forgive me a moment of frustration

It's either broken or it's not.

My left foot that is. And I'm trying to tell myself that I should quit letting my thoughts spiral out of control because it's either one way or the other, and I'm only driving myself crazy by considering all the possibilities in between.

Five nights ago, I ran 9 miles on a treadmill at the gym. Nothing too out of the ordinary; only a mile further than I ran last week. But somewhere in that 100 minutes of time something went wrong.

I broke my right leg two years ago. The circumstances are different this time--the leg, the conditions, the point of impact, etc. But I'm scared because the pain is the same.

Too many questions without answers right now, but I'm seeing the doctor tonight. I've been waiting for the pain to subside and to feel better--to walk without a limp. No dice. Of course my mind is whirling with the possibilities of injury and the limitations on movement. On the May 8th date of the Half Marathon.

I'm mostly frustrated because I was just getting the hang of running.

So I'm sorry to be morose. I'm even sorrier that one hiccup in life seems to counteract all the other parts that are going so well. One frustrating action sets off a chain of shouldn't-be-all-that-bad reactions, but everything seems to be a bigger, grosser, uglier mess than before, right? I hate that part.

Maybe if I were wearing a cuter outfit today I'd be able to deal.

if it takes more than five minutes to come up with a title for a brain dump, consider it a sunk cost and move on

The real question is when will she run out of things to say? It's a good question I just don't know the answer to. (A few months ago some smart aleck may have proposed "2009" but the ship has righted its course.) I'm feeling wordsmithy lately. Let's dive right in.

• I should probably unpack my bag from New York as I'm leaving for Portland on Friday and it needs to be packed again.
• A lady who's shared a giant piece of my heart for nearly nine years is getting married in Oregon and I'm thrilled to be a part of it. Krissy and John are about the most perfectly suited couple and they managed to send out one of the very few invitations I've liked top to bottom. Just so so thrilled for these two.
  
• (In posting this photo, I'm sure one of you lurkers will randomly know John. He was kind of a dude to know at BYU apparently.)
  
• I've been demoted from cupcakes to boutineers and I couldn't be happier.
  
• Of note, and hours of internet searching have proven, it's impossible to purchase an appropriately length and sleeved green dress. Trust me on this one--I've had many, many people helping me look. The good news is I already have a dress that can work; I just love new things, you know?
• The wedding is in Oregon which means I'll of course go home and work for a week from our PDX office. How fortuitous that the weekend before the wedding (when I'm home) is both General Conference and Easter! I can't remember the last time I was home for Easter... annnnnnnnnnnnnd Julie and Greg are going to come up and celebrate with us. I'm going to be the fifth wheel at my own parents house. I can't wait!
• I had an unexpected surprise today and it was very lovely. High mental repeat.
• While I'm posting photos of cute couples, I love love love this picture of my sister Kendall and BIL Josh. It sounds ridiculous to say, but it just makes me believe in love. If you still haven't read (or have forgotten) their ridiculously cute and funny story about getting engaged on the train(!!), you simply must read it again.
  
• All these cute couples in my life. Yay.
• I've fallen into a few terrible habits in the last few days. I procrastinate bed (worse that usual) and obsessively eat (worse that usual) candy. I ran nine miles last Friday, and apparently I'm still eating like I ran them two hours ago.
• Bought my first Red Sox tickets of the season. Hurry UP Spring!
• Also, bought my first one piece beach romper. It's adorable, but I may just be too tall to wear it. The good news is I have three months to shed four inches. I'm on it.
• I have a stack of cards on the nightstand next to my bed from family members and close friends. I reread the set tonight and had my spirits buoyed. I sure know how to surround myself with A+ people.
  
• Okay, so I'm really blogging because I'm avoiding The Count of Monte Cristo. Wow. I am really really enjoying the book, but it's just so overwhelming! I've been reading for aaaaaaaaaaaages and am only 600 pages in (of 1150). The time required to finish is daunting. I've already renewed it thrice online and had to fully recheck it out. (Good for another 2 months though, phew.) I've finished four other books I've read in tandem with the Count. This is why I prefer beach reads.
• I'm getting really excited about the 30 Days of Posting, or Getting to Know Your Neighbor month. Maybe I should take Tuesday off in preparation for 30 straight days of posting...

