Detox

Yesterday, when I was at the gym, I picked up a magazine called "Natural Health" to read while on the eliptical machine (can't run everyday), and I had never read this particular magazine before, but it was one of the few in the sparse selection the gym has to offer. (It was between that and a "People" from May, and I didn't need to relive the breaking coverage of Bragelina or TomKat.) Anyway, in this magazine there was an article that caught my eye: "How to Detox Your Life."

For a reason I can't explain I am always drawn to the word "detox"; I suppose it sounds like the good, thorough cleaning it's supposed to be; however, I always find that I am disappointed by the actual concept. And to be honest, I think it might be a bunch of hooey-balooey. What detox diets claim is that your body stores all kinds of toxins and this causes weight gain and health problems, but with simple detox drinks, vitamins, and foods, the body can flush those toxins and subsequently you can lose weight and feel great. In a sense I can buy this because we consume (or, I consume) many unhealthy products from food to car exhaust (not intentionally -- those days are behind me), so it seems like a good idea to get rid of these icky elements so the body can be clear and clean.

But on the other hand, I think it might just be a clever ploy to get me to drink nasty concoctions, chief of which is the infamous "master cleanser" that consists of water, lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne pepper. I don't know who thought of that combination, but it is terribly popular. I don't think I could choke such a drink down, but I can guess as to how it would react in my belly (thus, I assume the "master cleansing").

Disgusting drinks aren't the only thing detox promoters want you to ingest; no, they also have a whole host of vitamins and supplements that they advise you to take. In the featured article I read while working out, it suggested you take St. John's Wort (to relieve irritability during detox), vitamin E, linseed oil, ginseng, and ginko biloba. Not to mention all the other ingredients that are dumped into a multi-vitamin. By the time I summed up the article, I figured you would have to just scoop the supplements in with a rake to fulfill the requirements. But I guess you could wash them all down with the cayenne cocktail.

Aside from all varieties of odd things detox diets want me to consume (in order to rid my body of "unnecessary elements" -- hope you're picking up on the irony), I don't buy the fact that your body stores that much waste. From what I can rememeber of college biology, the body is actually pretty efficient at ridding itself of by-products. Isn't that what the liver is for? Isn't the liver like those scum sucking fish you see in aquariums? I think its job is to clean up your system. I also believe that to some degree that's what your kidneys, pancreas, and gallbladder do as well. So, while I'm not a doctor, it seems to me that the body is already pretty good at detoxifying itself. Do I really need linseed oil to help with that? Or maple syrup?

Like too many other dieting gimmicks, I think I have to categorize detoxifying as bogus, or at least, unnecessary. I don't know about you, but all I need is an apple on my way to work (it also helps to get stuck in traffic) to clean out the system. That, or a cup of coffee seems to do the trick.

Squished

I witnessed a disturning thing the other day when I was running: A smooshed cat! I couldn't help but look, and it's brains were all mushed out the side of its head it was very stinky. I kinda thought I might hurl.

I don't usually see that many dead animals alongside the road in these parts; sometimes I see a flattened raccoon or possum, but it's not like the carnage I used to witness in Minnesota. There are so many more roaming animals in Northern Minnesota than in South Florida, and often times when I used to walk my dog along the road in Minnesota, we would come across dead deer, raccoons, beavers, dogs and cats. And once, I am ashamed to admit, it was I who plowed an innocent raccoon down in the prime of his or her life.

I was driving a friend's car home late at night, and she and I were singin to the car radio when, from out of nowhere, a small body dashed out in front of me. Then, I heard a thud, and knew that I had murdered. It was a sickening feeling. That feeling only worsened when we got home and inspected the car to find the dent from a raccoon head and a small bit of fur stuck to the bumper. I felt truly terrible.

Since then, it has only been the accidental killing of lizards that have inadvertently jumped into my running path that have been my victims. And, well, I accidently smashed a lizard in the window sill right after the hurricane, but I didn't know he was sitting there. It was just like the guillotine. Poor fella.

So, I might need to take a different route this evening because I don't want to come across that cat carcas again. Maybe I'll go to the gym; there's no danger of roadkill there.

Hurricane Weight

In the aftermath of Hurricane Wilma, when no one had electricity, we were left with our largely chip and cracker based diet. Sure, we were able to grill some meats, and one night we had spaghetti, but fruits and veggies were sparse and hard to come by. So after two weeks of chip consumption, and the copious quantities of beer, my belly was sporting a mini-keg.

Excuse me, is sporting a mini-keg. IS.

That's not good since my wedding is two weeks away, and I'm a little concerned about how my dress is fitting. Yes, it still fits, and I can zip it up and everything, but I would be able to breath a whole lot better if I had just another inch of room in there.

I figure there are two possible courses of action: One, I can try to curb my eating and stay on the treadmill a little longer each day. Or two, I can just accept the fact that I may not breath all that easily for a day. It's only one day. Certainly a human can surrive on shallow intakes of air for one day? Half a day really.

Shallow breaths. That's all it takes. Maybe I'll practice them now.

Overcrowding

You may think overpopulation is an issue strictly related to humankind's increasingly burdensome growth. However this problem may be detrimental to our environmental, our economy and our healthcare systems, it also appears to be a problem at the gym. Especially, at oh, say, 6:00 pm on any given week night. It's madness in there!

I made the mistake Tuesday night of reserving my run for the early evening, typically thought of as the dinner hour, but let me tell you, people are skipping dinner and are at the gym. When I got there, all but one treadmill was in use, so I quick hopped on before someone else could snatch it out from under my nose. Traditionally, I favor the back row of treadmills and prefer a corner one at that, but Tuesday was not a night to be picky. I was positioned front and center.

As the people who flanked me slowly left, two new people got on the two treadmills that surrounded me. I used to mind feeling cramped in, but I've grown used it, and generally it doesn't bother me, but that night it turned out that those two women knew one another and must have been there together. And they wanted to talk.

They didn't mind me; they just talked around me.

You have to talk pretty loud in the gym to be heard -- the hum of all the machines and the clinking of weights drowns out much of what people have to converse about, and when you're not standing right next to someone, conversation can be challenging -- these two women were up to the challenge. They were practically screaming back and forth to one another, and while the volume does indeed go pretty loud on my MP3 player, I do fear my loss of hearing, so I got the scoop on the kids, the neighbors, and the co-workers, not to mention the husbands and the mothers. In some ways, the conversation distracted me from focusing on the miniature red clock, but in in others, I prayed for the sweet release of death. I thought, perhaps, if I prayed hard enough, I would be swept up and gnarled by the treadmill and my ears would get a merciful rest from the mindless chatter.

I'm not against mindless chatter -- I don't want to call for any special legislation or anything; in fact, I love to engage in babble all the time -- however, I don't particularly like to sit on the sidelines of this kind of talk (I'm that way with sports too; I like to play, but hate to watch). So listening in, unless there was majorly juicy drama to get let in on, was largely just annoying.

I guess I learned my lesson. Do not go to the gym at peak hours. Stick to the middle of the day, very early in the morning, or late at night. Plus, then I'll be able to pick a prime treadmill.

Gummies!

Yesterday on TV, I saw that the Flinstone brand vitamins that I loved so much as a kid have developed a new twist: Now they are coming out in gummies! I was so excited after seeing the commercial that I practically ran right out and bought them. But alas, I was innertly watching TV (I discovered while my electricity was out for two weeks that I really didn't miss TV and I loved that I read so much, but since the moment the power went back on, I have been sucked in again to that evil box -- I'm so entranced by the moving pictures!), so I couldn't find the will to move my limbs at that moment. But to think, these could be the answer to the terrible taste of those vitamins. Will they taste just like gummi savers or gummi bears? Will I be able to enjoy a bit of candy but also get my essential vitamins and minerals? It's almost too good to be true. Once I get my hands on a some, I'll report back on the taste and texture.

My only worry concerning these gummies is that they will end up tasting just like their chalky siblings, but will be rendered even more inedible by taking the gummy form. If I buy them and consume them, will they ruin other gummi items? Will I hate them, and therefore, be unable to taste another gummi bear for fear that it will taste just like that icky Wilma or Dino? But I guess I won't know until I try.

Can't be any worse than that brownie this morning that tasted like olive oil and garlic (can't figure that one out -- was the pan not washed well? was the oil used in the baking tainted by sitting on the shelf next to the garlic salt? was there garlic residue on my fingers?).

Running in the Aftermath

Fitting a run in the day of a hurricane is difficult, unless you have an indoor track, or a treadmill and a generator, because around here, if someone sneezes hard enough, all the power goes out. So, during a hurricane, you are likely to be in the dark; plus, there is that looming tempest outside your door that pretty much halts your outdoor activities. Running is pretty much out of the question.

The day Wilma hit here in Broward County, I woke up early to the sound of the windows shaking and moaning. The winds were bending and snapping trees in half, and the rain was pounding the earth in sheets. By 9 am, the parking lot of my condo complex was a veritable lake. Our power had flickered off in the middle of the night, so my husband-to-be and I huddled around the battery-powered radio and listened to the weather. We discovered that the storm was passing straight over our area, and while it was expected that the eye would soon cruise above us, the backside of the storm, it was warned, would be much more intense.

During what we could conclude was the eye, the winds died down and the rain fell softly for about twenty or thirty minutes. I stepped outside to catch a glimpse at some of the early damage, but I was yanked back into the safety of our home before I could snoop around too much. And then the backside of the storm began to beat us. The winds shifted direction, and our windows rattled and spurt water. It was a mad dash for towels and the rest of the storm required constant vigilance to ensure that our new floors wouldn't be damaged from rain water.

