquakes and wildfires and smog and such, we're all really living here.

And I'll be honest. While not exactly entertaining the "Why am I living here" thoughts myself, I have become less enamored and more disenchanted with this city over time. It's not LA's fault - I'm just drained. I've had more than enough of living single amidst a world full of couples; enough of wondering why, and "working on myself." I'm so genuinely over "putting myself out there" to meet new friends, attract new dates, all to have them move away or move on just when I start to get comfortable. The earnest optimism I felt for four years is gone; in its place are defeat and exhaustion. Bitter, resentful, blah blah blah... basically I'm back to being a New Yorker.

No, actually, thankfully, I'm not.

Since I was high on life after my celebrity encounter, I made plans to meet Miya for drinks at the rooftop bar of Venice's Erwin hotel. The bar opened fairly recently, and, perched on a six-story pier overlooking the Pacific, offers panoramic views of the city and the ocean. Amazing, breathtaking, life-affirming views of the city and the ocean.

And so it was there, against the clear blue sky and drop-dead gorgeous sunset, which betrayed so little sign of the fires burning further east, I was reminded, once again, of why I live here.

Plain and simple, I f*@%ing love this town.


If you look closely, you can see the flames burning in the distance. They were very visible to us, but apparently, not to my iPhone.

Single-handledly supporting the California Wine industry

So, if this PR thing doesn't work out, I'm thinking I could always consider a career change to Tour Guide. This weekend was Tracy's bachelorette party, and, as such, my fifth trip up to Solvang/Santa Ynez wine country. In four years. To recap, I've also been there here, here, here, and here. To even my own surprise, it seemingly does not get old, and, in fact, gets better with every trip.

Seven of us drove up on Friday afternoon; there'd be 15 of us by Saturday night. We didn't carve any cucumbers but we corked a ridiculous amount of wine, ate a week's worth of red meat, and by the time we got back yesterday afternoon, I would greatly have appreciated some fresh produce.

On my drive home, I noticed a police car in my rear view mirror. I was in the second lane, not speeding (much), so just kept my eye on him as he passed me on the left. As soon as he got a couple car-distances in front of me, he turned on the flashing lights, and crossed right, back across another lane or two. I assumed he was pulling someone over, but no. With his lights on, he then looped back left again. Then right. Then left. Then right. This went on across five lanes of traffic, zig-zagging in and out of moving vehicles, for at least a quarter mile down the road. He wasn't in any rush, wasn't pulling anyone over. I couldn't tell what he was doing, other than perhaps interpretive basket weaving.

Whatever he was doing seemed obnoxious, out of place, and, frankly, dangerous; then all of a sudden, I got scared. It must be a stolen cop car, I thought. I'm about to witness a freeway shooting, or perhaps become the next victim. I stopped breathing and started sweating, suddenly aware of my heart beating in my chest. I needed to get out of his path, off the freeway, but how? I was afraid to pass him or pull up next to him, and I couldn't just pull over in the middle of a five lane freeway. It seemed like he was purposely slowing down, slowing us all down while he settled on his target. I saw an exit quickly approaching, but didn't think I could make it. As I attempted to cross over, the cop car pulled ahead and off the exit, lights still flashing, and I sped up and continued along the freeway after all.

Here's my question: what the hell was that? I tried to Google it, and came away with the idea that it might have been some pace-setting system, but I don't really understand why, since traffic was light to begin with. The cop car did nothing but slow us all down, cause some confusion, and scare the shit out of me, so if "pacing" was the objective, that hardly seems effective. For a few minutes, I could have benefited from a Pacemaker.

In other pacing news, I apparently needed to rethink my workouts. Remember that post a few weeks ago, when I was all, I haven't run in over a month and I'm only doing yoga and I've never felt better and blah blah Murphy's Law... It was around the same time that that study came out which said that exercise doesn't actually help people lose weight, which I've always kind of thought but have been too scared to test out. Well, about a week after that, my stomach popped out and over the waistband of my jeans, perhaps to tell me that it wasn't buying that load of crap any longer and that I'd better add cardio back into my routine if I wanted to retain any shred of self respect. So I've run a couple times in the past week and it has been much, much harder than it was a month ago. That actually makes me happy, though, like it's working and that I have something else to keep my body from becoming too complacent.