I think it's now late enough to skip the Count. (Though I'll admit I do have a total crush on him. Yall can have your cold and marble Edward Cullens, I'll keep the Chateu D'If'd Eduard Dantes. AHhhhhhhh! Battle of the Edwards. Too bad I came up with this gem after my title was written. That's a heckuva lot more catchy than what I've got. But I always never change a title once it's written. House rules!)

the gender of humor

Three years ago when I was still fairly new to Boston, I gave a talk in church. I considered it equal to the other talks and lessons I've given in recent years, but references to this talk surface every six months or so. For one reason or another, it seems to be one people remember.

The last time the talk came up, a few of us were out to eat. In this instance, it was a boy who brought it up and was explaining my delivery method to another new-to-the-area boy. I won't attempt to recreate the conversation because I'm terrible at remembering quotes--I remember meaningless details. (Raise your hand if you're surprised.) Sprinkled in the conversation, however, was the phrase "good at lady humor".

I'm sure I arched an eyebrow and asked for an explanation. Half stumbling through the rest of his discourse, the storyteller continued his observation that my talk had the women in the room enchanted. Surely noticing my silence and the wheels turning in my head (because I'd never heard this angle and until then had no idea anyone labeled my humor) he attempted to dig himself out of the conversation (though no digging was needed, but silence makes most of us begin to spew words). He considered "being good at lady humor" a true gift since women (at times) aren't the best at recognizing the good in other women (sometimes true).

That was about it for the conversation, but I've thought back on that conversation many times since. Is there a difference in men's and women's humor? Can you be good at one and terrible at another? Does my 90% women readership (see sidebar poll) give weight to this theory?

Obviously, we all find humor in different things. What's funny to me won't necessarily be funny to you. On the flip side of humor intake is the sense of humor you push out into the world.

A friend boy and I had a lively discussion a few weeks ago about movies and entertainment. You see, I'm not a huge fan of the Judd Apatow-brand of guy-buddy humor movies. I don't find (or provide) humor in any of the vulgar or crass things in life. It's not my style--and if it makes me square to say it, fine--it makes me quite uncomfortable. (Sorry folks.) I've thought a lot about that conversation too and wondered how much of him growing up with only brothers and me growing up with only sisters has slanted our humor views.

I recognize that I make witty connections every now and then. I attempt to be clever (without killing kindness) and poke fun at things (usually myself). My dad has always said that "sarcasm is the lowest form of humor"--and for a long time I thought that was the dumbest thing. As I've gotten older however, I see the true wisdom in the sentiment and try to think outside that box.

And as a side note, I try not to think of myself as a person with a slaying gift for humor. People who think they're funny, and say so (hello personal ads!) are typically indulgent and not all that funny. It's like some of Ellen's material on American Idol. She pushes too hard to add jokes and they end up being awful. For me, humor is a "show me, don't tell me" type of thing. It's not something that can be provable--especially because what you think is funny and what I find to be funny may not be compatible. As soon as you start thinking you're too hilarious, the sooner the number of people who think that start to dwindle. End side note.

There's no real grand climax to this post; nothing that wraps this up with a nice bow and makes sense of it all. (I'm just talking to talk.) Except, I guess to say that I'm more than happy to be "good at lady humor" and am pleased as punch to entertain those of you who frequent this oddly named blog. It's true that making yourself laugh is the first tier of importance, but it's lovely to have other people who find you entertaining as well. So, as always, thanks for your kind comments and compliments and if nothing else, humoring me.

the daily post

Remember that fun month of November when I [and all you guest bloggers] posted every day? Those were some good times. So good in fact, that I'm going to bring it back. This time however, I'm going to use some guidance.

Sometimes, it's easier to write if you have a topic to write about. Since this isn't a mommy blog (Sorry owls, some of my readers were right. You and I don't really belong together), or a fashion blog, or a cooking blog, or a political blog, or a how-to-do-anything-useful blog... I usually have to draw subject matter from whatever is (or isn't!) happening in my life. It gets tricky. Especially 750 entries in.