By mid-afternoon, Wilma was done with our area, and while the winds slowed and the rain stopped, we stepped out to see what had happened. Trees were down everywhere; they blocked the roads, the lay on top of cars, they had crashed into the sides of house and fences, and had torn down signs and other structures. Large trees with extensive root systems had pulled up concrete sidewalks and had destroyed many man-made landscaping endeavors. Traffic signals had all been blown off, street signs and road signs were either missing or were mangled. Roofs were missing, siding had blown off, windows had shattered, car windows were smashed, and cars themselves lay under all kinds of debris.

We spent nearly all of the following week helping friends clean up the mess the hurricane had created in their own yards and homes. No one worked and there was no school. It was four days after the storm before I even tried to go for a run outside in the early morning (the good thing about that week following the hurricane was that the temperature dropped and the weather was actually very cool and pleasant). When I ran that first day, I had to run in the road because all the sidewalks were covered in debris and some parts were torn up from the aforementioned tree roots. I had to keep a sharp eye for down power lines and snakes that are said to hide in down shrubbery. It was an obstacle course that required leaping over branches and running around trees and bits of fencing.

A few days later, power was being restored to most areas, and the gym re-opened. I went in part to exercise, but also in part to see some TV and enjoy the air conditioning because our power still had not come on. I tried to re-establish my exercise routine, but with errands and work to catch up on, I let three days go between my last run and today. It's so difficult getting back to a normal schedule, and I think I won't feel completely back to normal until I return to class tomorrow. It's hard for a runner to lose his or her routine, and the upset of the storm and our two week loss of power stressed me out (I didn't even know how tense I felt until the power came back on and I felt so relieved). I hope to run later this afternoon, and I think this week will help us get back into the normal patterns we have.

This storm caused enough external damage; I don't need any more damage to my running.

The Glory of Electricity

I haven't written a new entry in a full two weeks because Hurricane Wilma dashed our area to pieces and our power was out until about 20 minutes ago. That's right. I have been living the primitive life for a full fourteen days. Let me tell you briefly what that is like: Cold showers, no air conditioning (so, that means very sweaty sleep), no refrigerated products (that means I haven't had a cold drink of water for days, not to mention the wonder that is ice), no TV, no Internet, no lights to read by late at night (and holding that flashlight gets tiresome), and no outdoor lights to see your keys and the lock in the door.

This morning, we saw the power truck pull up and we literally watched with our fingers crossed as the technician worked outside. When the power came on we yelled and jumped up and down, and I thought I might cry. It was the happiest moment of my life. Birth of my future children? Nothing compared to getting the power back on. That "New York Times" bestseller? Does it make the refrigerator hum? Finally running that anticipated marathon? I don't think that moment will compare to the moment the air conditioning kicked on.

So, I have many stories about the hurricane, about the aftermath, about running, and about food, but because this is my first introduction back into the civilized world, I must continue on my quest to explore this shining world of lights and sound. Stay tuned.

Post-Bachelorette Party

I'm just now starting to feel normal again after Friday night. It wasn't even that I drank so much, but perhaps it was what I had to drink; whatever it was, I was sick that night.

But, still, it was so awesome.

First, we started out at a friend's house where the girls had planned some surprises for me. We drank fruity flavored drinks through penis-shaped straws, and I was awarded a special martini glass, which had a phallic-shaped weiner pokin' up through the middle. (A little disturbing to sip from.) We played some games -- one involving a banana, some petroleum jelly, and a condom (let your imagination run wild on that one) -- and we drank. I had several very potent Jell-O shots, a few beers and more of the fruity-flavored stuff, and then our limo arrived.

I had never ridden in a limo before, and I felt like a movie star! Most movie stars probably sip champagne though, and we were all sipping beer, but I still think we rode in class. It was awesome cruisin through town with all the ladies -- we were a bit squished, but it's better to have a limo full of friends than a limo absent any company -- and our first stop was a club aptly titled "La Bare." Yes, it was a male strip club.

I didn't waste any time getting close to the stage to shove fistfuls of ones into those men's g-strings, and one guy wiped his sweaty chest down my face, so after that, I needed a few shots. Unfortunately, some of those shots were Jagermeister, and I don't think I can handle Jag like I used to do (in fact, just thinking of it now, kinda makes me vommit a bit in my mouth). But after the shots, and another couple of beers, I was up on stage for the dance my friends had so kindly purchased for me (they purchased many other things for me as well, some of them unmentionable here).

My time spent on stage is mostly a blur of lights and naked flesh. I know I smacked that stripper on his bare ass, and there are pictures to prove that I had a good time up there. I certainly don't shy away from the spotlight! But from there, my condition began to deteriorate and the next thing I knew I was back in the limo with my head in a plastic bag.

We didn't even make it to the next place on the list.

I was cashed at 12:30 am. Usually I can last a lot longer than that, but I blame the Jagermeister; however, it probably wasn't all the Jag's fault, a little blame might be aptly placed on my own shoulders. Every time that waiter in the club asked if I wanted another shot, I just nodded my head. Anyway, my hubby-to-be met the limo back at my friend's house and he drove my drunk ass home, where I promptly passed out on the bathroom floor (my favorite drunken sleeping nook), and he carried in all my loot. Thoughtfully, he provided me with a pillow and blanket, and there I slept through the night, fully clothed, my hair still pinned back and all my jewelry on, until morning. It was the kind of deep, dark, dreamless sleep where you wake up and can't quite recall why you're starring at the white tiles of your bathroom floor and not the flowery sheets of your comfy bed.

After I lurched from the bathroom into the bedroom, I didn't rise until noon, and then I didn't eat until evening. I felt like death warmed over.

And now it feels as though it has been forever since I last ran. Today and tomorrow are not good days to get back into the swing of things either: Hurricane Wilma is threatening our area, so the gym is closed and the weather outside is beginning to deteriorate. By the time I get back into my running schedule I'll be like a newborn calf testing out my wobbly legs. Oh well, routines are made to be broken every once in awhile, and it's not every day I get to party like that. Well, at least not with a limo and male strippers. That's special.

Ooey-Gooey

The past two or three days have been very busy. I have a friend in from out of town, so between getting ready for her visit (cleaning like no gnome can) and the regular work I have for school, I haven't been running since Tuesday, and I doubt I will run today -- I have to entertain and can't be lazy about that job. So I feel a bit gooey.

I was reading yesterday in a health magazine I bought at the airport (her flight was delayed by forty-five minutes) that people who run, or even exercise regularly, and then are deprived of it for more than three days begin to have symptoms of depression. I wouldn't necessarily say I feel depressed, but I can definitely feel the change in my mood and my overall satisfaction when I have skipped out on a couple of days of running. Mostly, I supppose, it makes me feel fat, and when I don't feel fit, I don't feel great in general.

Plus, I have a pimple on my eyelid.

Who gets a pimple on their eyelid?!! Only the grossest of the gross, that's who. Of course, I keep touching it and inspecting it, and that only makes it redder and more pronounced. And it has to happen on a day like today. You see, my friend is here from out of town because tonight we are celebrating my bachelorette party! So, we're hitting the town like convicts just out of prison -- we are going to misbehave.

And I want to look good for that kind of trouble, and a pimply eyelid just isn't going to pull it off. Oh well, perhaps this afternoon I can get a run in before we get ready to go out. The weather is perfect out (except for some heavy humidity that Wilma is packin') so I could just step out later on and go for a short run. It won't cure the deformity above my eyeball, but it will help me feel a little sexier.

Boobies!

Okay, guys, the title may have attracted your attention, but I'm not sure if you'll be truly interested to read what I'm going to write here. Because my subject today is not simply breasts, it is sports bras. You see, after I got my new running shoes, I started to look around at my other running clothes, and I found them unacceptable, especially my sports bras.

Reasons for dissatisfaction: One, there are only three of them and because I am such a sweat monkey, I have to do a load of wash every three days in order to have a fresh bra. It's totally gross to run in a stinky bra, even if I'm the only one sniffing the stink.

Two, one of them is very shabby. I have had it since I was in college, and it's a little out of date (made of cotton -- not a good factor for the sweating) and it has some areas where it is starting to deteriorate. That can't be good; I don't know if it is supporting in the same way it used to, so I don't wear it as much as the other two.

Which brings me to reason number three: Other two are not high quality either. I have a feeling -- a very real feeling -- that my boobies are bouncing around in there a little too much. And according to some running sources, that is not good. Boobs should remain stable.

Boob stability is very important when running because too much bouncing up and down can have serious boobal damage. That's how you get saggy boobs (a very recent, very real fear of mine), studies show that there may be links between breast cancer and bad bras, and, well, it just plain hurts to have the girls untethered. Unfortunately, finding the right sports bra is a little difficult, especially if you have significant boobage, and it can be very expensive. (The bra department is one area where sexism is still very much a reality. Have you seen the price of bras? Do men pay that much for their jock straps? I think not! It's highway robbery!) Many good sports bras range from $25 - $50. $50!!! For a bra?

Cost aside, it's still an endeavor. You need to find a bra that supports, but doesn't suffocate. Something that hugs you close, but doesn't smother. You also want the right kind of material, preferrably something synthetic so that sweat is pulled away from your body and you keep cooler and drier (under boob sweat -- major source of perspiration). And lastly, you have to look for something that feels comfortable and doesn't rub or chafe. You have to be able to run in it, not just pose in front of the mirror. It's a lot to think about while you're sorting through the various price tags.

Ladies, we need to unite for good strong support, and cheap prices. Don't they have children in Taiwan that can sew them together for cheap? C'mon Nike, give us a break.

