Friday, March 29, 2013

Highlights (not for kids) and lowlights (also not for kids)

Highlights:

1) Had dinner with Mary when she stopped into Chicago for the night! We went to Pizza Art (whose website has apparently been captured in amber circa 1996), then picked up dessert at Cafe Selmarie.

2) After deciding I needed to incorporate eBay and thrifting more into my plan for managing my clothing situation, I discovered a lost treasure in my hamper:
Hair: slightly crazy. Shirt: slightly crooked. Picture: perfect.
The fluttery white top is from the Ann Taylor Outlet in Pleasant Prairie (which is conveniently located steps from a Culver's). I think I abandoned it to Ye Horrifying Laundry Pile--no picture of that; much like Sasquatch, it is rumored to exist and to stink--because as pretty as it was, it was tight across my stomach. That's no longer a problem, and I really loved it with the Ann Taylor green cardigan that Kristen gave me as a hand-me-down about two years ago.

The necklace is one of the 1 1/2 successes I had stopping by Plato's Closet on Broadway. Apparently, that's a store for "twentysomethings," which is to say, "90% of the sizes are smalls or Juniors, so take your giant rack elsewhere, old lady." I also bought a Charlotte Russe tank in XL, which I thought would be a great layering piece... then I got it home and realized it had a convenient cutout where a gal's tramp stamp resides. Hence the 1/2 of a success. I might dowdy that up next week and put a nice bulky cardigan over it. Take that, Youth of America!

I guess I will continue my thrifting at Goodwill and Brown Elephant and wherever Kate and I decide to go in the city.

3) I continued my Couch to 5K training...

Lowlights:

1) ... though I have had minimal success running the full 25 minutes without a 90-second walking break. I'm going to try again tonight, but I noticed this morning that my knees were sort of stiff and crabby. I will do lots of stretching before I clamber onto the treadmill.

2) Also, I didn't go to BodyFit on Monday. Or do much strength training at all.

3) Also, I managed to gain a pound this week, even though I stayed within calories. I'm going to blame this on The Time of the Month that should be showing up any minute now, and not on the pizza I ate last night. I would never blame pizza. I love pizza. It was thin-crust pizza. It was like Loaf of Bread Papa John's or anything.

Uh, also I had half a lemon tart. And half an order of the Lasagna Art (phyllo dough and ground beef and some sort of rich yogurt sauce).

Soooooo... probably need to not do that right before technical weigh-in day. I'm going to weigh in again on Sunday, just to see.

Happy Friday, one and all!

Monday, March 25, 2013

Weekend Roundup

First things first:
(from l. to r.) Trumper aka Chunker, Tux

The picture is deceiving. I know you want to say "Awwwwww." I sure did. Even though this accidental-Ross-and-Joey-nap thing keeps happening with the two of them--it happened last night as well--inevitably, Tux gets all saucy and swats at Trumper, which Trumper does not truck with. Plum can bully him all she likes because she's the alpha, but this scrawny little interloper? No, sir! So Trumper hisses crabbily at Tux, and then Tux runs away.

But anyway: awwwwwwwwwww. It's cute.

I did a shift at PAWS on Sunday morning, and I sort of wished Tux were there. He would've been adopted for sure. The kitten room is sparse right now as we await the depressing miracle of life that happens each spring when a skillion million stray mama cats are brought into CACC and have litters of kittens. There were several families in looking specifically for a kitten. I don't understand it myself. Sure, they're cute, but they are also hyper, have needly teeth, and are often destructive idiots.

Then again: they are sometimes named Rainbow Unicorn. So there's that.




On the Couch to 5K front, I had my first successful 25-minutes-with-no-walking run. It was very poky, and I had an internal debate that raged for well over two minutes about whether or not I should/could just take 60 seconds to walk around minute 20. Then I became distracted by my playlist, and pretty soon, I was done.

Well, I was also distracted by the gazelle with the Pantene-perfect ponytail on the treadmill opposite me who was running so hard she was making that THUNK-THUNK-THUNK noise that speedy people make when they outpace the treadmill and end up running onto the stand. I was sort of thinking of ways I could maintain my poky pace and throw my towel at her.

I know: I shouldn't compare myself to others and Just Do It and Believe In Yourself and all that other stuff. But seriously: shut up, Gazelle.

I am going to BodyFit tonight, which will be nice. Beyond doing some of my Skinnygirl hand-weight stuff at home, I've been kind of lax on that front for the past seven days or so.



I probably should focus on all the healthy food I ate last week--I'm really trying to do what my former doctor encouraged several years ago and fill my plate at least 50% with green vegetables, even if it's just at dinner--but instead, I have to tell you all I had a cashew sea salt turtle from Amy's Candy Bar, and it was the bomb, yo.
A picture, despite what they told us in our youth, does not make it last longer.
I ate it while walking home from the Damen Brown Line, which made at least 5 of the 20 minutes of my walk fly by. :-)

Also, before the Aziz Ansari show--which was hilarious, of course-- I went out with Allison and friends to the Uncommon Ground in Rogers Park and had an amazing chopped salad, which sounds healthy, but I am pretty sure there was a goodly portion of Gorgonzola on it that sort of undid the health benefits of the lettuce and the cucumbers. I did manage to have tea in place of one of the fabulous-sounding cocktails. You win some, you lose some. But mostly, you wish you had another caramel sea salt turtle right this very minute.



