Still shuffling along...

I've been tapering the last two weekends in anticipation of the half-marathon this Saturday. Last week I ran 11 miles with my brother in law, and yesterday I ran 10 miles. That doesn't mean, however, that I ran them any faster than usual. Oh God no. In fact, if anything, I've discovered that regardless of whether I have a good or bad run, I still have only one speed- which as you know, I like to call "the shuffle" (10:20 minute-miles).

In the running world, that's kinda bad. Almost abysmal. I think most women my age probably average around 9:00-minute miles, but then again, they probably run more than one day a week too... I can't say I'm that dedicated yet, though I aspire to be (abandoning laziness is a gradual process). The funny thing is, when I'm running, I don't actually think or feel I'm slow! I even feel powerful at times! So who gives a f**k if I still look like I'm plodding along? As long as my a** is out on the trail and not sitting at home eating chips, who cares? I wish people would stop giving me sh** about my pace. And that includes me. (Um, whoa...not sure where that sudden bout of rage came from, so let's move on...)

I hate to point out the obvious, but there is always going to be a pret-ty big divide between me (lumbering, lazy, half-assed, more in love with the idea of running a marathon than actually training for one, trying to get by with the least amount of training possible) and the average marathoner. But that's okay, because I'm still having fun. I still look forward to my weekly long runs, and more often than not, assuming I sleep and eat properly the night before, they feel fantastic. Running has also given me an incredible boost to my self esteem. Whenever I've inhaled far too much food or am feeling low, I'm usually able to cheer myself up by reminding myself that gosh darn it- I'm a half marathoner! It almost makes me giddy (and because giddiness is not an emotion my usual sour disposition is prone to, it's a nice change).

The last two runs I went on were so cold that my fingers were numb for over two thirds of each run. I could barely pull my water flasks out of my Fuel Belt without having to stop and concentrate. Even squeezing them proved difficult as my thumb kept collapsing on me. Coming from Hawaii, this is an odd, odd sensation. I was able to open my Powergel only because I used the good old fashioned way- ripping them open savagely with my teeth, caveman style. Not surprisingly, I am very good at this. But I bet you already knew that.

So yesterday I braved the fire territory and drove out to Nike and bought my first pair of running gloves. Last week I also bought three boxes of PowerGels since they were on sale and I'll be using 2-3 per long run from here on out. Those really add up otherwise.

I'm also making a public declaration that come the second week in November, I will begin my offical 16-week training program, and will be posting weekly logs of my runs. I have to do this because if I do not- it's quite simple, really. I will not run. I need accountability, damnit.

A lot of people who know me think I'm very organized and motivated. While I probably am a little more than the average Joe, I assure you- I am still very, very lazy. Half of my posted goals on the fridge door are ignored, abandoned, or changed out when I fail to accomplish them. Like much of my life, it's all an illusion... But that's gonna end soon, because once I have to start publishing my runs, I'm hoping I'll step up my game a little. I doubt there are many runners who actually finish LA by running one day a week. Just a guess though.

A lame story

Today I learned the answer to a question I have been wondering for quite some time now- why, after living here for nearly four years, have I not made more friends?

Cut to today-

I was sitting at my desk, tapping away mindlessly on my laptop, not doing anything particularly critical or interesting. Suddenly my coworker (who is very sweet and beloved by all) came running up to me to show me a small puddle of blood pooling on her fingertip. Without thinking (or stopping what I was doing), I moved away and said, "Eew. Are you HIV positive? Because if you are- you need to step back."

As she shrank back in horror and disbelief, I realized how bad that looked. I mean, I swear- I do have a heart. Hell, I sent in some of those Yoplait 'Save lids to save lives' last year! Thankfully, right at that moment we were interrupted by another female coworker who had come running over with some tissue. As she began murmuring the appropriate words of comfort and concern, I realized what an a**hole I had been and lamely went to retrieve the First Aid kit in a pathetic attempt to redeem myself.

A few hours later when my brother came by to pick up some of his mail (he lived with us for four months...it's been over two years since he moved out and he still hasn't changed his address), my coworker also attempted to show him her injury. And I swear- he also shrank back, wrinkled his face and said "Eew."