Flushed

I spoke a little too soon about the cooler Florida weather. Yesterday, I figured it was cool enough to run in the afternoon, around four thirty, but after running, I decided I was wrong. You know when you stop running, and the waves of heat wash over you and almost overhwelm you in sweat, and you feel a bit sick to your stomach? Yeah, that's how I felt for a few moments when I got home.

My face was bright red and I was sweating like you wouldn't believe. So I turned the shower water on cold, and hopped in under the icy water, but it still took a half an hour of laying by the fan to completely cool off and restore my color to its normal hue. I'm not sure if it's normal to get this extra red face -- does it mean anything? Do I have a disorder?

I see others who run in the gym or runners I pass on the sidewalk and none of them are crimson like I am. I don't get that pretty little flush in the cheeks, I look like I fell asleep on the beach without sunblock. Maybe I just need to stick to running in near-artic weather; but then I would be red from wind burn -- I just can't win!

Finally Fall

The weather has finally cooled down some and it is glorious. Last night I went for a run outside and the weather was just right after the sun went down. It was cool and there was a pleasant breeze blowing. Florida is very pleasant from the middle of October to about the middle of March; it's the summer that is unbearable.

I'm glad the season has turned cooler. Now I can run outside more, which is really what I prefer to do. It feels more like running when you can actaully go somewhere instead of feeling like a hamster on a wheel. I would be so much happier running at the gym if there was an indoor track -- that's even better than the treadmill. But the treadmill has its perks, so I won't be mean to it.

Anyway, I'm happy now that I can start running in the fresh air more. Of course in about two weeks it will be getting dark at like 5 pm, so the good weather comes at a price.

Gory Getaway

The blog has been unattended for the last few days because I was visiting Orlando for a mini-break. I just got back yesterday, and enjoyed every minute away -- vacations are very good for your health. Everyone needs time away from work and from home.

But I specifically went to Orlando so that I could visit Universal's Halloween Horror Nights. Every year in October, Universal hosts its Halloween Horror Nights, and the park changes after sunset from a kid-friendly theme park into an adult-rated (scantily clad ladies, shots sold in vials, and stands selling bottles of beer and mixed drinks) haunted house. The park transforms and there are haunted houses, there are scare zones, there are frightening shows, and there are poeple roaming the streets dressed up and ready to jump out at you. It's great!

Some of the houses were truly the best haunted houses I've ever been through. I screamed my way through most of them, and felt terrified when the people inside jumped out at me. At one point, I think I pulled a muscle in my side from screaming and leaping to the side. My heart was pounding so hard, it felt as though I had just finished a hard run. In fact, being scared can produce many of the same effects as exercise can. Your heart rate increases, your breathing is rapid, and your muscles are tense and ready for action. All that adrenline, once again, flowing through your veins. That's why the event is so popular I suppose -- people love to get scared and they love to feel the rush that adrenline gives you.

However, it's interesting to note that most doctors would recommend a healthy dose of laughter before they would advise a good scare. Studies have shown that fifteen minutes of laughter (the deep, belly kind of laughter) actually gives your heart the same kind of workout that thirty minutes of exercise can do. Your arteries open wide and let the blood flow through easier and your heart doesn't have to pump so hard.

Plus, there are aspects of our health that cannot be explained through pure biology. But studies reveal that personality, attitude, and outlook all influence your overall health and that those who report that they are happy, are most often the ones with the fewest medical problems. So watching funny movies or TV shows, laughing with friends, and reading the comics are all actually healthy activities.

But I think there's still room for a good scream. And really, once I get done screaming on a roller coaster or in a haunted house, I usually find myself laughing as well.

Red Rum

I think I may be very close to mudering an elderly person. It won't be my fault: I can claim insanity.

It's probably the most age-ist thing to say, but I'm up to my neck in old people and they are driving me crazy. The grocery store near our home is in the heart of old people land and on any given week day, it is chock full of the elderly. Normally I wouldn't mind so much, but this grocery store is small and rather cramped as it is; there is only room in the aisles for one cart to go in one direction and another cart to come in the other direction; the checkout lines are very narrow and the vegetable section and bakery are both the size of my kitchen. So with barely enough room to sneeze, shoppers have to be very conscience of the other shoppers around them; however, this does not apply to the old people.

They stop in the middle of the aisle (no attempt to pull their cart -- with its single apple and can of grapefruit juice -- over to the side), they literally don't look when coming around a bend, and they but in line ("Do you mind sweetheart? I just have two things."). They bunch up in crowds right outside or right inside the door blocking the carts and making it difficult to maneavor around them. But I guess you earn that right once you have lived long enough and have established your dominance on the earth; plus, you're old and you just don't care what people think of you.

I can make my peace with the behavior at the grocery store. Perhaps I will just begin to drive across town to a larger store; the commute may be worth my sanity. But I can't make peace with some of the old people's behavior at the gym. I swear, some of them act like two year olds.

In spinning class, they crowd against the door and fight with one another over the prime bikes. They choose treadmills right next to you. They always ask for instruction ("How do you start this damn thing?" One old lady asked me. I told her to push "start.") They yell at the front desk people, or they fumble around in their giant sized purses for their ID backing up the incoming traffic. And this monring was the last straw. I was do strength training on a machine and this woman was hovering around me. I do three sets, and while I was resting between sets 2 and 3, she walked up to me and asked, "How much longer are you going to hog this machine?"

I nearly imploded.

There are rows of machines; in fact, rows of some of the exact same machines. She could have used any one of the machines identical to the one I was using, yet she was harassing me to use the one I had been on for about five minutes (I guess when you're old time is valuable, so it might have appeared that I was on it for a long time). I told her it would be just another minute. She looked hauty, but didn't say anything else.

I only had one cheek off the seat before she was squeezing herself in there. I don't know if she thought one of the other patrons was going to steal her machine, but she was on it like bread on butter. I've never had anyone be so rude at the gym before, and I had half a mind to smack her with my towel, but I suppose I had to be the adult in the situation.

Part of me knows that I should just be patient and that I should treat the elderly with respect and care because one day I too will be old. I suppose it's just a matter of about sixty years before I can stop up traffic in the grocery store and demand my time on an exercise machine. Maybe that's how I'll behave as well once my relatives have abandoned me to the sweltering heat of South Florida and my one kidney is failing.

Perhaps I should just wait my turn to be an old bee-atch.

Split Personality

I wish I was one of those people (sometimes you see them in movies -- the intrepid FBI agent, or the single mom working so hard on her own) who could get up early in the morning and run. I envision the cool early morning darkness, the dew covering all the parked cars and still sleeping trees and bushes. The weather would be perfect at that time, no heat, low humidity, and I picture how satisfying it would be to come home as the sun is rising, and the whole day is stretching out ahead of me. Imagine what I would get done in a day if I got up early every morning and got my running done right away.

I think that's what people think of when they envision a runner. For some reason it seems to awe people, and I admit I occasionally see people at races that seem to be that person -- the inspiring morning runner, but I assure everyone that person is not me. Me, I struggle with my running. Motivating myself each day is its own challenge and there are days when merely tying my running shoes seems to drain me of energy. A lot of the time I just don't want to go. I bitch and moan in my head, and the evil part of me thinks, "Maybe today is okay for another day off."

But then there are times when I can't wait to run. I might hear a song on the radio that I think would be a good running song, and I turn it up, and I can't help but feel ansy. And there are definitely times when I'm sitting in my office or at home at my desk grading papers or planning for class and I feel like I have to get out and run, run, run. My legs tell me they need it. And when I finish, I always feel satisfied; that's really why I run. When I'm done, I feel good; I feel like I did something worthwhile. For that feeling, I run even when I don't feel like it. But I never run first thing in the morning.

Blushing Bride

Every woman wants to look perfect for her wedding day. That's why there are dozens of books, articles, and websites that dispense advice about weight loss, beauty tricks, make-up hints, hair guides, and skin secrets. A bride has to be concerned with everything in her appearance from the shining whiteness of her teeth to the touch of fat under her arms. That's a lot of stuff to think about.

I'm getting married in six weeks, and up until this point I can't say I've honestly thought too much about any of this. True, I have been trying to lose weight, but I'm always trying to lose weight, and the wedding date hasn't really prompted me to kick the effort into high gear. But suddenly I am thinking about facials, tanning, pedicures, manicures, teeth whitening, and more. I am suddenly posessed with an uncharacteristic need to be pretty, and am especially thinking about the need to look thin. So, I turned to those books, articles, and websites to see what they have to offer.

Essentially, there's no miracle "pretty" pill out there -- so my first hope was dashed. And what they do advise for weight loss is what I'm already practising: exercise regularly, eat healthy, balanced meals and snacks, and get plenty of sleep (I try to never cut myself short in that department). I already feel good about what I'm doing for exercise, and I want a program that I can commit to for the long term; I don't just want to lose a few pounds before the pictures flash and then beef up the day after we're married. I've seen friends and family members who literally starve themselves for months before the wedding only to let themselves become careless once the "big day" has passed. That's what's great about my running: I know it will take me awhile to reach my goals, so it's something I can work on over the long term.

After thinking about it, I decided to not worry -- it's really not my character to worry anyway, why start now? Plus, that dress hides most of what makes me insecure about my body anyhow; it's not like I will be taking my vows in a bikini (that would call for some serious dieting -- I would probably have to put down the ice cream sandwiches). I just need to concern myself with being comfortable and having fun, and those are two things I know I can do. Besides, it's the inside that makes you beautiful, right?