And speaking of Murphy, guess who we ran into in the middle of wine tour? Kevin Connolly, aka Eric Murphy from Entourage. He was with a date and it was highly inappropriate of us to interrupt them and ask if he would take a picture with the bachelorette, but he complied and was kind of adorable, and this was by far, my favorite moment of the weekend.

Since Tracy and I have known each other, people have always told us we look alike. Would it be really weird and/or noticeable if I tried to pass this photo off as myself? If you see it on my Facebook page, do me a favor? Sshhh....

The M word

After my whole last post about not having done anything but yoga for the last few weeks, I decided it was time to revisit my Pasadena gym for a good old-fashioned after-work run and crunch session. I was feeling really good about myself on the treadmill - my time off had made my 3 mile run a little challenging, but not overly so - and on the mat where I felt long and lean doing my post-run stretches. I was even shamelessly admiring my quads as I came upward with each new crunch. After years of trying to "battle the bulge" the only thing big about me that day was my head.

That all changed as I walked off the mat, past a guy I see regularly, but don't know. He's attractive enough, but not hot, and clearly older than me. "Excuse me," I said, walking by without any thought. Until he gave me pause with his response, "Oh, excuse me, Ma'am."

I'm sorry, "Ma'am"? Do I look 80? Or even 40 - which is about the age I mentally put this guy? In my mind, "Ma'am" is reserved for crotchety school teachers, old women with walkers, or, at the very least, someone no less than my mother's age. And I'm pretty sure even my mom wouldn't answer to "Ma'am."

I almost stopped in my tracks and asked if I'd heard him right. Considered telling him that "Ma'am" was one of the worst names you could call someone, especially someone like me. Shouldn't there be a rule about this, akin to asking a woman when she is due? That, unless you have some sort of confirmation as to her status, it's better to just keep your mouth shut?

But then, this guy doesn't know me, and challenging his etiquette by highlighting my own insecurities probably isn't the best way to make an introduction. So, instead, I tucked my tail between my long, lean legs, and went home to nurse my wounded ego.

Everything's coming up roses

Hi! Did you miss me? I'd love to say that I missed blogging, but, really, I didn't. I kind of enjoyed not reporting in. Especially since I had little to report, anyway. Let's mutually consider this my summer blogging schedule and both go grab a mai tai before reading the recap:

My business trip to New York was good. I'm still recovering a lot of the data that I lost on my computer, so I've been extra busy at work, which I think has also contributed to my lack of posting. But my media lists are finally almost back up to where they were, and my most important and timely documents were saved elsewhere, so I am out of panic mode for the time being.

A nice surprise was that Kelly Taylor (aka Jennie Garth) was on my flight back to LA. Before boarding, Jet Blue made a loud announcement paging "Jennie Garth Facinelli" to the terminal. I bounded out of my seat and strained my neck looking for any sign of her and her yummy hubby. Alas, she was traveling solo - well, with only kids and other women in tow - but it was still very exciting.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here, but hands down, my very favorite part of every week is Saturday mornings when SoapNet plays old episodes of 90210. Especially since the weather has been nice, I've been waking up pretty early and catching an episode or two before my 9:30 yoga class. Sometimes it's seriously a struggle to leave the house. Last weekend, one of my favorite episodes ever came on right before I had to leave, and I spent 20 minutes mentally debating whether or not it was worth staying home. Reason won out and I went to yoga, but only because I figured I'd be able to find this on YouTube:

Also, and I know I have said this before, I have fallen headstand over heels in love with yoga. I have not run in weeks; haven't lifted a weight in months. And yet my body feels different, better, lighter, tighter, than it has in years. It's seriously amazing - but also, weird. For 15 years, I've defined myself by my workouts. I'm a "runner". I lift weights. I shave my legs so I can wear cute shorts and am constantly charging my iPod.

Now? I haven't even listened to my iPod in weeks. I shave for my work wardrobe but wear stretch pants to practice. More than that, my entire commuting schedule has changed. Rather than go to the gym near my office to avoid what most people would consider a miserable drive, I'm heading across town during rush hour to make my favorite classes. I can't say I don't mind or notice the traffic, but it doesn't really bother me, either. These all may sound like little, trivial details, but so much of my identity has been wrapped up in the gym, it's a little disconcerting to suddenly develop entirely new habits.