This made me feel infinitely better, since I think he came off as a much bigger j**k off than I did. Which can only mean one thing- it's genetic. Since we were shown precious little pity growing up, what little we have deep within us, well...we hoard for ourselves. Thanks, dad!

The Lost Hawaiian's Favorites has been updated!

I've recently updated my other blogsite - The Lost Hawaiian's Favorites! It's taken a natural turn toward focusing almost exclusively on food (big, big shocker), but if you're manic about that kind of stuff, you might like it.

Battle wounds & a plea for help

I do exactly one long run per week, and exactly 50% of the time, I'll do an additional 3-6 mile run during that same week. Not very impressive, I know. The point of this is that I cannot imagine the type of battle wounds 'real runners' suffer.

At present I have two freaky looking toenails, one on each foot. They're both kinda purple, and both look like the nail is about the fall off, except that it also looks like a new nail has started to grow underneath the other one. If any of you men are secretly into trolls, give me a call. I can probably hook you up with some free nasty Asian foot porn.

But here's where it gets really sexy- prior to getting BodyGlide, I developed 2-3 light scars on my upper chest from my sports bra. I'm sure they'll fade away eventually, but what I can't seem to get rid of (common for female runners) are the scars underneath my chest from where the sports bra rubs. It looks like I tried to kill myself, but misjudged where my wrist was...by about two feet. I have a long red scar there that stings like a mo'fo everytime I do a long run.

Fortunately, that's the worst of it. Because I seem to have bought the right clothes, shoes and socks (cotton = bad), I've never gotten blisters. And because I tend to run on mostly equestrian trails, increase my mileage moderately and stretch after each workout- with the exception of my mysterious ankle scare- I've been blessedly injury free. And this is a good thing, because not surprisingly, I have no tolerance for pain. And I'm also a drama queen. Of epic proportions.

The last race we did, Roy removed his shoes and found a blister the size of a (drink) coaster on the bottom of his foot. I shrieked. He shrugged it off. Had this happenned to me, I think I would have called 9-1-1, requested an ambulance, demanded general anesthesia from the puzzled EMT, tearfully asked them to do a skin graft from my a** to fix it, and then hinted that a lifetime of Vicodin wouldn't be entirely out of the question. So yes, I think I'll be in *great* shape and very pleasant to be around the day after the marathon!

On a more serious note, Roy & I desperately need your help. We want to book a 2.5 week trip to Kenya & Tanzania this December but we need two more people to sign up or the safari/trip is a no-go. If you have ANY interest in going, or know someone who would like to go, please let me know and I will send you more information.

I will warn you though, the airfare is a little pricey at this time of the year. If like me, you decide to go to Travelocity to price around, you might think they're quoting you for a first class trip to the moon. Regrettably, it is not an error. The good news is, you do have two kidneys, right? Since you only really need one, I believe the black market in China can offer some options.

I promise though, it will be the trip of a lifetime...think camping under the stars for two straight weeks, visiting the Masai Mara tribe, hiking the base of Kilimanjaro, camping under the stars in the Serengeti, descending into Ngorongoro Crater, going off in search of the Big Five, feasting on roasted elephant, monkey brains and tiger penis every single night over the campfire... YUM.

There's an airport called Recovery and I'm clearing ME for a landing!

(Yes, I'm being a little facetious with the title. But not really.)

The last couple of weeks have have been hellish. Thankfully I had a couple of realizations that have given me some clarity and relief.

The first one is this- when I feel that insatiable hunger, that urge to eat and eat and eat, it's because I'm unhappy. And I become that way because I tend to dwell a lot on my past and the future, but ignore the present. I spend a lot of time thinking about how miserable I was when I was overweight- feeling self conscious/embarrassed all the time, having to wear the same old unattractive clothes, the constant exhaustion, etc. This then makes me fearful of the future- regaining the weight, reliving the same old painful experiences, and the shame I would feel if I regained all the weight back.