But check this out--the following list was posted on the blog of one of my very few remaining Boston vets. A quick scan of the list and all kinds of ideas are bubbling to the top of my head. I feel like I've already blogged half the list, but I'll try to rustle up some new content.

Why don't you consider joining me? Most of you who read also blog. The posts don't have to be lengthy--but maybe we'll all get to know each other just a bit better. I'll be starting on the first day of April--so you have a few days to mentally commit.

I hearby declare April: Get to Know Your Neighbor Month.

Did I just buy a baby?

Awhile back, I lied to someone at Target about being pregnant and carried on a rather lengthy discussion about due dates, genders, and all kinds of things I should not have been talking to a stranger about. To date, this is about the longest amount of time I’ve thought about me actually being pregnant. Sure, I mean, I know children who are brought into this world—marinated so quietly inside of ladies I know and love—I just don’t spend copious amounts of time thinking about myself being pregnant. Because this would make me a crazy person.

This, of course, all changed last night. (Why would I blog about something unless it’s topical? Do you know me?) Spoiler alert! I wasn’t impregnated. Sorry to ruin the surprise, but let’s just get that out of the way. I had a dream about being pregnant. This was oh so very strange as A) I never consider myself being with child (such an odd phrase but one I can't leave well enough alone) and B) I rarely dream.

Clearly, my subconscious was trying to tell me something last night. And it made me laugh, because I've already been placing too much mental anguish on a piece of furniture.

That's right, a couch.

I had a brand, beautifully new couch delivered to me this morning. And my brain, though it finally let me purchase and then get excited about (yes, in that order) the couch, wasn't done letting me ponder the intricate life decisions hanging on that couch purchase.

Two Saturdays ago, I sat in a deep, brown, microfiber couch--my rainboots dangling off the edge. It was nearly 10:00 at night, and I'd been there almost an hour. On the same couch. I knew that I looked like a crazy person, but I sat there, thinking. I knew I loved the couch, but the longer I was there, the more unreasonable my assignment of future plans and pressure I placed on this purchase.

It wasn't about the money. (When you pay more for car insurance in 6 months... cost becomes somewhat relative.) You see, I've been in Boston almost 3.5 years, and a inviting such a solid piece of furniture into my life seemed to indicate a fierce level of commitment I wasn't sure I wanted to make. True, I have no plans to leave Boston, but I'm too forward thinking not to consider the ramifications of such a purchase in my life. So buying a piece of living room furniture--a piece that says "Hi! I'm staying here for awhile!"--threw me into a mental jambalaya.

I knew I should buy the couch. I'd thought about it every day for a week. (Sneaky to have an IMAX 3D theater in a furniture warehouse and then force you to wander through the store to exit.) I knew that I couldn't walk away--but I was paralyzed by the future. At heart, I knew I should (and would) commit to the couch, but one very funny phone and text conversation later, I proved I wasn't just a gargoyle perching in the warehouse and took a leap into the unknown. I threw down the cash and walked away pleased.

I haven't had a minute of buyer's remorse since, but apparently my subconscious is still noodling around the idea of being attached to something with so much meaning. Commitment issues, much? BAH.


Is my behavior or thought process irrational? Have you ever assigned too much meaning to something? How'd it end up? And also--who wants to come stay with me now? I have a decadent couch for you to rest your head upon.

And baby, I'm going to be here awhile.

1,000 to go

Today, this lil blog hit 99,000 page loads. I've had my eye on the big 100 for quite some time, so it's hard to imagine we're just around the corner. (Of note, if you're the 100,000 page load take a screen capture and send it to me. I shall then send you some kind of fabulous baked good in the mail. I'm being serious.) I hit 50,000 views just over two years ago and this blog is nearly four years old (next month!) so I'm nothing if not consistent.

But what about you dear readers? Google allows me to track some very basic things about you, so some fun facts while you're wasting time here:

• I have twice as many Utah readers as Massachusetts readers; though my MA readers spend three times as long on the site reading.
  