When I haven't been working or at the gym, I've been living life in LA - spending every weekend at the beach, going out with friends, celebrity-spotting when I can. Last Wednesday, I had two good sightings - at the same restaurant. First, James Spader, who is one of my favorite actors and childhood crushes, was eating with what looked like his wife and family. If I had a Top 5/Free Pass/Celebrity Sex Loophole List, I can confidently say that he would be on it.

A little bit later, Jillian The Bachelorette walked in. She and her friend ate at the bar but did not reveal any clues about what or who might have contributed to what is supposed to be the MOST EMOTIONAL SEASON FINALE IN BACHELORETTE HISTORY. (I typed that literally as Chris Harrison spoke it - I'm watching while I write.) I liked Jillian a lot when she was on The Bachelor last year, but she grated on my nerves a bit this season. I don't blame her for that; truthfully, I think that show is just so formulaic, they've reduced her to little more than a methodical rotation of sound bites. It didn't help that the series was extra long this year. But she looked like a cute, normal girl when I saw her, and maybe it was the wine or maybe it was James Spader, but I couldn't help but think that I liked her again.

Of course, given what takes place on TV tonight, I reserve the right to change my opinion.

Inspired by the proverbial polka dot bikini

If you're wondering why I haven't lately posted about my fitness goals, well, it's because I haven't made any fitness goals. What I thought was going to be a week-long respite from running turned into a month-long hiatus, and, now, two months later, I'm still going strong. Surprisingly strong. I've replaced almost all of my workouts with yoga, have run only twice in the past two months, lifted weights a grand total of zero times, and yet my body weight is (slightly) down and my arms have noticeably firmed up. I'm sure my body has just responded to the change in routine, but considering it's officially beach season, I'll take whatever change I can get.

No matter what my weight, I still seem to have that problem with my waist. That's why I jumped at the chance to participate in Jill's fitness challenge, in which a number of us bloggers have set our own personal goals, and created a single, master blog on which to follow them. Check in to track my progress as I attempt to master 2500 crunches by July 1st. If I did the math right, that should break down to 500 per week, or 125 4X per week. I can find time to do that, right? Even if some of those are ON the beach.

This past Memorial Day weekend was a good one. I knocked out one beach day, two dinners, three nights of drinks, all of my errands, and still had plenty of downtime in between. Last weekend I had two good celebrity sightings: Justin Guarini, from the first season of American Idol, and Dave Grohl, from the Foo Fighters. Tonight I am headed out to celebrate my dear Nicole's birthday with a few rousing rounds of Tranny Bingo. And over the next few weekends I'll be further celebrating her birthday, my birthday, and the sudden, unmistakable onset of summer.

I'd better get cracking on those crunches.

Exercising my options

His feet were bigger than my head.

I can say that with certainty since said feet were, for a large part of the class, less than two inches away from my face. While my triceps usually appreciate the challenge of holding a chaturanga, I've never taken such an excessively crowded yoga class until tonight. It's a credit to the instructor that I was centered enough not to feel claustrophobic, though it didn't hurt that the rest of Bigfoot was more than good-looking.

I've still been taking time off from running, but as of today, I'm faced with a small gym emergency. I'm taking a last-minute trip to Palm Springs this weekend for Coachella, which for most people is a music festival but for me is a chance to soak up the 100 degree desert sun in a bikini. People tell me that even I, sun worshipper that I am, will tire of the intense heat that's to come. I, however, know that I will be armed with supple Mediterranean skin and an endless supply of cocktail umbrellas, so I'm more worried about how I will look in the pool. Hence the new ticker to the right, which gives me four days to do 400 sit-ups. I did 100 tonight with no problem, and wonder if I underestimated my abilities. Then again, I haven't done a crunch in more than two weeks, so we'll see if I can even stand by Saturday.

Random Wednesday Goodness

Yep, still here! Not too much going on at the moment, but here's a brief update:

As you can see by the (expired) ticker in the upper right hand corner, I met my 40 mile cardio goal in March. To celebrate, I decided to take April off. Not from exercising completely, of course - do you not know me at all? - but from making cardio/running my main goal and reporting the progress here.