But here's the thing- I completely overlook the fact that it's NOT the past or the future, it's the present. And I'm okay. I haven't regained the weight. I am at a healthy size. My clothes fit. No one is staring at or mocking me. At this moment in time-I AM OKAY. There is no reason to be fearful or unhappy.

I also had a reader email me a link to an article that I found very insightful. Essentially it said this- we are told that if we slowly integrate healthy changes into our lifestyle (eat a fruit instead of chips, walk up the stairs, steam veggies rather than fry them, etc.), then over time- voila! We will be thinner, healthier and happier. Except it doesn't happen that way. At some point, we become resentful/angry/sad that in order to be thin- that we have to introduce all of these changes when our thin spouse/sister/friend does not. It's the point where you're almost in disbelief over what you have to do. The writer called this the "lag period." I am clearly in the lag period. An extended one. I like what I'm doing, but I'm trying to undo 10+ years of poor eating/exercising habits...so it's not going to go over as quickly and easily as I'd like. And it's going to be frustrating/sad as hell.

So while I’m temporarily liberated by these realizations, I'm not overly euphoric or ready to declare victory. Because I’ve learned the hard why that none of these epiphanies/realizations are strong enough to keep me on the straight and narrow for very long. I will still be hungry tomorrow. I will still desperately want to eat a bag of chips. There are no magic pills/silver bullet to rescue me from my demons. The only things that will are long term commitment, determination and patience.

One of the best ways I think that I can come to peace with my recent escalated struggle(s) with food is to accept that I may be at a healthy weight for myself. I am slowly coming to peace with that. It’s hard to abandon a weight loss goal, particularly when I’ve been meeting and exceeding each one over the past year and a half. It feels like I’m giving up, or catering to my weakness. I know that isn’t true, but it still feels that way. So like anything else I've done over the past year- it's going to take some time to accept this before I can move forward.

I know that what I need to tell myself is that I’ve already accomplished my original objectives- I like how I look in most pictures now (it's been ten years since I could say that), I can run as much as fifteen miles, I can fit into and buy nice clothes, I can walk into a room now and not feel invisible/embarrassed… It's everything I’ve ever dreamed of- if not more. Losing five or ten more pounds won’t change that or make my life any better.

If anything, it will only make it worse.

I think I'm black inside (the good kind)

I just read a Time article on Sen. Obama last night and then watched him on Oprah today. I've never been more enamoured with a politician. Mark my words- this man will be President.

One thing he said that resonated strongly with me is that as a country, we tend to paint all Republicans as overly conservative, gun-toting, self righteous Bible thumpers eager to spend our way into a deficit (my words, NOT his), and all liberals as hippies with no morals who think it's okay to legalize marijuana and get weekly abortions (again, my words). Yet the reality is that neither side is as extreme (or divided) as the media would lead you to believe. We all essentially want the same things- education for our children, healthcare, peace and for Josie to be skinny.

Another part of the show that interested me was his recent trip to Africa. Everytime I see footage of Africa I feel a strong yearning to be there among its people. Not quite a 'connection' per se...but an undefinable pull to be there. It's the wierdest friggen' thing, I know. I'm not African, I've spent very little time there, and I've never focused any of my college history studies on Africa. But our trip to Egypt last year really ignited a fire in me, and now all I can think about is going back. The funny thing is, once we're done visiting there this winter (Kenya & Tanzania), I already know where I want to go to next- South Africa. And though I'm terrified to do so, I'd also love to volunteer in the Sudan (Darfur) at some point in the near future.

I will admit that I have bizarre obsessions from time to time. Back in high school I thought I was Jewish (I had a Nazi Germany phase last from about 9th grade through my senior year in college). Back then I devoured every book and film I could on the topic, visited every Holocaust museum around, and declared my trip in 2000 to Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen 'my pilgrammage.'

Can we say manic?

(Please tell me I'm not the only one who does this kind of crap. I'm already wierd enough as it is.)

The Family is a-okay!