Here's my favorite outfit from last week:

That's a Charter Club wrap dress from Gwynnie Bee with a green "color pop" tank as a cleavage-protector. It's too bad you can't see the accent buttons; they were my favorite bit!

I'm really enjoying my Gwynnie Bee account--thanks again, Kristen, for becoming an advocate or an affiliate or whatever you are--and I'm hoping that between that and doing some thrifting in the next few weeks at Plato's Closet and Goodwill and eBay, I can manage to get through my fluctuating size for the next few weeks without blowing an exorbitant amount of money.


My brother Tony called me last week to mention he tries to leave comments on my booger, but that he doesn't think it is working because he doesn't have a "Google Facebook YouTube" account (a joke courtesy of my other brother Andy, who loves making amalgam tech-and-'Net terms). It's too bad, because I'd be interested to hear what Tony has to say. :-)

Oh, and Joy: I am LOVING my new dishes. Much like Johnny Cash's beloved Cadillac, I am taking them home one piece at a time, but thus far, my mugs and small plates are home. I have officially boxed up all my promotional coffee mugs and the small plates I inherited from my parents about 20 years ago and can't wait until their bowl-and-diner-plate brethren join them.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Cheese and Wine and Whine

It's been a long, cold, frustrating week. It was especially apparent yesterday, when my attitude at work was basically "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" If I could have heckled work, I would have.

Side note: I went to see John Mulaney perform in Madison a few weeks ago with my former college roomie and current super-chum Mary and her guy Friday Peter. Mulaney was incredible, of course, and I laughed and laughed and laughed... but there was this one drunk girl nearby who was making awkward attempts to heckle, and it was the worst. Mulaney was great about it, opting to acknowledge it in a puzzled manner, then ignore it completely, but... honestly. Do people not have friends who are mortified by that sort of behavior? Do a-holes all run in a similarly a-holish pack? Heckling: only appropriate if you're funnier than the comic, and this girl wasn't by a wide-ass margin.

So back to the cruddy week: I was supposed to be in my virtual PHR prep class last night, but I've been having a lot of trouble engaging with it, in large part because the chat option allows for students to talk and ask questions and be disruptive throughout the entire class, and the virtual professor* contributes by addressing the nonstop nattering in real-time. So when Kate (here is her blog, in case you want to marvel at mind-blowing cakes) mentioned that she wished I didn't have to go to class, because she could use happy hour, I responded by saying I was declaring Thursday a Ditch Day... much like our early halcyon days of youth in England, where I was finishing out my college career and routinely tried to be a bad influence on Kate's earnest studying ways.

So we went out and had a bottle of wine and some rich creamy cheese and parmesan garlic frites, which went into my Lose It with broad guesstimates--I had to picture pouring each of my cute little glasses of wine in a Big Gulp to determine how many fluid oz I drank--and I walked home from Montrose and Ravenswood and went to the gym and put in some time on the elliptical, but I'm pretty sure I was still significantly over. And as Kate wisely mentioned, calorie counting is great for losing weight, but there's a fine line where it can become an unhealthy mindset. Even as I work hard and continue to lose weight, I never want to lose my connection with indulging in triple-cream cheeses and something fried once in a while. I'm a sturdy Midwestern gal and, as one former coworker described me, a "cheese freak," and if I'm not feeding the creamery co-op milk tank once in a while, I'm afraid the Wisconsin will seep right out of me.

Besides, we didn't finish the frites. There's something to be said for making the decision to let an indulge come to a natural end.

By the way, I'm not letting Kate off the hook for this, despite her current crabbiness at herself: I read her interview over at K-Town's booger a few days ago, along with the very funniest person I know's, to give myself a little stay-the-course pep talk, and I find Kate's words alternately inspirational and pragmatic. It really helped me to remind myself that it's all about choices and control and health and happiness. And I'm not just saying that because she paid for happy hour last night (wokka wokka).

*Not Max Headroom, sadly... and I realize that by referencing Max Headroom, I date myself in a very, very inescapable manner.


I begin week 7 on Couch to 5K tonight. No looking back: it's all "run a bunch of minutes without walking" from here on out. So if that's the case, it was only logical to sign up for my first 5K this morning. Get ready, world! Get ready to see my beet-red face sweating all over Ravenswood! Mike and Kate and I are going to run it and then go and get pancakes (as God intended).

I'm going to add some tracks (or as the kids call them "traxx") to my running playlist tonight to try and spice it up and get some motivation. Aim has been terrible/great about making some recommendations, which I will add to my #1 goal of adding the Joe Esposito number from The Karate Kid. My running playlist is a mish-mash of grrrl power! (Britney and P!nk and Garbage), Folk/Americana (Avett Brothers and Emmylou Harris), R&B/rap (Salt 'n' Pepa and Michael Jackson and Ini Kamoze?) and recommendations I never would have found thanks to blahmanda (Japandroids and...that one song I downloaded, "Burn," and I can't remember the name of the artist, but they're pretty great), but I dig it, and it's been a great motivator when I need it most, ill-timed Vangelis aside.