I have been setting these goals for myself since October, and, to be perfectly honest, I am thoroughly sick of the gym. I've been doing mad yoga (that's not like hot yoga or anything, just an enthusiastic way of saying I've been doing a lot of it), but otherwise, I can't bring myself to walk through the door. Now that it's getting nicer out, anyway, I'd rather bring my workouts outside, and I don't know if they make a ticker that would track my laps up and down the Santa Monica Stairs.

Despite my slacking, I'm not that worried about gaining weight, since, at three weeks into Invisalign, I've already seemed to have lost some. Only 2-3 pounds or so, but that's enough to keep me guilt-free until I consider re-starting the mileage goals in May. Of course, every time I stop working out I tend to lose a little weight, because muscle weighs more than fat. Unfortunately, muscle looks much better in a bathing suit.

Having nothing to do (well, having little to do) with the Ghost Cat, I decided to burn some sage throughout the apartment last week. It's supposed to be a spiritual cleanser, and, truthfully, I felt like my spirit could use some cleansing. So I bought a bundle of sage leaves, read up on how to burn them, and did so last Thursday night. Everyone always talks about burning sage to get rid of spirits and cleanse the soul. You know what no one tells you? That burning sage smells exactly like marijuana. Which I suppose wouldn't be a big deal to some people, but I don't like pot, and more than I don't like pot, I HATE the smell of smoke.

I don't like smoke or the smell of smoke coming within any discernible distance of me. My mom, who is a smoker, mailed me a book last week. It was a great book but I had to read the whole thing in the living room because I didn't want the pages - which still smelled of her Barclay 100's - within breathing distance of my sheets. And, now, here I was spreading what smelled like marijuana smoke all over my comforter, every item in my closet, and every nook and cranny of the house. Wearing my favorite dress that I had just brought back from the dry cleaners. I opened the windows as far as they would go, at which point I realized I was giving my neighbors totally the wrong impression. I'm not nearly that fun.

In any case, the whole time I burned the sage, I mentally told the Ghost Cat he could stay. I really kind of appreciated his presence.

The book, by the way, that my mom mailed me was Carrie Fisher's Wishful Drinking. It was cute, funny - all about her experiences growing up, living, and drinking in Hollywood. It was also a quick read - I read it in three hours one night - so it wasn't that big of a deal to have to read it on my couch.

After I finished that, I immediately started the Dooce book. Hilarious. Awesome. I highly recommend it. It's written in the same witty tone as her blog, but, as a story, is much more thorough and satisfying. I read a little bit each night, the whole time dreading the night it would be done. That night was Monday, so if you have any recommendations, please feel free to make them.

Finally, in case you were wondering, I decided not to take another class this quarter. The Humor Writing class that I wanted turned out not to be closed, but was canceled due to a personal issue with the instructor. None of the other writing classes really grabbed me, and, when I really thought about it, I didn't want to shell out money for tennis lessons -- I already know how to play. So, instead, I am actually attempting to enjoy this down time, reveling in the self-imposed slackdom from the gym, trying to reconnect with my friends and with myself. Doing a little spring cleaning for the soul.

Which, let's be honest, is much more fun than cleaning my apartment.

Fight, flight, write

Tonight I met and surpassed my goal of running 35 miles in December - with seven days left to go! I'm not quite sure how to set my mileage goal for January; I think I could easily do 40 miles, if I don't injure myself or get completely bored of running by then.

Although, I did sign up for a writing class that starts in January, so that's going to take up my Thursday nights for 10 weeks straight. Maybe a mileage goal is too ambitious and I should just concentrate on getting to the gym, what with this one night per week suddenly off my schedule. I know the one night might not sound like a lot to you, but to me... it's basically fucking with my freedom.

This may or may not come as a shock, but I have a big problem with commitment. It's not that I can't commit to things - because I can, and I do - it's that I'm afraid I'm going to come to resent the time suck and the loss of that night in my schedule. This isn't a vague notion, some fear I've concocted in my head as a guise for some larger issue; but from gymnastics to soccer to cheerleading as a kid, to a copywriting class my first year out of college, I've quit and resented practically every extracurricular I've ever tried. That last one? After I had my boss recommend me for a prestigious (and expensive!) Ad House program, I went to the first five classes, realized I hated advertising, and promptly got a job in PR.

It's like I loathed the commitment so much I had to switch careers.