I got a few concerned emails yesterday about the earthquake in Hawaii (my parents live about 10 miles from the epicenter of the quake). If you haven't heard about it yet, click here. My mother works right across the street from the first picture that you see (the cracked Hulihe'e Palace). Not surprisngly, the AP or whoever wrote the story completely butchered the name of the town. It's Kailua-Kona, not Kuala Kona. Jeez people. The Hawaiian alphabet only has 12 letters- how hard can it be to have someone proof read the damn thing? (Hint: spell check won't help.)

I couldn't help but laugh at one of the pictures I saw though (the fourth one in the article). It was the one of a long line of people waiting in line for barbecued chicken in Kihei, Maui. Mind you, I think this picture was taken no more than a few hours after the quake. With all the devastation in the area and things to do, these locals were lined up for food. And then I realized that if I was back home right now, here's exactly what my mindset would have been an hour after the quake- "Oh my goodness....look at all these broken dishes and picture frames. It's gonna take days to clean up everything! And oh man...the power's out, and my garage post collapsed! And what's this? Holy crap! It's a nail stuck in my forehead, I...I think I'm bleeding! I better get over to the hospi- and OH MY GOD! Is that someone giving out FREE HULIHULI CHICKEN?!!! OUTTA THE WAY PEEPS!!!"

My family is fine. A little shook up initially (both them and all their belongings anyway), but fine. I asked my father if there was any structural damage and he said no, but that he was still accepting donations anyway. Greaaat...thanks dad. My dollar is in the mail.

I did learn something very interesting from the article though...there are more residents in my 'hood here in California than on the entire island of Hawai'i! No wonder why I'm such a clueless, tasteless, country bumpkin! I is ignorant!

Let's give it up for Granny!

Now I know why all the experts recommend never increasing your mileage by more than 10% per week- because it HURTS.

Not only did I run fourteen miles yesterday, I ran FIFTEEN (yeah, I was a little pissed). But for the most part, it felt great! Running is becoming much more effortless for me, and therefore, much more enjoyable.

Yesterday's run was fairly typical-

Mile 1 - I feel great. I'm full of energy and feel like a human pogo stick, I'm practically bouncing.

Miles 2 and 3 - I develop a mild stomachache at some point, which I think is both a nervous reaction, and my body's protest to all of the sudden movement. During this time, I begin to feel uncomfortable, tired, and start to wonder if I'll be able to finish (because running is still so new to me, I'm not exactly filled with confidence).

Miles 4 -9 - My body has now warmed up and I start to feel very light on my feet, relaxed. I become aware of the near effortless, rhythmic motion of my legs, and my slow, controlled breathing. I'm in the zone... I smile and wave at all the other walkers, and eagerly look forward to the moment when I can rip open my first gel pack. Yum!

Miles 10 - 12 - Start to feel a little fatigued...my legs feel a bit heavier, and breathing becomes a little more labored. I desperately wait for that second gel pack to kick in so I can feel the kick of the caffeine.

Miles 13 - 15 - My knees start to ache with each step, my legs now feel three or four times heavier, and I start to sweat more. There is no more inertia. No more in the zone. F**k. I'm tired. When I finally finish, my leg muscles feel taut and ready to snap. Only after I stretch them out for about 15-20 minutes do they start to relax.

So after the run yesterday I walked around a bit gingerly (my knees and joints were sensitive and achy) for a few hours before I finally caved and took an ibuprofen. I try never to use any pain killers or ibuprofren because I want to be very congnizant of my pain levels and pushing myself too much, too fast.

I want to say I felt enormously successful after I finished running yesterday, but I think I was too tired and worried about my knees to really feel the moment. It's hard to imagine how I'm going to be able to jog another 11 miles in 4.5 months, but I'm confident I can. I haven't forgotten that I couldn't even run a half mile a year and a half ago. So though it won't be easy, I'm going to get there. Ain't no white man gonna keep this sista down. Unh uh...oh heeeell no!!!

The Promised Post

So it took awhile to write. But here it is. Since I'm feeling melancholy I figured I'll post it now while I have the nerve.

If your life was pretty darn wonderful before you lost a lot of weight...is it so unreasonable to think it wouldn't be even better after you lost the weight?