• California is the state with third highest readership which is funny, because I only know three people there. Lurkers! Welcome. Also? I'm jealous of your weather but my irrational disdain for California keeps me from your fair shores.
• Top Ten Cities of readership: New York City, Salt Lake City, Provo, Tempe, Boston, Cambridge, Midvale, Orem, Lehi, Brookline Village. Welcome ye citizens of foreign nations. (Also, NYC? Seriously? Again with the lurking.)
  
• 24% of you are Mac users, 70% Windows, 2% iPod, 1% iPhone, .66% Linux
• In the last month, the biggest referrers to my blog wereAlicia, Don'tDoDumbThings.com, Melissa, Erica, and my cousin Rachel. Thanks ladies. (Also, sisters? Are you out there?)
• The winning keywords people searched upon and hit my blog for were 1) Tammy Taylor sunglasses and 2) How do I know if my friends are running a meth lab? This blog is nothing if not diverse.

Mostly, I'm just shocked you're here. Because I was pretty sure my Mom was half my readership, and Oregon doesn't even crack the top six states. Who are you people and what kind of mundane activity are you procrastinating by being here?

As a random question, are you loving or hating the overwhelming owls on my blog now? I half like them, half miss my simple, clean white space. I'm probably harder to browse now at work, too, eh? AND I LOOK LIKE A A MORMON BLOG. Oye. It's okay though. We're all trying something new. What's your vote?

Also, thanks for stopping by. 100,000 by Memorial Day. I can feel it.

going back to basics

It's been awhile since the originator originated a brain dump post, yah? Here's what's on my mind in this very moment:

• My favorite album of all time is the Counting Crows debut "August and Everything After." The most well known song on this album is "Mr. Jones" and funny enough (not consequently enough because I am not a music snob who gets mad when things get popular), it's my least favorite song on the album. Let's just say it doesn't get me the same way Anna Begins does.
  
• It rained longer, harder, faster, and stronger this last weekend than I've seen ever in my life. Nonstop driving, pouring rain that immediately soaked anyone without an umbrella.
• My brand new, first of my life big umbrella survived until the last day. Then a gust of wind coming off the Longfellow Bridge and into the heart of Kendall Square broke two of the spines and I officially shook my fist at the sky.
• I ran eight miles today at record pace. Lance Armstrong congratulated me when I was done as it was my longest run while using my Nike+. Sigh. They may as well have used Tiger. Not much of a fan of that cheater Lance.
• After my run I had plans to grab a burrito from Olecito (commonplace on long run nights). I had to do a condensed stretching routine to get over there before they closed and I decided I was actually craving a bowl of frosted mini-wheats. So I'm standing in the grocery store in mostly soaking wet clothes buying milk. My blue bandanna sweat band was the icing on a ridiculous mental image.
• NOTE TO EVERYONE WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE: Eating dairy in the hour preceding or receding a run.... don't eat dairy.
• I spent an irrational number of hours video-chatting on Sunday after church. It was beyond amazing catching up with nearly all of my most favorite people on earth.
• The weather has broke, it's supposed to be in the 60's here and even warmer in NYC. Guess who's making the voyage again? Huzzah. The parents are staying in Midtown while my dad spends the week working. My heart gets such a thrill every. single. time. I go to NYC. It seriously never gets old for me. Last time I went I had a mustard, teal and stripes wardrobe -- this time it's green, purple, and grey. I've escaped the last few times without photos. No more of that. Stay tuned.
• American Idol. I feel like I should start a blog just to do a full commentary on each contestant's outfit. Trust me (or ask my roommate Linda), I have plenty to say.
• With a giftcard given to me by my best lady friends at my birthday, I purchased my first big girl purse. It's a Steve Madden and it's actually grey instead of the black one pictured here. It perfectly satisfies my need to have a messenger strap; so everyone wins!
• I'm helping develop a Facebook Connect application at work. It's pretty crazy to be one of those people helping facilitate those annoying invitations that gather dust. Don't worry, this is a limited invitation app for a specific school's alum. I can't think of a one of you who fit this demographic. No annoying invitations coming from me.
• I know some of you readers don't know me in real life. Why aren't we Facebook friends? What's the difference? Cyber is cyber, yah?
• If we are friends on Facebook, please do not send me invitations or suggestions. I feel disloyal declining them, but not disloyal enough not to ignore them and move on with my very other important social media activities.
• I took myself to dinner at this really great pub next to our house called The Precinct. I sat at the bar (all alone--apparently the boozing begins after my 8pm dinnertime) reading the Count of Monte Cristo (holy long. will i EVER finish?). The good news is I was just finished paying when I was approached by what had to have been a 40-year-old in all leather. The town's police biker crew (true story) were getting together to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. He was friendly enough, but he rides patrol down on the South Shore. Homeboy wouldn't be helping me out of any local violations, so what was the point of getting picked up by a 40-something police biker 40 miles from my house?
  