My fear of commitment is why I have so few hobbies. Or, alternatively, why the gym IS my hobby. It's the only activity I truly look forward to (well, other than socializing) and I need at least four nights a week to do it. Yes, I'll still have more than enough nights free, but I'll have to schedule more carefully, cut back on the socializing, and lose a little bit of freedom. And it's that small sense of loss that sparks a huge visceral reaction in which my heart races, I tense up, and want to immediately call it quits.

You could say I have similar issues with men.

After years of feeling strung along in three-to-five month mini-relationships, it finally occurred to me that maybe I was the one with the commitment problem. That, since like attracts like, I might be attracting guys who, just like me, were afraid of losing their freedom. It's been a less-than-charming signature of mine that every time I get somewhat close to making someone a part of my life, I've tensed up, gotten all anxious, and mentally run out of the relationship.

Unfortunately that kind of running hasn't furthered any of my goals. Though you could say I am just following my own agenda.

Random Tuesday Goodness

So, remember this dress? I wore it today for the first time this season, and, for the first time ever, didn't need the Spanx. Apparently, FINALLY, thankfully, my hard work is working.

Random Tuesday Goodness is usually comprised of bullet points, but tonight, this news is more than enough.

Body issues may come and go but creativity is forever

The following was from an email written ten freaking years ago, dated 12/2/98:

REASONS WHY I LIKE BEING FAT

1. Lack of self-confidence provides a challenge to meet boys
2. Flab rolls are a convenient place to keep house keys, small pets, any inconvenient item
3. Insulation in the winter
4. An excuse to buy all new clothes!
5. Pears are good for you, why not look like one?
6. Breasts become much less noticeable
7. People must really like me for my personality
8. Dress Barn has really good sales
9. Give the makers of cellulite creams a chance at the market
10. Crushing beer cans with arm flab

Of course, this type of email could only have been written by someone who knew, deep down, that she wasn't really fat. But it was my first year out of college, in my first few months at a desk job where I was given no responsibility and nothing to do, and my confidence was in the toilet. I may have gone up to a size four (OMG! The horror!) but I definitely wasn't crushing anything with arm flab, and, if I really had gained weight, I would have known that I am much more of an apple.

I have a ton of emails printed out from that fall. I must have known, even back then, how miserable and desperate and unsure of myself I sounded. I was missing college - we all were - and sitting in an office all day with nothing to do. When I was hired, it was the fall of 98 - the height of the economy. My position hadn't existed before and no one knew what to do with me. So I spent that first year emailing my friends, comprising ridiculous poems and late-night worthy top ten lists. Here are a few more, for your enjoyment:

10/1/98 - Top Ten Reasons to be Glad We're Not in Syracuse:

1. Get to see the sun rise every morning
2. The Big Apple much more impressive than Otto the Orange
3. Same fish, bigger fishbowl
4. Syracuse, 1 Rat [popular bartender]; NYC, rats everywhere
5. Work up a better sweat in the subway than at Archbold [the school gym]
6. Much too expensive to buy shots at the bar, therefore reducing embarrassing throw-up stories
7. No one is ever Jackass of the Week
8. We only get tested on our ability to suck it all up
9. Hazing refers only to the weather
10. Getting laid is much more of a challenge

And, my favorite, also from 10/1/98:

Once upon a time, I went to this school
Lived in a house, and followed no rule
I lived with these girls, who knew how to play
They drank and they smoked, in and out, every day.
Two-for-Tuesdays, abound
Wednesdays, All You Can Drink
Ladies Night Thursdays, turned into Happy Hour
I think.
It was a time of true happiness, and utter despair
When the boys that we loved, seemed never to care
Remember My Toe Dust [nickname]
And my need for closure?
My heart was just crushed from that heavy bulldozer.
It was somewhat similar to your plight with Sig Ep
Boy-with-girl-name caused you often to fret.
Short Ted was a trip
Brendan and Evan, a joy
Why was it so hard, to find just one nice boy?
Though life could be bleak, we'd often have a killer time
Party like rock stars, at your favorite, and mine.
44's was our haven, through thick and through thin
When all else was low, it provided a grin
No Paddy Murphy coaches?
A test the next day?
There's only one choice - Fours showed us the way.
The next morning, hungover, we'd lazily rest
Sitting in the Sun Room, with a plate of Gary's best [house cook - we were so spoiled]
Classes were optional - we'd rather watch Rosie
Sipping our coffee, and being quite nosy.
Listening in as everyone sat, and voiced their complaints
About this, about that.
We'd mope and we'd talk, nosh on graham crackers
Ignoring our homework, cause we were such slackers.
I long for the days of fun and denial
Hanging out, drinking, doing nothing worthwhile.
The days now pass quickly, and we're busy with such things
But I know we'll stay close, whatever life brings.
The real world may suck, but after a long, hard day
The furthest I'll be is a phone call away.