I think I've learned the answer to that question the hard way. As you know, I've recently lost a great deal of weight. You would think this would make me blissful and happy and want to skip around all day in a size-2 Ann Taylor sundress. But let me assure you, this is not the case. For starters, stuffing my body into a size-2 anything would bind me tighter than a Chinese woman's foot- I wouldn't be able to draw a single breath, much less skip. On top of that- a tomboyish Asian female with short, stumpy legs...in a sundress? Yeah, just not happenning. I assure, you, I do not rock the short flirty sundress.

Don't get me wrong, a lot of the time I am happy. Not a day goes by that I don't feel very proud of myself. Everytime I step out of the shower or look at a picture of myself I am in awe of what I see. Where's the big, round face and puffy cheeks? Stocky, bulging man-calves? Large overhanging gut? Four chins? Where is the rest of me? But a lot of the time, I'm not happy. And it's not because I want to be thinner, because I hate my nose or I've suddenly realized that I have other issues (a bad marriage, stressful job, unpaid bills, etc.) that are making me unhappy. I may be a little slow (FINE...A LOT slow), but I understand that simply losing weight will not turn your life into a fairytale. What I hadn't anticipated, however, is that it can actually be quite agonizing (I hesitate to use that word simply because I'm fully aware that getting cancer, losing a child, having your limbs hacked off in Sierre Leon, being a page for Sen. Foley- those things are truly agonizing. But I went to public school my entire life. On an island. So I have a very limited vocabulary. Just roll with it, okay?)

So often we read articles about successful dieters- Look at Becky! She gained 60 pounds after having three kids and could barely make it up a flight of stairs! But look at these stunning before and after shots! All she did was eliminate fast food from her diet and walk three miles a day- and now she's lost 75 pounds! Whoo-hoo! Shout out to Becky! But the stories always seem to end there. They never mention how everytime Becky takes her kids to Carl's Jr. that she has to sit there dejectedly picking at her wilted salad and hamburger with no bun while everyone else is diving into their sumptious Western Bacon Cheeseburger and curly fries, and how the smell is fu**ing killing her and making her want to just eat all of her kids cold, leftover fries. Or how sometimes the fear of gaining weight again is so pervasive and deep that all she can think about is never getting fat again, which just makes everything worse because then all she can think about is everything she's had to give up to get there.

In all fairness, there are stories like that out there. I recall reading ones about people who lost weight but later said that it wasn't everything they'd thought it would be, or how losing the weight was only half the battle. I guess I just conveniently forgot about those, or more likely-arrogantly assumed they wouldn't apply to me because I wasn't like them...no, my life was much more 'together'. Therefore, if I actually lost weight- my life really would be perfect!

Yeaaaah.

(And that folks, is just one reason among many that I never made it to the Ivy Leagues.)

I had no idea how horrible I could/would feel after losing weight. I think it's because while my body has changed, my mind and the world around me has not. I live in a culture that is obsessed and blessed with bountiful amounts of food. Everywhere I go there are the delicious aromas of french fries, pizza, popcorn, freshly baked cookies and pies wafting all around me. And now that I'm determined to maintain my new weight, I'm suddenly more aware of how much my life has changed. As a result, I find myself with a whole new set of issues I've never had.

For months I've gone back and forth trying to figure out which pain is worse- being chubby (the stares, perceived 2nd class citizen treatment, embarrassment of not being able to buy clothes, panting after going up one flight of stairs, etc.), or the pain of trying to maintain my current, smaller frame (constant hunger, depression, paranoia). As of today, here's what I've come up with- both really, really suck. I just feel more silly about the second type of pain, which is why I've spent months trying to invalidate it simply because I feel shallow for feeling depressed-

You're being ridiculous.
Stop being so superficial.
Do you HAVE TO create these issues for yourself?
For the love of Christ! Can't you just be happy?