Cereal

My newest favorite food. I bought a box of Special K about two weeks ago and decided to test it out, and it turned out that I liked it. It's pretty good for you -- high in fiber and low in sugar and calories, and with milk, you get protein and calcium -- so I've been eating about a bowl a day for the past two weeks.

I've never really been a huge cereal eater. When I was growing up, we weren't allowed to have much cereal because what we wanted was high in sugar and was often expensive (that's still true about cereal), so my mom wouldn't let us have much. That's why when I got to college I completely overloaded on Lucky Charms.

But the Special K box caught my eye when I was in the grocery store, and I thought there'd be no harm in testing it out. The box primarily caught my eye because Special K, as a brand, boasts its own speical diet; you might have heard the commercials -- eat two bowls a day, with sensible snacks, and a healthy dinner, and you'll lose a jean size in two weeks. Once I bought the box and brought it home, I read the back where it describes this diet. It is a simple idea; in fact, the same simple idea from the makers of Slim Fast. The recommended serving of both milk and cereal only adds up to 200 calories, so yes, if that made up two meals a day, you would be severely cutting your calories, and if your other meals were sensible (fruit) and healthy (chicken and veggies); then, I agree, you would lose a jean size in two weeks.

I like the cereal, but I'm not so keen on it for two meals a day. I'll just stick to one bowl; it does fill me up, it's pretty healthy, and it tastes good. That's really all I want in a food.

An Apple a Day

All week I have felt exhausted. Worn down by a busy work schedule and the feeling that every day is a long day, I have fallen into bed each night and slept the sleep of the dead. However, even though I slept the deep, hard sleep of the truly tired, I haven't felt refreshed all week and I crave more time with my eyes closed. As you can imagine, this makes it difficult to find the energy to run, and usually when I feel like I'm low on energy, I reach for a reliable stimulant: caffiene.

Yet, yesterday, I was told that by eating an apple instead of drinking a caffeinated beverage, I would feel more energized and more awake. I mulled this idea over and wonder if it could be true, so today I looked it up on the Internet, and sure enough, I found an article that explored just such a concept.

I guess the biology is simple and the idea is not so revolutionary, yet it had been something I had have never thought of. An average apple contains 20 grams of carbs, and as any runner knows, carbs are our energy. Now, I'm not a biology instructor, nor do I completely absorb all that I am told about human phsyiology, but simply put, carbohydrates are broken down into various kinetic uses in the body -- kinda like adding logs to the fire. So it makes sense that eating an apple and getting all those sugars would help boost your energy, as would any fruit.

Caffeine, on the other hand, affects your brain, like any other drug. Caffeine parades around in your brain looking like adenosine (which causes drowsiness -- it tells nerve receptors to start slowing down acitivity and to get ready for sleep), and well, these nerve receptors think caffeine is adenosine and they bind to one another. So, instead of feeling sleepy, the cells now feel excited and ready to go; you now have increased neuron firing in the brain, and your pituary gland sees this and thinks there must be some kind of emergency, so it releases adreneline into the blood stream.

Now, we all know what adreneline does: It's the fight or flight hormone designed to enable us to run away from a threat or fight it off. So adreneline dilates our pupils, raises our heartbeat, increases blood flow, tightens muscles, and the liver releases sugar into the system for quick energy. That's why it seems like a run is so much easier if you consume caffeine about thirty minutes before a run (which some running trainers recommend). However, you can come to rely on caffeine, and it is considered an addictive drug, and no runner wants to rely on something -- we want to develop our own reliance. That's why we run.

So, I suppose eating an apple is the better energy solution. It helps add energy naturally to the body's chemistry and you'll burn off those carbs in a run anyway. I suppose I should reach less for the coffee and more for the apples. Maybe we all should.

The Shoe Goes the Mile -- Five of Them Actually

Yes, that's right. Yesterday, I ran five miles with my new shoes and it was great. I shouldn't have doubted the saleswoman; she was "spot on" about the size and I could definitely feel the difference in the new shoe as far as cushion and support. True, it might be a false comparison since my old shoes had literally worn a hole through the sole, but holes aside, I could feel a difference. Plus, I bought two new pairs of socks yesterday with the shoes, and I could tell the difference in the sock as well.

I've read about how a good sock can influence your running (they can offer their own kind of support and can reduce blisters, rubbing, and even foot sweat), but I always dismissed it as one more thing the manufacturers of running goods wanted us to buy. But it's true: The sock matters.

I still had shorts issues -- damn things are either bunching or riding up on me (I asked the saleswoman about that and asked if she had a shorts recommendation, but she said that shorts are an issue with every runner and the only way to completely avoid the extra fabric issue is to go really short; bikini bottom short, like what Olympic runners wear, and let's just say I'll never wear that) -- and my MP3 player actually quit on me about two minutes before I finished. The battery died, which was too bad since I had just downloaded four new songs. But overall, I had a really good run.

Today is not a running day; it's a break day and I am certainly busy at school -- literally piles of student essays to read. At this point in the semester, it's a never-ending river of work to read and grade. I'd best just get used to it; we still have 11 weeks to go. Ugh.

Shiny New Shoes

I bought a pair of new running shoes today! I went to a running store to be fitted and assessed, and the whole experience helped me quite a bit. First, the sales clerk had me take off my other shoes and roll up my pants and she had me walk around so she could observe my arch and the way my ankle moved. Then she asked me a serious of questions about the distances I run, how often I run, that kind of stuff. It was a bit like a test, so I was a little nervous, but I think I aced it; I felt good.

Usually when I chose running shoes, I pick them based on availability (or how pretty they are). As I have mentioned before, I am no bigger than a hobbit, but unlike a hobbit, I have very small, child-like feet. This makes finding shoes very difficult, and often times I find myself floating over to the kids' section in a shoe store. So, whenever I came across running shoes that were in my size, I'd just snatch them up, but this isn't really the best way to purchase running shoes. You want the right support and cushion and the right stability and durability.

Thankfully the store I went to had a variety of shoes in my miniscule size so I actually had some choice on the matter -- not a lot of choice, but some choice. The store even had a treadmill in there so I could "test run" them. What service! I learned that I have a regular arch and a regular ankle (it doesn't roll this way or that) and that my stride is also even (thus distributing equal weight to each foot -- who knew I was so well-proportioned?), and all of that information helped the clerk choose some of the best shoes for me. Two pairs felt too big and one pair felt just right, but she said it was a little too snug.

She actually advised me to go a half size larger than I normally would because she said I should have more room at my toe, especially if I plan to add some mileage to my running (which I do, it's just taking me a while to build up to it). Your feet swell some when running and if you have a shoe that is too snug, you get the evil toe nail that turns black and blue and then falls off. I'll be honest though, I'm a little leary about the half size bigger. My heal doesn't slip out, but it feels like I have a lot of room at the front of my foot. However, I am going to trust her expertise and go for a run as soon as I finish this.

I'll let you know how it goes with the new shoes. Perhaps I will be like a speeding bullet!

Americans: The Fattest of the Fat

Anyone who has seen "Super Size Me" (if you haven't, go rent it) is well aware of the obesity dangers facing America: You may not agree with the film's hypothesis that it is fast food that is super sizing the country's waistline, but you were probably freaked out that the super sizing could happen to you. Well, according to a new study whose findings were released to the news today, you most likely are going to get nice and plump.

This study, conducted by Boston University for three decades, concluded that 9 out of 10 men would eventually become obese and that 7 out of 10 women would. The study said that even if you make it into middle age with a healthy weight, you should continue to stay active and consume healthy foods because as we age, our metabolism slows and it becomes harder and harder to keep the extra pounds off. But for most, the weight gain begins far before middle age. For women, the most troublesome years are those following their first pregnancy (apparently, the other pregnancies -- if they exist -- are easier to recover from). For men, some of the most dangerous weight years are the first five of their marriage (I would guess because guys get super comfy in their relationship and the gals are probably to be good little wives and cook meals like their mothers made).

But why are Americans, specifically, so enlarged? Why are we juicier than, say, other developed countries?

Apparently, it's actually hard not to become fat in American society. We are surrounded by physical comforts, so no extra effort is needed, and we have the money to buy whatever we want, and that includes whatever kind of food we want. So to make it short but sweet: We've got money to burn, but are reluctant to burn any calories. Most of us work sedentary jobs -- and we drive to those jobs -- where we sit for the majority of the day (that's partially what makes me pine for the days as a waitress -- I used to walk miles in a work shift). Plus, Americans are surrounded by temptation: McDonald's around very corner, M&Ms at the movies, and food delivered right to our homes (most likely to be delivered: not a healthy salad, but probably pizza or Chinese or sub sandwiches).

Reading findings such as this always make me trot right to the treadmill. It freaks me out. Yes, part of my desire to lose weight stems from a fear of being a fatty-fatty-two-by-four, but my vanity is not the only concern. I, personally, want to live to be about 100 years old -- I think that would be stellar -- and you don't get to be 100 years old with type II diabetes and high blood pressure. Besides, I'll finally be in shape to run that marathon when I'm a hundred. At the rate I'm working, that's about the time I'll be ready. So I need to ensure that I make it that long in this world; I suppose that means I should skip the drive-thru for lunch and instead eat the yogurt I brought with me. Poop.

Weighed Down

I am happy to report that this morning, after consulting the bathroom scale, I am two pounds lighter. That means overall, I have lost four pounds since beginning this endeavor. That means I've lost about a pound a month -- very slow progress. However, I was pleased to see the pounds lost this morning since yesterday I ate a bag of M&Ms (not a full one pound bag, but one of those slightly oversized bags you can find at a movie rental store; in fact, that's where I got it) and I had an ice cream sandwich and an incredibly yummy, but also fattening dinner.