Shouldering a setback

In my apparently overzealous attempts to find my waist, I somehow managed to pull something else, rendering the search temporarily and frustratingly on hold.

During dinner on Friday night, as my thighs silently but forcefully pleaded to be cut loose from the confines of what I had, at one point, thought was stretch denim, I started noticing an odd pain in my left shoulder. Though I had lifted the night before, it didn't feel like muscle soreness; it almost felt like a fever ache or the pain that results from a tetanus shot. So naturally, I drank some wine when I got home and went to bed.

I woke up Saturday morning and almost screamed out in agony. Whatever dull ache had been in my shoulder had migrated to my neck, and left me unable to move without pain. Because I am a big baby, I called my mother to cry about it. She first suggested the emergency room, an idea I immediately shot down, and then talked me through a number of other suggestions. Why I needed to call 3,000 miles away to be reminded that I had Aleve in the next room, I don't know, but what are mothers for if not to point out the obvious?

I took two Aleve and sat down on the couch, annoyed that I would be missing my favorite yoga class but secretly excited that I would finally be able to watch the morning marathon of old 90210 episodes on SoapNet. (Kelly gets shot, has amnesia, Noah and Hilary Swank's Carly are introduced, and David signs an anti-semetic band that overstays their welcome at the beach house. Not my favorite season but enjoyable nonetheless.)

By 11, the Aleve had pleasantly kicked in, and I set out about doing my errands that couldn't be left til Sunday (picking up shoes from the cobbler, brow appointment, and navigating through the craziness of Bed Bath and Beyond for a heating pad and a scale, which, after not owning one for 32 years, I have decided might actually be of use).

The heating pad I purchased was a microwaveable Bed Buddy. I've seen versions of this at our Spa in New York, and those ones are filled with lavender. Yum! This one, however, seemed to have been filled with yeast, or flour, as the minute I microwaved it, I got a whiff of biscuits. If you like biscuits, I suppose that might be a selling point, but I prefer lavender over leven, especially when weight is at issue.

Fortunately, the doughy fragrance disappeared after microwaving it a few times, and by the time I went to bed last night, I felt almost as good as new. Sure enough, I woke up this morning, and the pain is completely gone! I'm not going to push it, and am making myself take it easy for one more day, even though that means instead of focusing on my shoulder, I'll mostly likely be obsessing about my thighs. A Saturday afternoon/evening of sitting on the couch was not, in fact, on my great get-in-shape-in-2008 agenda.

At least I can't obsess about my weight. The scale I bought yesterday is broken.

Waist not

MISSING!

Bikini-friendly WAIST:



Age: 32

Width: Unknown, but until recently, inoffensive

Last Seen: Bikini Season, often lounging poolside or beachside, well-proportioned between T & A.

Before disappearing entirely, was known to hang out over low-rise jeans, roll over elastic waistbands, and project itself at a 90 degree angle from the pubic bone.

Help! If you can shed any insight as to the disappearance of my waist, or know how I can get it back, please contact me ASAP! I'll be answering all calls alternately from atop a treadmill or in the midst of the sweatpants aisle at Target.

Running for something, anything, everything

One of the nice things about not buying a condo is that I can go shopping at Target for my upcoming Peru trip and not feel guilty about spending the money. Because, really - $25 for an adorable black fleece jacket? Yes, please.

I can also freely donate to charity. Crystal turned me on to this organization and their 30-mile challenge, which is asking people to pledge to run, walk, or cycle 30 miles in the month of October to bring safe water to children in Tanzania. Thirty miles in a month (walking, if you want!) - that's less than one mile per day. And yet, ever since I've gotten into yoga, I've been seriously slacking on my running, so I'm glad to have something to motivate me back into it. I suppose I could do 30 miles in a month without donating, but the money will keep me honest, and really, these kids need it more than me. Consider it condo karma. It might as well make someone happy.