I spend half my time being upset for feeling upset. I know that makes no sense. And then I realize that regardless of the root of my feelings and my attempts to dismiss them, they are real and true and however ridiculous they might be- they are there. And they're not necessarily my fault or doing. For the most part, when I feel badly, it's because:

• I am paranoid of gaining the weight (and in turn, all the old heartache) back.
• I am fearful that my manic all-or-nothing attitude is a ticking time bomb. One of these days, I'm going to fall off the wagon- HARD- and never be able to show my face in public again.
• Often times I feel hungry all the time. I think about food around the clock. It consumes me. It's no way to live.
• As much as I enjoy my new lifestyle (eating healthy, eating less, working out more), it is difficult not to be resentful of those around me who need not take such steps.
• I have developed a habit of stuffing my face from time to time. It doesn't happen everyday or every week, but it happens enough that it negates all of my hard work. This is very frustrating and makes me extremely irritable/pathetic.
• I've started to realize that all of these frustations are borderline eating disorder territory. This makes me feel even worse.

So uh, yeah. Not so hot, huh? That's sort of where I am. And that's a very brief summary. An in depth discussion would take all day and possibly even require that you be an addict of some sort, or at least be an overeater to understand my pain. I could be wrong about that, but I seem to connect far better with those people who have eating issues than those who are just trying to lose some weight. I consider those to be very different matters entirely. I am pretty sure I started off as the latter, but once I started digging, I realized/evolved I was more the former. Though I hope this is not you, please don't be surprised/disapointed if it is. Because you're not alone.

Two reasons why I run

Meet Kenny & Ricky, my two nephews. These two little fellas are the reason I run.

Well, that's not exactly true...but it sounded neat, didn't it? I always feel a little bit shallow when I see runners wearing Team in Training shirts or shirts that say things like "In Memory of Mom" on them.

If I were to wear a t-shirt that proudly displayed my own motivation to run it might not have the same emotional impact- "Because I eat too many damn chips" or "Because I ate four moldy bran muffins in two days." Hunh- always worth a shot though.

Particularly since I've somehow managed to GAIN even more weight! I just had one of the best 8 days ever- a well balanced, low-sodium diet, plenty of sleep, no overeating, and near daily, rigorous exercise. And even though it killed me, I didn't weigh myself once in over a week. The one and only other time I ever did that I ended up losing 2 pounds. I felt so liberated and in control- wow! I could lose weight without having to be crazy! So I couldn't have been more excited to weigh in today.

For the past 6-7 weeks I've been a pound heavier than my lightest weight, so based on the excellent week I had, I honestly expected/hoped to finally drop a little below my previous lightest weight. Instead, I saw a weight gain of two pounds, which means I'm now THREE pounds heavier than my lightest, and eight pounds away from goal.

How utterly f**king disapointing. Thanks a lot, universe. Way to keep a sister down. (And no, I'm not retaining water, and I didn't exercise enough to gain two pounds of muscle.)

When I saw the number flashing back at me the only thing I could do was mouth a quiet "How could that be?" I stared at the number in total disbelief for 10 seconds before I managed to slowly step off of it and put the scale away. I took a few deep breaths and reminded myself that these things happen sometimes, and to shake it off.

That calm and peaceful understanding lasted about 30 seconds. I semi-stomped over to my food journal to review my weekly caloric intake just to make sure I hadn't overlooked anything like 'four large pizzas' or 'eight gallons of ice cream' that might explain it. No dice. So to avoid slipping into an even deeper state of confusion/paranoia/irritation I decided to write here.

Cognitively, I know I still did great last week. No number on the scale can change that. So although the disapointing weigh in won't plunge me into depression, I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't feel like total sh** right now, or that I didn't think this was going to pop up in my head again and again this week ("You can't eat that! You just gained two pounds!" or "Why not order the buttered popcorn?! It doesn't matter what I do anyway..."). It's the absolute worst mind game to play. Believe me, I know. I've learned another very painful lesson over the last few months, which is that a 'good' hour, day or week can very quickly itself turn around. It's what I'd imagine being bipolar feels like, which I find to be very vulnerable and scary. Almost nervewracking. This is why people like me are about one step away from going crazy. Days like today are why it can be very difficult for me to ever imagine feeling strong, confident and in control of my weight.

But no worries. I'll solider on. I'm about to run fourteen miles and plan on torching all the goddamn fat inside of me. And if that doesn't work, then fu** it, I'll run fifteen next time. But I won't give up.