The weekends are hard to control or curb my bad eating habits because I figure it's the weekend. And weekend are for fun! And yesterday, for example, was a dark, rainy day and we had rented some movies to watch and had books to enjoy, and on days like that, I just want to curl up with my fattening snacks and enjoy the day inside.

I did, however, still go for a run. By early evening, all the snacking had given me a sour gut and I knew I needed to get out there and run it off, so I went to the gym and ran 2 miles -- not enough distance to even rid myself of one serving of M&Ms, but it did make me feel better. The gym is empty on Sunday evenings and it was nice. I like it when it's quiet and I have my pick of treadmills (there are those I prefer over others), plus I don't have to run next to someone and I like to have my own space.

Losing weight and trying to eat healthier is hard for me (I can do the exercise, I just don't like to curb my appetite), but I am glad I am finally seeing some results. Perhaps if I apply just a touch more self-control I could see further weight loss.

Run Away!

You know what I love about a good run? It makes your whole day feel better. Not only did you run, but you ran well. That makes it easier for me to suffer through students not knowing what the word "depiction" is (the guy couldn't pronounce it either) and it makes it okay that half the class forgot to read the assigned story. That's how it was yesterday for me. I thought "Alright, they don't listen to me, but hey, I ran four miles this morning, I'm having a good day."

I guess that's why we all love to run because it can make us feel so good, and that's why anyone participates in a hobby or sport. It helps us escape from our everyday lives.

Ode to a Treadmill

Since I kinda trashed talked the treadmill yesterday, and I had such a good run this morning (4 miles -- yeah!), I feel as though I owe some bit of homage to the treadmill, and so I present to you: Five things I love about the treadmill.

1. The fact that it is inside. You just can't beat air conditioning. Especially in a place like South Florida where the sun shines everyday and the humidity radiates throughout the land. Florida, for those who have never been, is constructed entirely on top of swampland. Don't be fooled by ads of sunny beaches and palm trees (we have those too); the majority of the population lives on man-made land -- underneath us lies what's left of the diminishing Everglades. But what hasn't been lost is that good ol' swampy feel. And until mid October, early November, everyday is a hot one. So to be able to run indoors in the comfort of a temperature controlled atmosphere, that's bliss.

2. Treadmills are clean. At the gym, they have a woman (seemingly the same one all the time) whose whole job appears to be to maintaining the workout equipment. She dusts everything with a big feather duster, but she also wipes everything down with a towel and a sterilizing substance (I don't know what, but it will probably be what gives me cancer later in life). This gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. I know that she has cleaned away the previous user's sweat and that if I grip the treadmill's handles or push its buttons, my hands and fingers won't be smeared with someone else's juices. Logically, I know sweat actually doesn't carry that much germage and you can't catch anything from sweat (just like pee, that's why those toilet seat covers are just a waste of paper); however, it makes me feel good to know that things are clean.

Unlike the treadmill I used to own at home. Yes, once upon a time, I owned a treadmill. But I lost it in a break-up posession division. He got the treadmill, the kitchen table and the bed; I got the towels, some sheets, and a whole pile of guilt. Anyway, that treadmill was never clean. It attracted dust like a cupcake calls to a fat kid. It was always covered in soot, and as the years wore on, sweat mingled with the soot, and the grime began to take on a life of its own. There were times when I feared that if lightening ever struck that machine it might actually come to life.

3. The treadmill challenges me. There are days when I just want to trot along and get thirty minutes worth of cardio out of the way. Those days are not much of a challenge, but I think they are necessary for all of us -- we can't have good workout days everyday; plus, it's the bad ones that help us appreciate the good ones. However, there are days when I do feel up to a challenge, and one those days, I can use the treadmill however I wish; it is subservient to my commands. If I want to add hills, I can. If I want to go faster, I can. If I want to cross train by mixing up both hills and speed, I can. This is nice because it lets me tailor each workout to how I feel that day and what I need to achieve in that workout. This way I get many machines in one.

4. It helps me learn to pace myself and helps to improve my stride. I have short little legs, so for me, running sometimes feels like I'm working with Mini-Me's legs -- I run, run, run, but hardly go anywhere. The treadmill's steady rolling track helps me develop a longer, more even stride, which ultimately, helps me run better, faster, and farther. It also helps me maintain pace. One of my biggest problems when I run outside or especially when I run a race, is that I tend to start a little too strong. Eager to get out there and get to it, I can start off too fast and then I feel burnt out and tired halfway through. What the treadmill helps me learn is how to warm up to one pace and maintain that pace for a specified distance. Once I feel comfortable and able to maintian that pace, I usually up the speed and see how far I can do that for.

5. Lastly, when there are others running alongside me, it feels like a race. Which, let's face it, motivates me. I was running alongside one woman today who had run 1.5 miles in the time I ran 2.5 miles and that made me feel good about myself. I knew that if we were running out in the wild, I would be winning. On the other side of me was a woman who was walking at a snail's pace, so she doesn't really count, but I still like to know that I was smoking her as well.

So, that's it. Those are the things I like best about the treadmill. I hope this repairs any hard feelings I may have caused the treadmill gods by remarking yesterday that I didn't appreciate the machine. We all have to offer up the appropriate sacrifices.

Dragging

My progress as of late feels slow. I know I haven't really been dedicated to running for that long, but it seems like I should be making more progress than I am. Some days a 3 mile run feels good and easy (Sunday's run). But other days (yesterday and Monday, for example), I struggle to complete a mile and a half. What's up with that? Plus, I can't seem to break past that 3 mile road block in my mind and in my body.

It probably doesn't help that I do most of my running on the treadmill, and after 3 miles, it feels as though I've been on there forever. I would step outside more, but it is still hot out there and probably won't significantly cool for another month.

I know too that if I just lost a few pounds (they are very attached to me and don't want to go anywhere -- I can understand, I'm very lovable) it would make the running much easier and I might be better able to pack on the miles.

Motivation low: Feeling crappy about running: Might turn to tub of ice cream for solace.

Lost

The first step to any addiction is admission, so I admit it, I'm addicted to "Lost." I can't get enough of Jack, Kate, Sawyer (my favorite), Sayid and all the rest of the crew stranded on the strange island. I am a late comer to the show, and only started watching it a couple of weeks ago (bought the first season on DVD and haven't looked back since). I even dream about the island, the hatch, the strange things that go bump in the night there, and have even found myself muttering "4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42." Everyone else with a soul and a TV is also addicted to "Lost" so I know I'm not alone, but while we're all busy discussing the big things in the show: the importance of the numbers, Walt, the hatch, Rousseau, etc, we aren't hitting on something poignant in my mind.

Why haven't we seen a "Lost" diet on the market yet?

Let's think about this logically. All they get to eat is fruits of differing variety (mainly mangoes and bananas), fish, and boar meat. So they have a diet high in protein, they're getting plenty of fiber and carbs from the fruit, yet they're not consuming anything high in fat or anything that has been processed. They have nothing to drink but water, and they have to drink loads of that because of their exercise program: hiking all over the goddamn island.

I think that's what people go to spas for -- on tropical islands!

So far, according to the timeframe of the show, they've been stranded for about six weeks, maybe a little more. My guess is that I would have lost ten pounds by now if I were one of them, and quite frankly, I think I might be jumping for joy. Look at what a paradise this would be for a girl: there's hot guys everywhere you turn, there's a no-cheat diet and exercise plan, plenty of sunbathing available, miles of beautiful beaches, and no worries about money. Sure, there is something unnameable lurking in the jungle and now they have to deal with crazies on the other side of the island who insist on stealing members, but otherwise, I think I'm the first one to admit I would like to be a survivor of Flight 815 stranded on this strange island.

No more treadmill, no more struggling to drive past Taco Bell without stopping. I think those castaways have it made!

Power Bar versus Snickers: The Showdown

I put a Power Bar in the refrigerator yesterday thinking that it would be like putting a candy bar in there. That way, when I eat it, the chocolate won't be so messy; however, it seems that the rules that apply to candy bars in the fridge do not apply to Power Bars in the fridge. It's like a rock! I tried gnawing off a few pieces but I'm a little frightened that I might break a tooth. I set it on the desk and am waiting for it to thaw.

I don't know why I eat these Power Bars; well, actually I do know why, but the reason makes me feel idiotic. You see, I know I eat them because I believe they are nutritious and they are chocolatey, so I think I can actually get my chocolate and vitamins in one miraculous product. However, deep down I know that the line between a Power Bar and a candy bar is a thin one.

I compared wrappers one day to a Snickers, and what I discovered wasn't all that shocking. Essentially, the two bars share a similiar amount of calories (regular size Snickers actually has fewer), similiar amount of carbs, and almost identical amounts of protein (think peanuts in in your Snickers). The only major difference is that a Power Bar has measurable amounts of fiber. So why am I not munching on a Snickers instead? Perception. It's all about perception.

To me, and probably to many other runners, a Snickers is bad, but a Power Bar is good, and really it's all about the wrapper and the marketing. A Snickers is found in a vending machine, which we all know is full of junk. But a Power Bar, that's actually found in the health food section of the grocery store. Must be healthy. In the end, they're the same. In fact, Snickers even makes a "Power Bar" now. I think they might have just slapped a different wrapper on the same product.

Humidity

My run yesterday was awful. I decided that since it was cloudy outside, it would be fine to go for a run in the afternoon. I was about ten steps out the door when I knew that was a mistake. It was so humid, it felt like I was treading water instead of running, and after a mile and a half, I was so soaked in sweat, I was about five pounds heavier with my wet clothes. The sweat was running into my eyes, and I was miserable.