And since I like the idea of having a monthly goal, I'm going to pledge to do the 30 miles this month, walking-running combined; but next month, running only. It shouldn't be too hard - it wasn't that long ago I was averaging 15 miles per week. But it was long enough that my body doesn't look like I've spent half my evenings on the treadmill.

Any suggestions for what my goal could be for December? I don't bike, and I don't want it to be focused on weight loss, but I also don't want to just start increasing my running mileage or time - I'll get bored. I'm doing yoga as often as I can, but my favorite classes are on weekends. I think it will have to be a weight-lifting challenge - anyone have any ideas or want to join in?

I kicked this month's challenge off with a bang. I watched nearly the entire debate tonight on the treadmill, racking up at least six miles. To be honest, I lost count somewhere after five, so I'll only record that, but I was on the thing for a good 90 minutes. Say what you will about her politics, but that Palin lady is very entertaining.

If only she wasn't ringleading such a circus.

Winners never quit... they just find something better to do

I realize this makes me part of a very small (and possibly unpopular) minority, but I have watched not one minute of the Olympics. I just have no desire. No interest. I'm not watching anything else, other than Project Runway; I just can't understand why I am supposed to get excited about a sports broadcast that runs non-stop, 24-hour-a-day.

I used to enjoy watching the Olympics when I was younger, especially the gymnastics and diving portions. Come to think of it, though, I'm sure I only watched because my mom did, and this afforded me an excuse to curl up in her big bed in the only room of our house that had an air conditioner. I don't think I ever actually cared about the competition, itself.

I did like watching the gymnasts, though, if only because I was one for a while. From the time I was four until I was seven or eight, I took gymnastics at the local center. I was pretty good, too - could do all of my splits, front and back walkovers, and all on a balance beam, no less! I was basically an energetic monkey who loved any excuse to hang upside down. I quit, though, weeks before what would have been my first competition. I was just too scared to have to perform a routine in front of people in case, God forbid, I messed up. Goodness knows that suburban parents are cruelly unforgiving of talentless eight year olds.

I don't know what reason I gave my mom for wanting to quit, but she never questioned it. Years later, when I was a cheerleader and could have benefited from having mastered that elusive back handspring, I always regretted not sticking around just a little bit longer.

By then, though, quitting was natural for me. After I gave up gymnastics, I convinced my mom to let my join an after-school ski club. I lasted one lesson. In seventh grade, I kickstarted my cheerleading career and liked it enough on the "B's", but ultimately chose not to try out for the eighth grade "A's". It wasn't because I didn't enjoy it, but because the A's did Competition every year and I just didn't have the interest. Or the courage.

Ninth grade was soccer, which I liked well enough; however I wasn't very good at it and quit after the first practice of my sophomore year when it was clear I'd be stuck back on JV. I quit cheerleading for good halfway through my junior year. I went up to the coach after a basketball game and quit on the spot - no reason, no warning, no notice. I was just stressed out. Plus, I knew I'd never make Captain the following year, and cheerleading, by then, had lost its charm. I had spent three years doing it and my life was no closer to a John Hughes movie. The boys in my high school were all still more Cameron than Ferris.

Sports were never fun for me. While I had friends on the squad, on the team, I always felt that sports were a hindrance to my social life rather than the gateway to it. It was an obligation I felt I had to endure for college apps and social standing, but when it came down to it, I much preferred spending my weekday afternoons watching soap operas or scoping slackers at the mall.

Ironically, it was when I finally quit everything that I ultimately found myself.

After I quit cheerleading, I became obsessively fearful that the sudden lack of activity would lead me to get fat. I started walking everyday with my neighbor and close friend, and the following year, we took aerobics. By the time I left for college I was a regular in the gym, and only grew more so as I feared the Freshman 15 and favored the eye candy that spent time in the weight room. I was often the only girl.

The Stairmaster and bike led to the treadmill, and ultimately, to my running outside, which is what captured my passion for the sport. The summer before my junior year of college I was living in Boston, and didn't want to spend money on a temporary gym membership. Instead, I started running the Charles every day. At the start of summer I couldn't make it a mile; by the end, I was running for 20 minutes straight which, I know now, was at least two. It was the proudest, most exhilarated I'd ever felt, and now, more than ten years later, I'll still never forget it.