Damn you Trader Joe's!!! Damn you to hell!

I was feeling particularly generous with myself on Tuesday at Trader Joe's, so I decided to treat myself to a few of my favorites- the veggie sushi (who would have ever thought E. Coli tainted spinach rolls could taste so darn good?) and some mango-blueberry bran muffins (just heavenly). I took them home that night and decided to have my first one on Wednesday morning. But by Wednesday evening I noticed the tiniest piece of mold on one of them. WTF?

I quickly picked it off before Student Nurse Roy saw it and made me chuck the whole package ("Now techically Jo, there are mold spores ALL OVER that muffin. Just throw them away.") Now mind you, while I'm usually cheap as hell, I'm somewhat of a priss when it comes to old or leftover food. As a general rule of thumb, I'm not a fan of leftovers (yes, yes, I see the irony in that too). My manic and anal retentive nature usually has me tossing all of them out in the interest of having a tidier-looking fridge. That is, under normal circumstances. But these were Trader Joe's bran muffins, damnit. I wasn't going to toss those babies away! Ooooh hell no. So I quickly tossed the second one down the hatch for dinner and put the other two in the fridge, thinking the cooler temperature would buy me a few more days.

No such luck. The very next day (this morning) I saw a little more mold on the other two. So naturally I ate one for lunch, and the other one for dinner. I've been waiting to die all day now and so far- so good. I have stared death in the face and survived (and though I highly doubt anyone can, please feel free to challenge me with your own personal act of courage).

Music...makes the people...come together!

I used to be manic about reading weight loss blogs, but since I don't have a lot of time, I've narrowed it down to just a couple really good ones. My absolute favorite, Jack Sprat's Journey, had a post the other day about the need for music on a run and the absolute panic/hysteria most runners feel when their (shudder) music dies unexpectedly mid-run. Here was my two cents on the matter:

I used to feel shallow wearing an MP3 player on all my runs. I thought I was supposed to reconnect with nature/myself/the universe. Possibly even become the Dalai Lama before I finished the run. That is, until I just read in RW magazine that 80% of runners are plugged in. THANK GOD. If I'm shallow, then at least everyone else is too!

I've also read that for safety reasons, music is frowned upon in US races, but I'm gonna have to risk being mowed down because I absolutely, positively need my music. And LOUD.

I was once in a half marathon when a man next to me began screaming and cursing for no reason. It was quite foul. I was actually kinda scared, until I saw him reach down and start to bang the hell out of his MP3 player. Then I knew. And I understood. And I think I would have done the same thing.

I really did feel much better after reading his post. I celebrate those rare moments when I realize that other people are as manic as I am!

I felt so liberated by all of this that today I even whipped out the 'ol MP3 player in the gym (usually a no-no for me as I try my best to focus on form) and had a great time. I was so fired up by the music pounding in my ears that I actually began lifting to the music, drumming on the machines, bobbing my head to the beat and singing along with Justin Timberlake and his insanely high-pitched falsetto. I did pretty much everything short of air guitaring. Judging by the horrified looks of the other members, I'm not so sure they shared my enthusiasm, but ahhh, what the hell. It made me happy.

Ms. Manic is back!

My parents just left this past weekend, but their generosity while they were here did little to alleviate my manic behavior. They bought me a reflective pouch (holds a key or some cash) for my running shoes, Body Glide (the friction from my sports bra causes severe chafing), two long-sleeved New Balance shirts for cold-weather runs, and two pairs of Asics running shorts.

I also splurged and got myself some DeSoto training shorts since they have the coolest mesh side pockets you've ever seen (for holding gels, band aids, my MP3 player, cocaine...whatever). I've been wanting a pair for months now, but at $40 a pair plus another $7-8 for shipping- I've been too cheap to buy them. Especially on line without being to try them on. I got lucky though, because they went on sale. So I threw caution to the wind and snapped up two pairs for $60- score one for the cheap bastards of the world!