I walked the rest of the way, but I was still sweating like a monkey, and was completely uncomfortable. So much for that. What a week. I've barely exercised at all, and I am beginning to feel like a tug boat. Today is my busy day at school, so I don't really have time to workout, but tomorrow I vow to get back to the gym where it is appropriately cooled to a pleasant 78 degrees and where I can run easily.

Damn that humidity. Living in South Florida is like living under water.

Daily Devotional

Bless me father, for I have sinned: It's been four days since my last run.

No, I'm not actually Catholic, but I do like the idea of confession. I'm not actually religious in any shape or form, something that would disappoint my mother. For my mother, God represents comfort and solace, but when I was growing up, God was anything but those two things. God scared the bejesus out of me. My mom would tell me that God saw everything I did and knew what I was thinking. It bothered me that he was looking over my shoulder at the actions I committed, but I was mostly worried about the envasion of my thoughts.

I used to lay in bed late at night trying to clear my brain of any thought and then I would let just a single word or idea float into my mind: elephant! I had to wonder, had I beat God to that thought? Did he see it coming? Had it really been my thought, or had he put it there? Did I have any original thoughts? Or were they all planted by God? As a kid, I was plagued by doubt and confusion concerning God; I wanted to be good, but found it so hard. That's why, as an adult, I am still confused and doubtful, and am especially wary of "good" behavior.

As I grew up, I suppose I made a religion out of other ideas: boys, school, pleasing my parents. And lately, I think I have been religiously devoted to running. I certainly go running more times than I've ever been in a church. The physical exertion provides me with comfort and solace, even when it's difficult and challenging. It gives me time for contemplation and it gives me a mission. I will, perhaps, never be a zealot -- I don't know if it's in my nature -- but running helps me remain balanced.

My mother always said that being happy was about balance. She would lecture me about the importance of mental health, physical health, and spiritual health: each needs to be exercised. I agree with her, except for me, running fills in for the spiritual and physical. I just need to make some time for it.

Still recovering from the cold I had over the weekend, bogged down by student papers, and distracted by hurricane Rita, I haven't run since Friday. As I look over the schedule today, I wonder how I'll fit it in: I'm up to my neck in student papers and I have class tonight and all day tomorrow. I'll probably squeeze something in this afternoon; I'll need a break from those papers anyway. Everyone needs a space to worship.

Finally Feeling Fine

Today, I can say with utmost confidence that I am finally feel 100 % better and I believe I am completely healed. Of course, that is ruined by my foul mood. You see, Hurricane Rita, or excuse me, Tropical-Storm-Rita-might-turn-into-a-hurricane-Rita, is lurking just south of us here in South Florida, and it looks like she might hit the Keys pretty hard. But while there has been a warning posted in the county just to the south, there has, as of yet, not been a posting here in my home county.

Why does this peeve me?

No hurricane warning means I have to work. Classes are being held, and I don't want to go and teach. I'm lazy, yes, but I also think there shouldn't be classes, becausee well, I don't want to go. I want to go home and snuggle down in bed. I don't want to run today. I don't really want to do anything, yet someone is going to force me to. Well, I won't stand for it. I have taken action myself and have decided to cancel my own classes. Sneaky, huh?

Sometimes I wonder what students think when I cancel a class (which is, to defend myself, rare). Are they glad they don't have to sit through my class, or are they pissed that I didn't show up? Ah well, doesn't really matter. Of course, I feel a touch guilty about cancelling class. It's as if I'm engaging in illegal activity, but really, I obviously don't feel too bad about it; otherwise, I would just go.

Now, I'm going to go back to bed because it is dark and rainy outside and that bed is calling my name. Too bad sleep can't be counted as exercise. I do my share of sleeping.

Feeling Better

After what was essentially a full day of rest yesterday, a suitable amount of drugs, and a good night's sleep, I feel much better today. I am still stuffy in the nose and I have a touch of a headache (probably the result of constant sniffing); however, I don't feel so much like a pile of poo anymore.

I'm glad I didn't run yesterday; it was foolish to think that I should plow ahead when I wasn't feeling well. Today, my symptoms are minor and more annoying than anything else, but I don't know if I'll return to the gym today or not. Most training advice on the web advises runners to just use good judgement about what they can or should do when ill or recovering from illness, and the general concensus seems to be that moderate exercise is fine, but if more rest is needed, that seems to be fine as well.

I just don't like taking more than two days off in a row because it inevitably turns into a longer time span and I feel like I lose some of my momentum. Plus, I had a soccer coach in high school who said you should never go more than three days between workouts because after three days, you loose 30% of what you gained. True? Doubtful. I think he just wanted us on the field seven days a week, 24 hours a day (we already practiced 2 1/2 hours a day, six days a week).

I'll see how the day feels. I have a lot of work to do, and I am not at peek energy levels, so exercise may not be in the picture today, but like I said, we'll see. By tomorrow, I should definitely be feeling well enough to get back out there.

Sicky Sickerson

I am now feeling the full blown effects of the "poo." As of last night, I was still determined to run the planned 5K this morning despite the fact that I felt a touch feverish. I set out my running clothes and prepared my race forms and money, and dutifully set the alarm for 6 am. But I tossed and turned, my nose ran all night, and my body heat varied from chills to sweats. At four, I got up and took some Sudafed in the hopes that it would ease the sinus pressure and perhaps make me ready when the alarm would sound in two hours, but when the alarm went off, I did not feel any better.

True, my nose wasn't a river of snot, but instead, my head felt as though it had been stuffed full of cotton. I got up when the alarm rang and shuffled into the bathroom. I got a drink of water, and then decided to go back to bed. I was exhausted and sick, and I knew I wouldn't run a good race; in fact, I wonder how much I would have been able to run at all.

I don't know why I felt I had to run this morning. It's okay to be sick; everybody falls ill every once in awhile, and to miss a race is fine as well. Who cares? It's not like I'm a racing champion with a title to defend or anything. There are plenty of other events I can participate in. So, I am disappointed that a virus defeated me, but I know I'll get a chance to run another 5K. Today, I think I will have some hot soup, crawl back into bed and watch TV all day.

Sore Throat Continued

Today, the throat continues to ache and I also have a sniffle now. Still no fever. I can't decide if perhaps this isn't allergies, and I have no way of truly knowing. All I have at my medical disposal is the Internet, and it can only answer questions with varying accuracy. I have a feeling the snot that has unloosed itself is now flowing freely down the back of my throat and that can't be helping its plight.

So, I am now faced with a dilema: To run or not to run. Yesterday, after taking some aspirin, my throat felt pretty good all day, and my run went well yesterday, but I know enough about medicine that aspirin won't decongest my runny nose. But the question isn't truly about today's exercise; it's about tomorrow's. I'm supposed to run a 5K tomorrow, but if I feel like poo, I don't know if I will. I haven't actually paid and registered for the race yet, so I'm not out anything; however, I should make the decision today.

Factors to weigh: If I don't run, I'll feel disappointed because I've been looking forward to this run in the hopes of redeeming my time after the last race's disastrous result. If I do run, but feel like crap, it could result in a crappy run anyway. I could do poorly again and have icky feelings of failure. So, what I really must determine in the course of the day today is what level of poo-ey do I feel? A little like poo? A lot like poo? Somewhere in the middle?

I guess I'll drink plenty of fluids (break out the OJ again), and take some more aspirin and see what the day brings.

Sore Throat

I've got a sore throat; in fact, it's been sore for about three days. My guess is that I have a virus, kinda like a common cold, and because I don't have a fever or anything, I don't believe it's strep or tonsilitis (I have had the latter before). My brother gets strep throat about once a year; when we were kids, he'd get it all the time, and twice it turned into rheumatic fever, and once when he was an adult, he got mono (they're all very closely related bacterial diseases). He really should have his tonsils out, but modern doctors are far more reluctant to remove tonsils than they were when we were younger. He didn't have them removed when we were children because my mother opted against it; I believe, perhaps, it was a money or insurance issue. At any rate, I know this isn't anything serious, but it is uncomfortable.

I took a couple of aspirins this morning and had a big glass of OJ (I always count on vitamin C to duke it out with the viral fiends), so hopefully it will feel better soon. In the meanwhile, it's fine for me to exercise as normal. Most advice says you can exercise through what you chose, but most advise against exercise when you have a fever or are throwing up. Seems wise.

Thankfully, this is the first kind of sick I've had in a long time (I attribute my good health to the active cultures in yogurt). In fact, I'm generally not a very sickly person. I usually catch a cold every once in awhile, but the last time I remember being truly sick was my sophomore year of college -- about seven or eight years ago -- and that time I was really sick. I had this terrible sore throat, fever, icky stomach, headhache, everything. It was the worst flu I've ever experienced. I stayed out of classes for a full week, and I can tell you, hardly anything is worse than throwing up over a sore throat. I thought I might have strep that time, but when I went to the doctor, they swabbed me, and the test came back negative.

I think that's the sickest I've ever been in my life, and it always sucked to be ill in college because you're away from home and at that point, you just want your mom to bring you a cold soda and rub your back. Fortunately, that time I was so awfully sick, I called my mom and told her how poopy I felt and she suggested the miracle of all sore throat relievers: the popsicle. I had my roommate go out and buy a box of cherry popsicles then, and now I still rely on them when I have an icky throat.

So, today I think I will let this aspirin do its work, then go to a the gym for a light run, and stop by the store to get lunch: cherry popsicles sound good.