And of course, all these years later, I have never quit running, never quit the gym. It's in my blood, in my bones. It is almost definitely a hindrance to my social life - if I wasn't so anal about going so often, I'm sure I could find more time for dates, friends, hobbies. But when I don't go, I feel off, ugly, soft and atrophied, and that's no way to present myself.

There is no real point to this post. Or, at least, I am too tired to make one. Just my stream of thought as all of these gymnasts and athletes have been in the news this week, while I slave away at the gym working off last weekend's indulgences. I say that like it's a bad thing, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

During which the finish line concert may start three hours after the finish

You may recall that last year, I had a little bit of fun with the Nike Run Hit Remix and MC Hammer finish line concert. Well, this year, it looks like Kanye West is on the line-up, and I am in! Who is with me? Leave a comment or email me if you have any desire.

Whatever mileage we put on, we'll take off

So, I made it back from Atlanta without any dead bodies in my airplane cabin. Or getting shot at in the clubs. Not that I went to any clubs. I was in Atlanta for less than 24 hours, and due to the nature of my business, never left the grounds of the airport.

I went to work on Friday, but came home and crashed as soon as the day was over. This was the first weekend in a while that I had all to myself, and I really wanted to take advantage of it. By doing Absolutely Nothing.

Saturday I woke up, got my brows done, went food shopping, cleaned my apartment, went to the gym, went out to dinner, and saw the movie Hancock. Going in, I had thought I had known the premise - that Hancock was a surly superhero - but I thought he was saving people from the end of the earth. In New York. It wasn't until halfway through the film and the characters were still in Los Angeles that I realized I had been confused with I Am Legend. Hey, Will Smith - typecast, much?

After that movie, I came home and watched The Elephant Man on HBO. I have memories of watching that movie, hands covering my eyes, when I was maybe eight years old. This was the first time I'd seen it as an adult and could really understand the storyline. What a brilliant, heartbreaking film. Also scary. I had to watch the last half hour of Ferris Bueller to lighten my thoughts before I went to bed. (Because, after two weeks, I am sleeping in my own bed again! With the lights off! Like a normal person!)

Sunday I ran more errands, and found myself at a Linens-N-Things which was going out of business, and the entire store was 40% off. I got a 15-piece knife set (for all the cooking I do!) for $11.99, and spent about an hour in the bedding department where they had my favorite sheets on sale for such a steal! The only problem - every single set was for a King bed. Do you have a King? If so, I highly suggest you run, not walk, to that store and pick up a few sets. I'm talking 600-thread count sheets in normal, neutral colors for at least 40% off the regular price. I was so sad I couldn't find any for Queens.

That afternoon I got a pedicure, then found myself with about an hour to spare until my yoga class would start at the gym. I figured I should probably take advantage of the time and do some cardio, but I was afraid to put on socks and sneakers in case that might smudge the polish. Instead, I opted to wait for the class, where I could just show up to the gym in my flip flops, toes and pedicure exposed. Naturally, as I walked up the stairs to the locker room, I tripped over the flimsy shoes and stubbed my toe, thereby chipping said polish.

You'd think with my amazing grace that I'd be struggling more with this yoga thing; I realized early on, though, that one of the things I like about yoga is that I am surprisingly good at it! I've always been very flexible, and, since I've lifted weights for so many years, find myself able to get into and hold many of the advanced poses. I'm not particularly coordinated and struggle with balance, but I am no worse, and often better than, many of the people in the class. Of course, one of the main principles of yoga is that no one is better than anyone else and we all just do our best; but I am competitive when it comes to fitness and I get a kick out of the fact that I can practically put my leg behind my head ALREADY. Bring it, suckas!

Sunday's class was super-challenging and a total sweatfest and at one point, I burst into a spontaneous giggle. It just felt so good. I've experienced a runner's high before, but this was pure, unabashed giddiness. Bring. It.

After such a relaxing weekend, I felt balanced and even energized today, and had a fantastic run tonight on the treadmill. It's like, after finally having a handful of days in which I am totally in control of what I eat, how I exercise, and how much time I have to relax and rejuvenate, my body and mind are on an entirely different playing field. I feel like a finely tuned machine, fully in charge, rather than some supporting character that's just showing up for her mark, reciting her lines, and going through the motions without having any time to heed Ferris: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."