I went on a long run this past weekend and once again- kind of enjoyed it. I say kind of, because while I would much rather have sat on the sofa and ate potato chips, the run was relatively painless and energized me. Because it was only ten miles, I managed to do run at a steady 10-min. mile pace (which is great...if say, you're in rehab and have recently lost a leg...otherwise, not so great). Nonetheless, I was happy. I've been so pumped about my long runs recently that this weekend I'll be attempting a Lost Hawaiian first- a fourteen-mile run! Very exciting.

Other that that, things are going...well, not so great actually. I've been waffling over whether or not to blog about it and have finally decided to do so, but it's been difficult trying to write the post. Kind of embarassing. I hope to post it sometime this week though.

Toodles.

Hip, hip, hooooray!!!

After months of letter writing and pleading with my two BFFs, they have finally reunited. Oh happy day! I certainly hope the reunion between Paris and Nicole will help Nicole "I do NOT have an eating disorder" Ritchie to a lose a few more...because I don't know about you, but I've noticed I can no longer see her fourth rib, where I once could). My only disapointment is that this breaking news still appears to have taken a back seat to what's going on in Darfur and the food poisoning incident in Iraq. Where the hell is Fox News when you need them?

Will post more tonight, but had to post this joyful news!

We're all a bunch of crazy nut jobs

Everytime I use a restroom with an air drier (instead of paper towels) two things are certain to occur:

1. I immediately resent the cheap, tree-hugging hippie who put those stupid things in there.
2. After a few seconds of using it, I will end up impatiently wiping my hands on the back of my trousers and walking out of the restroom with wet buttcheek marks.

Well today I read that failing to properly dry your hands causes bacteria to collect in the damp skin folds, thereby exposing you to more germs. But here's the thing- I don't really care. Why? Because as it is, I NEVER wash my hands with soap for the required 20 seconds (unless it smells like coconut, in which case I'll stand there and wash my hands fourteen times in a row), have been using the exact same Propel plastic water bottle for over a year now (WITHOUT washing it), regularly drink tap water at work (too lazy to bring it from home, too cheap to buy that much), have been known to place a half eaten apple directly on my desk at work and then finish it 10 minutes later, etc. etc. And of course- I'm still alive. More importantly, I haven't even had so much as the sniffles in nearly two years.

Now before you think I'm the type of person who will eat a french fry off the floor (Eeeew! Only if it's from In N Out...), I will say that I do have some standards. For example, I personally inspect each hotel shower before using it. Because if, god forbid, a maid overlooks a tiny strand of hair on the shower floor or there's boogers stuck in the shower curtain- I'm a sniveling, whiny mess until the situation is resolved. Or if I buy a magazine and it has even one visible fingerprint on it or the cover is wrinkled? I have dig around in the back of the display until I find at least one pristine, unblemished one. If someone asks to use my hairbrush? I usually lie and say I don't have one so I don't have to pull their icky hair out of my hairbrush afterwards (I manically remove every strand after each use).

Roy has to carefully remove each bedsheet from a hotel bed before he'll sit down on it (he holds the entire bedsheet at arm's distance away the entire time), nor will he use the first sheet of toilet tissue at any public toilet (since it could have touched the ground).

Do I think he's a freak for doing those things? Ab-so-lutely! But I think we each have our own issues and instead of feeling bad about them, we should just embrace them. Now if I only could only apply this self love to what I shove down my hatch everyday...

Still here...all six hundred pounds of me.

Aliens have not abducted me, I'm still here. My parents rolled into town last week Friday so we've been on the road (Santa Barbara).

I think I've gained somewhere in the neighborhood of oh...thirteen pounds over the past four days. I'll tell you what makes me feel GREAT - just knowing that all the healthy 'lifestyle changes' I've made over the last year have had such a lasting, meaningful impact.... Which is why when offered heaping amounts of fresh Hanalei poi, warm, roasted peanuts from the Orange County Fair, fresh off the grill Santa Barbara-style barbecue and baked beans, Harry & David honey-roasted cashews, and a five-course PF Chang's lunch- that I politely declined them all and nibbled on some carrot sticks and tree bark instead.

Or not. Jesus Christ. I am seriously messed up in the head.