Cell Phones

Today, I saw, or rather heard, a woman on her cell phone in the bathroom. She was chatting away as she peed and didn't seem one bit distressed about carrying on a conversation while using the restroom.

It occured to me some time ago, when I started seeing people chatting away on their phones at the gym, that people can't live without those damn things. I, admittedly, own a cell phone and do love to receive calls -- it makes me feel very popular; unfortunately, those calls are few and far between -- however, I can't understand wanting to talk to another person under all circumstances. Isn't that why we have voice mail and answering machines?

I, for one, wouldn't like to be held accountable for conversation while I run. For one thing, I can't say I have the breath for talk. I have to focus on running, and I can't be discussing the various methods for cooking a chicken, and I absolutely don't want to have a chat about the weather, politics, or my job. I'm running to get away from all of that. I need the space and time to think and sort thoughts.

But some people, I assume, love to talk. It's obvious, not just from their cell phone use, but from their chatter at the gym. There's one older gentleman who always strikes up conversation with other gym goers on the treadmill, by the weight machines, or by the water fountain, and there's something so mind numbing about his talk, that I literally left the gym early yesterday to get away from it.

For me, there is nothing so pressing to discuss that I need to talk to someone while I exercise. And I really don't want to send or receive any calls. There is a time and a place for conversation, and those times and places are at night when you are in bed with your partner, at meals, at the bar, in the car, and when you need to invite someone somehwere, mull over puzzling or amusing events, or when you haven't spoken with that person in a long while. Running is not a time for talking, unless you are a cute couple who run together and wear matching outfits -- you're excused, because you're abnormal anyway.

The Heat, my god, the Heat!

September in Florida is a lot like August in Florida. The days still see temperatures in the nineties, and the humidity is much the same. Everyday is a scorcher, and we all feel as though we have found hell on Earth. Thankfully, I've noticed that the mornings haven't been quite so bad the last couple of days. Last night on the news, it was forecasted that the lows this week would be around 78 degrees. Good news for me.

On Sunday, I plan to run another 5K and I'm hoping for a far better outcome than the last one; I am particularly crossing my fingers that I don't feel as though I might faint this time around. If the temp is 78 at 7:00 am, then that's the temperature the gym is air conditioned at, and that's good news.

Last night, I ran outside for my once a week outside run, and it was still damn hot. When I returned home, I had the beet red face and sweat soaked clothes. It wasn't pleasant. So I'm praying for a little spell of cool morning weather this Sunday, so that I can at least run with some dignity. That red face business is just embarassing.

Aside from the weather, I have also begun preparing for race day by re-organizing my Mp3 player. I've cleared all the old songs, and re-ordered them and added a few new ones so that I have the best song order for a 3.1 mile run. And this time, I am bringing my MP3 player with me. In other 5Ks, I've left it at home, but this time, it's coming with because I really need those songs; they help provide for "mood." The music also helps me time myself. It may come as something of a shock to most, but I don't actually own a watch (have never liked them -- they sit funny on my wrist and it feels like they are rubbing my wrist bone weird), so the only way I calculate time while I'm out running is by estimating the length of the songs. Most songs are about 3 or 4 minutes long, but there are a few that are five minutes: I noted their times as I downloaded them. So that helps me gauge my mile times, which is helpful in maintaining my pace.

But in the end, I have to just accept whatever I can do. In yoga, we used to adhere to the philosophy that you are not in competition with anyone, not even yourself. So, I need to just accept each race as an accomplishment in and of itself and not worry about my times or racing against previous times. I'm just there to enjoy the run.

(Yeah right. I know I'm in competition with myself, who else do I have to compete against?)

Yesterday's Run

At the gym yesterday, I couldn't help but notice this guy who was running on the treadmill nearby and he was holding onto the handles for dear life and stumbling along at the fastest speed he could do. It seems somehow inhumane to let him do that, as if I should correct him, and tell him to just slow down and let go of the machine. He wasn't helping himself. But isn't this what the gym staff should be doing?

I have mixed feelings about the gym staff. On the one hand, I would be fearful to have to them come around and correct me on something, mostly because I already feel as though I'm being watched when I work out at the gym. But I also think they should circle around and do more than chat with one another. Because honestly, that's all they seem to do. They scan your ID when you walk in, but beyond that, they group up in areas around the gym and either make fun of us, or they ignore us completely. It's kinda like being in the zoo.

But there is an ad up front that says they are hiring for a variety of positions, and it makes me wonder if perhaps I could do that part-time. I think I would be highly qualified to make fun of other gym members and to talk about them when they're not looking. Hell, I do that half the time anyway -- for free. Plus, if I had the authority the red shirt would bring me, I could tell that runner that he needs to leasrn how to use a treadmill more effectively. Perhaps then I would be like a savior.

Shoes

I need new running shoes. I bought these at the beginning of this year, and when I purchased them, they were shiny and pretty and full of bounce. But now the shine has been reduced to a mere glimmer and the bounce has bounced itself out. The soles are getting worn, and there's paint splattered across the toes.

However, I can't get new shoes yet because I can't afford them right now. I have other costs weighing on my mind, and something responsible tells me it's more important to pay the phone bill than to buy yourself a new pair of running shoes. So I'll have to make this pair last a little longer.

It would be better if running shoes weren't so expensive; it's a bit ridiculous considering how long they last you. One of the reasons I got into running as a hobby was because it was relatively inexpensive. You just need shoes and clothes, and you're good to get out there and run. But once you start to get into the sport, it turns out that is just a trick to get you interested. Becasue shoes are spendy, and you're supposed to buy new ones every six months or so; the clothes can also be pricey (at least the fashionable, non-chaffing clothes), but at least they last longer; inevitably, there's the newest music product to buy, and they don't come cheap; and lastly, if you want to compete, there's the dozens of races to register for, each one costing you some pocket change.

For me, and for many others, there is also the gym membership, which is slightly superfulous, but at the same time, absolutely necessary for maintaing a workout schedule. So that in the end, staying in shape really adds up. And running to stay fit is expensive, despite claims from its proponents that it is an every-person sport.

Yet, I also know that I have to stop comparing myself to others I see at the gym or on the race course who look so much more like runners than I do. Someday, I too will sport stylish shoes with plenty of cushion and cute shorts to match. My hair will actually fit back into a neat pony tail or long braid, and my earplugs for the MP3 player will sit snugly in my ears as I run. I will be put together, pretty. Oh yeah, and I'll also run well.

When pigs fly.

Rock Star

Last night I saw the Foo Fighters/Weezer concert, and even if I hadn't gone to spinning yesterday morning, I would have put in a sufficient workout at that concert. I was jumpin' around, dancing, and singing, and this morning my claves and my abs feel a little sore. I'm pretty sure I burned off all the calories I consumed in beer.

It's no wonder you hardly ever see a fat rock star. At concerts, they too are jumping, dancing, singing, and playing their instruments! They must burn tons of calories. In fact, some rock stars burn up to two or three pounds off onstage at a single concert. Angus Young, of AC/DC, said that he used to count on losing 5 or 6 pounds during the course of a night's show! That's incredible. Obviously, that means they are mainly shedding water in that time, but that still means you're burning off at least 6-7,000 calories in just a few hours.

Do I need any more motivation to be a rock star? It would be awesome!

Look At Me!

Well, would you look at this! I figured out how to add pictures! Turns out, it wasn't that hard, and all this time I thought it was rocket science or something to upload a picture, but it turns out it's just as easy as attaching them to email. I feel a little bit like a genius. ( I have the sudden sneaking suspicion I might also be able to unlock the energy crisis if I think long enough on it.)

Anyway, this is not a great picture since my shadow is looming on the wall behind me, but it's the only digital picture I have right now of just me. Obviously, I am hard at work here applying some putty to an unfinished wall (thankfully that wall is now a finished product and looks quite lovely), but I consider the remodeling my husband-to-be and I are doing to be part of my weekly workouts since ripping up carpet, scraping off wallpaper, applying putty such as this, and sanding that putty make for hard physical work. After some days of work like this, I don't really feel that I need a run.

Tomorrow I'll have to play around with pictures a bit more to spice up my blog and make it look pretty. I've been looking at other running blogs and mine seems to be seriously lacking. For one thing, it appears that I am way behind on the athlete business, as some of these bloggers are running everywhere short of completely around the world. And for another thing, some of them have much more interesting blogs. I wouldn't dare tell you who or where to find them because I don't want to lose the few devoted readers I have. So I must work to make my blog just as lovely and it looks like I'm going to have to start running a little harder and a little further; nothing helps motivate a runner like competition.

The Seventh Day

Today is a day of rest (even God got one of those), so I don't have any exercise on my plate today. Once you get into a routine, it's actually kind of hard to take a day off, and you feel a little jittery, like you should be out there running or at least taking a walk. And really, a day of rest doesn't necessarily mean you shouldn't do any exercise, it really just means you should do something light or something different.

But for me, today is a day of almost no exercise whasoever, and it's a good day for a break because I have class all day. Well, not all day, but I have three classes and they're all about five hours apart. So I start at the very beginning of the day and end at the close of the day, and it feels like forever. Plus, as we get warmed up in the semester, the students get stranger and stranger. I won't even talk about the guy who I believe might be stalking me, and there is also a girl I won't get into here (let me just tell you that she's a "breather" and has too many teeth); no, they don't even bother me as much as Mr. Pencil Sharpener this morning.

