Ding Danged Rain

Well, this is a fine storm. My Internet connection is knocked out on this rainy Monday morning, forcing me to type this out in Word. Which is fine, because my power is flickering, and it’s safer to rely on the laptop’s battery power than any route along the information superhighway (remember that term? It recalls a thinner Al Gore in my mind.).

I’m sitting here, dressed and ready to head to the gym, facing two choices: 1) listen to the windy rain while typing away about possibly running on the treadmill; or 2) actually running. You can safely assume which option ended up winning that internal debate. I played it out in my mind by deciding I would rather watch The View on the gym’s tv than that cooking lady. What is her name? Oh, Rachel Ray. Anyway, I hate cooking and I love sneering at Elisabeth Hasselbeck. So that’s that. Well, except that I could go watch Cash Cab instead, and get a Ben Bailey fix. Have I mentioned how much I love that show?

Am I putting off going to the gym? I couldn’t go on Saturday, for, well, personal reasons. You’re right, nothing’s personal. Let’s just say I’m certainly not menopausal. Yesterday, very busy day. I got home at 5:30 and the gym closes at 7 on Sundays. I could’ve closed out the place or prepared a meal for my family. Or read email while refusing to cook bacon wrapped chicken that nobody would eat but Ken, thereby sending him out to buy the grossest piece of steak you’ve ever seen for $1.47.

So I haven’t been to the gym since my most awesome run on Friday morning. What a run. Boy, I was so proud. I walked out of that gym like a peacock. I flounced out like Dr. Wu (whom I am seeing today). I carried the Olympic torch, the elder wand, Moses’ staff. Okay, but I did smile to a couple of people who looked familiar. And I had my keys. I guess I’m in the mood for fifth grade poetic devices.

I ran for 20 minutes straight on Friday morning, and in that 20 minutes I ran 1.75 miles. Then I continued on with intervals for another 20 minutes, and had gone 3.25 miles when I hit the stop button. This was most acceptable to me, even though on previous days I lasted an hour and went more than 4 miles, burning about 500 calories. I had a half-day subbing assignment on Friday (lovely second graders), so 40 minutes gave me enough time to figure out something with my hair.

Yes, my hair. Still not resolved. It’s grown back to the point that I call it grown back. I look like Little Orphan Annie did when Daddy Warbucks decided to adopt her (see? Simile). I can dry it out straight, and except for the uncontrollable poof on the right side of my head near the back it looks so nice. I need the layers to grow longer, and then maybe my hair will work with me. I’m optimistic.

Maybe waiting was a good idea. The wind seems to have died down. It’s 10:37 am. If I put on my sneakers now and start stretching, I’ll be on that treadmill exactly when the ladies come into View. And now I’m out of excuses. Well, I’ll just look and see if I can post this, first … Nope, no connection. Off to the gym, then.

Update at 12:24. Glad I waited for The View … George Stephanopoulos! Also went 4.5 miles in one hour. Next goal: 5 miles in one hour.

Training

It's 2010, which HAS to be a good thing. Is it my imagination, or did last year suck for everyone? I never hear a positive thing about it. And here I am, still with no job, feeling like an unemployable slug. On days I don't sub, I tackle one area of my house. One day it took three hours to clean my refrigerator, but afterward Jason honestly believed we'd replaced the fridge while he was at school. Jonah's room is finally purged of everything babyish and looks like a proper place for a 7-year-old boy. Still and yet, I managed to get out of shape. Out of shape! Unacceptable! I was completely flabbergasted when my primary doc told me that a couple weeks ago. You know, I even walked through chemo.

Jill has spent months insisting I do the Broad Street Run, and guess what: I'm going to do it. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but every day for the past week I go outside (or to the treadmill) and move. I feel better already, but I've only got 15 weeks minus one day to go. I've decided I'm going to blog about moving my ruined, lazy body from 0 miles to 10 miles by May 2, but I still reserve the right to throw in cancer or traffic issues along the way. I'll probably need to discuss my hair and bar mitzvah planning and how they tie together. And maybe my job search. This ought to be a barrel of fun.

Really, though, this year has to be better than last. Congrats to all of us for making it here! And P.S., my hair is doing well, except that it wants to be in the '80s. I'll have someone take a picture later.