• DID YOU KNOW BILL SIMMONS ANSWERED ONE OF MY QUESTIONS IN AN ESPN CHAT A FEW WEEKS AGO? If you have no idea what this means, don't worry. If you do, please know that my life has been made and I'm one degree of separation from The Sports Guy. And my proxy, you're now only two degrees away.
  
• Are we still reading? Probably not. Anyway, this is just the tip of the iceberg of my mental process. Sometimes I think so fast I make myself motion sick. Hot, huh?
  

Three Adjectives

When I decide to post a piece of my heart, I always fear its cheese factor. I'm nervous about being, writing, or sounding cliched--because I like to think I'm smarter, wittier, and more clever than that kind of writing allows. I fret and worry over the words I pen--that they'll never convey the thoughts of my heart and the feelings in my brain. (See what I did there? Think about it. Cliched? Take that!) My greatest fear is that I lack eloquence and expression.

The first few minutes of these "thinking posts" are usually sat in ponderous silence--starting, deleting. Starting another way. At some point I give up and let my fingers do what they will with the words that come together on the screen. A minor edit here or there, but after I gain momentum, I realize my true voice cracks through the cliche and I write what I want and I'm rarely displeased with what comes out.

This is a very long setup to say the following:

After a lifetime of self-reflection, I've come to a conclusion. If asked to describe myself in three adjectives, I finally have a caboose to tall and mildly entertaining. And that word is resilient. I know that life knocks us all down, but I've felt an increasing ability to swing around; realign my expectations, and bring myself back upright. My recovery time is quicker and I spend less time flat on my back. Sure, I had flashes of resiliency before, but I'm learning to use the knocks of life as momentum: propelling me to self review and ultimately to change.

As open and shameless as I am about my life and some of my guiltier pleasures, there are (some) secrets and experiences I keep close to my heart. As such, I don't make my whole life available online; and you may (or may not) respect me for that. I'm only sorry for the latter because I think you'd be proud of the way I'm learning to spring back. I feel strong. And hopeful. And that good things are in store for me--the very best things.

And this probably sounds cheesy, or self-important, or insincere--but I promise I try so hard to be none of those things in my online and offline worlds. The good news is that I'm getting there. One post at a time.

On... (Q1 Edition)

... my biggest winter accomplishment
The race for this one was almost too close to call. Would my record level of sweatfall take the cake? My setting of a hefty savings goal and not only meeting but surpassing it month to month? Close to all mentioned, but the award actually goes to my surviving the winter without buying another coat. I love coats. Love them. Growing up means realizing you already have coats in black, brown, grey, cream, teal, blue and in a variety of lengths. This time of the year is the danger zone though -- as winter wear is making its way through the sale and clearance sections...

... a Super Tuesday workout
Because Zumba (cardio latin jazzercise) has morphed into this phenomenon at the gym we attend, there's a new ticketing system. Tickets (35) are handed out 30-minutes before the class starts and they go fast. Tuesday night is the hour class and it's a hot ticket (tickets were gone in eleven minutes). In order to assure we were in the class, Linda and I went to the gym ridiculously early, so I spent 35 minutes on the bike before the real sweat-a-thon even began. What'd I spend my time reading? Oh yah, still working through the Count of Monte Cristo. I basically did bicep curls while riding. I only wish I could video that class to show you how much fun we have.