I have this student who comes in late every day of class. And not just five or ten minutes late, he's like thirty or forty minutes late every time. I had to talk to him and two others on Tuesday about being on time, but it seems my lecture was dismissed straight away because this morning he strolled in after forty-five minutes. And does he head right for a desk? No! He stands right up front and starts sharpening his pencil! I stopped talking and looked at him, and the whole class was looking at him, and he looked back with an expression that said, "What?" I told him to sit down please, and his demeanor made it seem as though he had no idea why I would ask such a thing. I guess I was the one out of line.

At the end of the day, the mental energy I have expended feels far greater than the physical energy I spend running, and to be honest, I think a good, hard run sounds pretty nice after a few classes of discussing the same material over and over. Thank the Lord for those students who are intelligent and engaged in class, and who also arrive on time, with pencils sharpened. Otherwise, everyday in class would be the equivilant of a marathon, and my brain can't take that kind of workout!

Spinderella

I was rushing to get to spinning class, and was at first relieved when I saw that the instructor hadn't yet arrived and everyone was standing outside the classroom. But as the minute hand crept up to the hour and then past it, everyone waiting outside started to grumble, and I could tell that the crowd was getting restless. At a quarter after, a few fellow spinners went up to the gym's front desk to complain, but just then the instructor came through the front doors.

This was an instructor I had not had before, and at first it was difficult to distiguish gender, but I finally arrived at the conclusion that it was a woman who looked very much like a man. That doesn't bother me, but I knew that this wo-man would probably run our butts off, especially since she'd been late and would now try to cram 60 minutes worth of exercise into 45.

The other spinners gathered excitedly around the doors like shoppers waiting for JC Penney to open the day after Thanksgiving, and once the doors were unlocked, they streamed into the classroom and made a beeline for the desirable bikes. I'm not much of a pusher or a shover, so I went ahead and let those who were willing to engage in both grab whatever bikes they wanted. What this left me with was a bike that you need special shoes for.

You see, there are bikes with straps for those of us who wear regular running shoes, and there are bikes for those who wear actual bike shoes that have little clips to grip the peddle, and I was stuck with the wrong kind of bike (or the wrong kind of shoes, depending on how you look at it). I tried to trade with someone nearby, but it turned out that everyone was quite satisfied with the bike they had shoved and pushed for, so I had to make do. It really wasn't a big deal until about halfway through our 45 minutes of torture (hills, hills, and more hills!) when I was spinning my little heart out. I was peddling and peddling, so fast the peddles start to feel as if they are propelled forward of their own momentum, and then my left foot slipped off its inappropriate peddle and my whole left leg flew forward; thus, the whole of my body flung itself forward over the handle bars.

I nearly spun right into the spinner in front of me!

The girl next to me was kind enough to ask if I was alright, and I shook my head "yes" and got back on the bike. I was a little shaken, but I managed to ride the rest of the class. I thought I might be bruised on my left leg because I banged it against the frame of the bike, but it looks like my skin has been resistant (funny, since I have a mother of a bruise on my right leg and I can't recall how I did that; my brother says I'm becoming delicate).

Next time I guess I'll have to learn to shove a few people out of my way so I can make sure I get the right kind of bike. I think I can take some of those skinny bitches.

My Own Private Cheerleader

Last night I had a good run. One of those runs that actually feels good. I ran outside to get out and about and becasue I'm trying to get exposed to the weather in an attempt to aclimate. I plan to run another 5K in two weeks, and if I am to face that heat again, I have to get used to it, and I can't hide indoors on the treadmill forever. So, I've been running outside about once a week, and last night was one of those runs. And it was nice.

The weather wasn't so hot, there was significant cloud cover and the sun had already set, but it was still humid and I was sweating like a towel squeezed of excess water, but like I said, the run felt good. Every once and awhile I have very positive feelings about running, and instead of thinking how hard it is, or what hurts, or how hot I am, I actually focus on how lucky I am that I'm so healthy, that I can get out and run, and that I have use of my limbs (weird one, I know, but I do think that; how much harder would all this exercise be if I were missing an arm or a leg?).

And despite the fact that a bug flew into my eye and another flew into my mouth, I loved running and I was reminded that I had started this whole project because somewhere back in time, I remember how I did love to run; it just took a while to work up to a place where I could enjoy it again. However, I feel a little strange writing such positive things, so don't worry fellow readers, tomorrow I will be sure to come up with some sarcastic or cynical remark. Lord knows, we don't need too much inspiration.

What's That You Say?

Soon, I will have the hearing of an 87 year old man, and I'll be asking everyone to repeat what they just said. That's because I listen to my MP3 player at volumes that I think are unwise for my poor eardrums. I like to have it loud enough to really feel the music while I'm running; you know, so you can feel that bass line in your chest like a heartbeat. It helps me keep motivated for the run and helps me block out the chatter that surrounds me at the gym (I swear, some music cannot drown out two women talking, and for some reason, it especially bugs me when they have a conversation so loud I can still hear them over my music, and it really gets on my nerves when they are talking really loud in another language; at least when it's English I can eavesdrop and get in our their gossip).

Some people like to strike up conversation with anyone, and as I've mentioned before, I am not the sort who likes to be on the receiving end of that kind of conversation. But there are others, mostly middle aged women, who arrive at the gym in pairs, and they talk the whole while to one another, and I don't know why, but it just annoys me. (Seems like they could put that extra air to better uses.) But with the headphones, it is clear that I don't want to chat -- they are an automatic banter-blocker.

However, I fear this seclusion comes at a price. I've been running off and on ever since I was in middle school when I ran on the school track team, and all those years I ran with music. Back in the day, I lugged around a walkman and various mix tapes my friends and I made for each other. Later, technology advanced, and I was able to purchase a small am/fm radio that strapped onto my arm, but I hated getting commercials on my runs, so when those portable CD players came out, I was on top of those. But the down side to those was that you only got to listen to one CD, and unless that CD was chock full of good running tunes, you had to jog through the slow songs or the songs you didn't really like that much. Thankfully, portable music has advanced leaps and bounds in the past two or three years (and I really think exercisers are those responsible for the changes), and MP3s have become something of a miracle.

But added up, that's about 15 years of music being piped directly into my ear canals, and I'm pretty sure those miniature bones are taking a beating. Sometimes I leave the MP3 player at home just so I can give my little ears a rest, but I know the damage has been done, and what I'm hoping for is that by the time I'm old, they'll be able to just give me an ear transplant, and I won't need to worry about safeguarding my delicate ear drums. With my brand new ears, I'll be able to listen to music at all kinds of volumes!

Let Them Eat Cake

Every once in awhile, or to be truthful, about every month, I get an intense desire for yellow cake with chocolate frosting. The craving dawns on me often times quite suddenly and there's no time to stall between buying that cake mix and baking the dreamy concoction. I don't know if it's the contrast between the buttery yellow cake and the creamy milk chocolate frosting, but whatever that cake's delightful secret is, I love it. And usually I end up eating the whole thing by myself.

Not all at once.

At first, I start out civilized with little plates of single slices. Those initial slices are of dignified proportions and I do well to just take one piece and then leave the rest. But then a day or two passes and the cake becomes something of a presence. I think about it at night before I fall asleep and as I run on the treadmill I fantasize about running toward that cake. That's when dignity begins to break down and I abandon the plates and the cut pieces for eating the cake straight out of the pan with a fork.

Sometimes the urge will strike me in the middle of the night, and I'll find myself huddled protectively over the pan, fork in hand, scooping large chunks of cake into my already full mouth. This feral behavior revolts me and I often retreat to bed feeling shamed, but the next morning I'll find myself back in the kitchen with the same animal desire to consume that cake.

I estimate, with the help of the nutritional information listed on the side of the box and on the frosting container, that a whole cake contains about 6,000 calories. And there is no nutritional benefit (unless you count the marginal amounts of riboflavin, but who really knows what that vitamin is good for anyway?): There's just sugar, butter, eggs, oil, and mounds of refined flour. I could blame the cake for the inescapable weight I'm stuck at, but at the same time that treat fills a cake-sized hole in my soul that needs to be fed every once in awhile. To starve a soul is unforgivable.

Mind Magic

I think I might have actual mental powers. What those exact powers are, I can't be sure of, but it seems lately that what I think or do, or say related to this blog somehow comes to fruition, but strangest of all is how some ideas and concepts are popping up in print. For example, yesterday I received the new "Runner's World" in the mail and guess what one of the articles featured? Blogs about running! No, not my blog, but it discussed how popular running blogs are becoming and how you can start your own, and how it can help you train, etc. That isn't really a remarkable example, but the next one is.

I was browsing through a fitness magazine at the gas station yesterday and there was just a brief blip about that treadmill class I thought of! (Which of course indicates that I was not in fact the first person to think of it, but I still consider it my thought.) It just mentioned essentially what I had said about the relationship between a stationary bike and a treadmill and how some gym in New York (my location predictor was right on) is offereing a running class. I forget what they were labeling it.

And lastly, but perhaps most important to me, I was writing yesterday bout poopy scales and how I never lose any weight. Well, this morning when I got up and weighed myself, I was two pounds less! Poof! I always weigh myself in the morning, so no, it's not about weighing myself before I've eaten to had a drink of water. That's the time of day I always check in (even though I also check in on other scales whenever I encounter them -- they vary only slightly). But two pounds felt like a miracle to me. Maybe it just took months for me to lose those pounds, and they suddenly just dropped off the planet. This is good; I hope they stay lost. I don't want to find them again.

So, I will now take this opportunity to ask for some money. I'm not really pleading for much, but the sudden appearance of, oh, say $1,000 would greatly please me. So, dear god of the blog, please let me find some bills! It would be greatly appreciated, and I would praise you on my blog.