... dancing for your life
Four of us made it into last night's Zumba class, and as previously mentioned, the class is incredibly tough, fun, and exhausting. On the last song (our favorite, to Pitbull's "Crazy"), someone in our group challenged us all to "Dance for your life". If you're not a SYTYCD watcher, this allusion is lost on you. If you are, the real life application was hilariously amazing and I couldn't quit laughing.

... sisterly in-tune-ness
This chat started happening the second I finished the ... blurb above.
Love that I'm evangelizing the things I love. I've made FNL converts, maybe it's time to become a Zumba convert? If you attend a gym, see if they have classes. You won't be sorry.

... the best feeling in the world
Watching the Biggest Loser and not feeling guilty for sitting on the couch.

... the Oscars
I attended my first start-to-finish Academy Awards party Sunday night and had a great time. I usually have a hard time finding people who love awards shows as much as I do. In this case, I found someone who loves it more than I do, so this year's grand event was spent dining on movie-themed snacks and going head-to-head in the ballot prediction. I four-way tied for first (gahhh, I knew I should have changed Best Picture to "Hurt Locker" since I voted for it in every.other. category. and then I would have sole claim to the title) and walked away with a very excellent prize--the movie "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2." Someone want to remind me of the year that movie was nominated? It's slipping my mind.
... a hilarious blog you should be reading
You won't be sorry. And these three brothers blog on a regular schedule unlike the rest of the blogging world (::cough:cough::). A new goodie for you every day! The social commentary bits are my favorite, but each writer has a way of telling stories that reminds me I'll never be ready to hit the next level of blog-ability. Don't miss the comments either! Seriously, brilliant. Add it to your reader. DontDoDumbThings.com
Though Davis (husband of Melissa) is my favorite author over there, my favorite moment of reading goes to his brother Christian's memory post about a somewhat black-sheep family on his block growing up--who somehow found the post and then commented all about it. The world is too, too small of a place and too, too funny to explain. If you're like me, you're looking for good blogs. Run there.

... current obsessions
Cheez-it crackers, ponytails without parts, black cashmere gloves, straight hair, my savings account balance, open/honest/direct communication, video-chatting, printing work emails and marking them up with colored pen, anticipating Spring, wanting to see movies and never following through.

rob the cradle much?

At least there's a fall-back option when meeting guys at church starts quits panning out.



This is why forgetting your iPod is a tragedy.

it's the day we get ready for sunday

11:20 PM Saturday night:

Homegirl didn't even know what I needed. But in an unsurprising turn of events, she just knew.

Also? Alice in Wonderland is a strange movie. I saw it in 3D IMAX, so that part was cool -- but I just couldn't get past Alice looking like a really pretty boy the whole time. (I'm sorry. Someone had to say it. Better than calling her ugly, yes?)

And now.... 32 minutes left to get to the store. I guess I better put some pants on...

pajamas in public

Raise you hand if you're tired of listening to me talk. Aye carumba. There's always something I can wax poetic about, right? I'm tempted to spill about the mental clarity that hit during a restorative yoga class I attended last night but I'd have to shoot my face off first. I'm loving the person I've become in the last year(ish) so no need to take eight giant steps backward by becoming that blogger. Gross.

What I'm trying to get at here is that it's probably time to trot out some photos of what the heck I've been up to lately. February wasn't a month laden with possibilities for gorgeous photos--I blame the New England paste--but the wards hosted a "Pajama Prom" last month that proved to be a perfect (and weird) photo opportunity.

Total flashback to High School. The "prom" was ladies choice, and what choices we had. In true throwback style, we all decided to group date and had breakfast for dinner together before the big dance. Like any good breakfast, more bacon was consumed than waffles. When Vicki's date stood to say the prayer before we ate, I may have snort laughed -- it's not often you see a grown adult (who's not your dad) wearing matching top and bottom pajamas (if your dad is the kind of dad who even wears matching top and bottom jammies).

In an effort to make the whole situation even funnier (and let me tell you, the "modesty reminder" email was as funny as I thought it could get), Linda and I made corsages/boutonnieres for our dates. And for the record, those suckers are hard to pin on no matter your age.

And then? We danced. And it was surprisingly fun. We get down to get down. Happy dancing.
Annnnnnnnnd, guess who lives with the Pajama Prom queen? Does this make me a lady in waiting? Holler.
Now, I kept thinking it couldn't get any funnier. But I love being surprised. What a treat the post-Prom photographer photos turned out to be:

The best (for me) /worst (for everyone else) part? The entire group was posted to the same public album. I (for once) got lucky and my photos weren't too awkward. BUT, oh but, the collection of photos were inadvertently hilarious. Most (like my back to back delight above) were cheesy on purpose; but some photos? Oh wow. I laughed all afternoon. I'm only sorry I can't post them here. No one looked terrible, but they just struck so much joy in my heart.

One month til the dearth of Q1 photos ends. One day (hoping for sooner than later) I'll have photos of me tan... and wearing structured pants in public.

A reward a long time coming

I had a breakthrough tonight. An honest to goodness pivotal point on which I think I'll be able to mentally reference in future periods of time. The moment came on the treadmill around mile 3; one water bottle down and three miles left to run. My pace was steady and I had this heady surge of ability. I've written (too many times to keep referencing) how I don't consider myself a "runner" and don't enjoy doing it.

Tonight, however, I felt strong. I'm in my second week of training for this year's Half marathon; and though I didn't start pounding out miles until last week, I've had consistent cardio exercise at least twice a week since the first of the year. The payoff has been faster mile averages (>1:00!) and the ability to push myself farther than my mental self believes I should be able to go. For the first time in a long time (if ever), my physical self is stronger than my mental self.

In fact, I'm loving the minutes of mental rest. To take it all in and quit worrying things out in my mind. I feel better prepared to face the individual challenges of life when I walk out of that gym.

Now before you write this off as one of those annoying "runner's blogs" (because I totally would; I hate these kinds of posts), please know that I still loathe running. I'd rather stay home with my feet up eating junky food by the fistful. The lesson I'm taking from these four paragraphs and the 68 minutes I spent profusely sweating this evening is that we can train ourselves to do things we hate. As humans, we're able to make peace with the challenges or situations we find ourselves in--and we might still hate every second of every step--but the mental clarity that comes when we apply ourselves to conquering fear or circumstance is a gift that comes no other way.

Perseverance. Otherwise known as "runner's high."

I get my read on

Did I miss the memo that reading for enjoyment is taboo?

On two separate occasions this last weekend, I had to defend my activity. The first when it came to material, the latter on my method of procurement.

Now don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t reading light and fluffy fare that I’d be embarrassed to be caught seen reading outside the comfort of my own home. (There have been plenty of moments where that may or may not have been the case.)

There I was, sitting on the bus, chatting it up with two cute BU law students (because all BU law students are cute, right Whit?). Our conversation lulled, so I pulled out the copy of The Count of Monte Cristo I've been wading my way through (and procrastinating at times). Holy buckets. You should have seen the looks and heard the questions I fielded after that one. Yes, the book is long. No, it's not an assignment. Lemme check... it's 1124 pages. Yes, the type is small. This was the second nerdiest I've felt in my whole life... only because this happened a few days earlier.)

Then, not a day later, an eyebrow was raised when it was discovered my book was checked out from the public library. My casual response? "THIS IS WHAT MAKES ME CHARMING." Just like that. In all caps.

You are all aware of the fact I watch quite a bit of TV. But you may not know I also plow through books with reckless abandon and my roommate can attest to the time I spend lounging about reading. It's something in which I delight. And the library is an amazing, amazing place.

How happy I was this morning to see Jared buzzed this great great image:

credit: asofterworld.com

So. What's the longest book you've ever read for the sheer pleasure of entertainment? Do you have books you'd rather people didn't know you read? And wouldn't you agree that frequenting a public library is charming?

mustard and stripes

even my random piles of strewn about clothes can't mismatch.
mustard. introduce it to your wardrobe; i promise you won't be sorry.