My plans for the weekend are to have a morning of fitness with Kate on Saturday, see Aziz Ansari and go to Uncommon Ground in Rogers Park Saturday night, and hopefully BodyFit, then bumming around on Sunday, catching up with Justified and Southland and The Americans.

In the meantime, I will also be taking several pictures of my latest foster, Tux, aka Mr. Alley Cat. In a household full of bulky to muffiny housecats, Tux is a lean machine from the streets. He was fascinated by the terlet, which suggests he is just now seeing the inside of a house. Tux was in the L2 room, which is reserved for kitties who have a bite history, are afraid of/don't do well with children, or have super high energy levels (I like to think of it as Miss Plum Marie's Home for Discipline Cases and Jerkwads... but that's just me). After two days at my apartment, Tux's energy level seems normal for his age... he probably just needed a little more space to roam in, what with his scrappy Ellis Island-and-into-Hell's-Kitchen beginnings. He's a total lovebug, and E. Edward is determined to make friends, despite Tux's reluctance. I realize my booger posts have been pretty void of pictures, so perhaps I'll work on getting one or two into the next one.

PS My kitteny foster, Mr. Otter, is now available for adoption. I am going to go and see him over my lunch hour. I imagine he will be gone by the time the adoption center closes on Saturday. He's a bundle of personality.

Monday, March 18, 2013

Workout, Eat, Navel-Gazing (which could be the "pray" part)

I attended my second BodyFit class on Sunday morning. I am familiar with the instructor from previous Sunday mornings on the treadmill, when I had to turn up my Fire Kindling to drown out the sound of her growling and gnashing and ululating enthusiasm. "That lady," I thought to myself, "is a freaking nut."

But as a person who needs guidance in the world of strength building, I am glad she was there to growl and gnash and ululate on my behalf. It was encouraging when I was doing three-count tricep curls with a bar that I could do it (according to her) and wouldn't die on her watch, regardless of how much sweat was pouring down my scalp (implied... I think). I'm not hurting as much as I did after the first class, but that seemed to come on gradually.

I also attended a yoga class at LadyGym on Saturday morning. I think I'll stick to going over to Bloom Studio  if the yoga bug strikes. While I'm certainly no yogii (yogurt?), the class at LadyGym seems to be a little too slowly paced and gentle for my goals/needs. I want all the granola-sprinkled breathing-and-self-realization-positivist malarkey*, but I also want to know I'm making my muscles work.

*Positivist thought and breathing really aren't malarkey; if anyone's malarkey, I'm malarkey.


On the food front, I've been using Pinterest to try and track down more fast-and-take-to-work friendly recipes, not only for work, but for my home, which has been microwave-free for nearly a year. So I made this curry tuna salad (Greek yogurt instead of mayo) and put it in a wrap instead of on spinach, then finished the schrapnel with pita crackers, and also made a big ol' Crock Pot full of quinoa chicken chili. So if anyone has any delightful suggestions as we transition out of chili weather, hopefully, and into spring, I'm all ears.

I also spent Saturday on a mini-Chicago restaurant feeding frenzy: Little Goat for lunch with friends as a thank you for playing airport chauffeur and Ethiopian Diamond for a traditional pre-St. Paddy's Day dinner. It was a significant cheat day, largely due to the half slice of blood orange meringue pie I consumed--no regrets, because it was heavenly and magical--but I made sure I went to the gym both Saturday and Sunday, despite a nearly last minute chickening out inclination about BodyFit, so I don't feel like my day of gluttony got the better of me.


I'm closing in, slowly but surely, on a loss of 40 lbs overall. I had a moment or two last week where it didn't seem possible or logical that I'm where I'm at. My general line of logic around starting a diet in the past was to:
  1. Recognize I was significantly overweight
  2. Buy a bunch of lettuce
  3. "Forget" my homemade salad lunch
  4. Get Noodles and Company instead
  5. Get McDonalds for dinner
  6. Throw out wilted lettuce four days later
  7. Give up
I have a pattern of this sort of short-sighted self-sabotage in several areas of my life. I let myself see the situation as impossible and frustrating, requiring too much effort and too much time. I've done it with job searches, my personal budgeting, and my self-care.

This time around, I can't tell you what's different. I mean, it seemed to start on a sort of whim, because a friend was enthusiastic about using the Lose It app. But after the inital adjustment period--you know, where your body is convinced it is trapped on a mountaintop in a South American country and that cannibalism isn't so morally reprehensible as you originally thought--I didn't feel overwhelmed. I didn't feel driven by the initial goal number I plugged into the app either. I guess somewhere in my subconscious, I decided to take it...


Don't worry, Kristen: I won't buy this at Amazon and add it to my running playlist :-)

Anyway, all jokey jokes aside, I'm enjoying and participating in the process more than I ever have before, even more than my first time around before my mom died. I am looking for structure and guidance and ways to measure and improve, and I want to talk about it allllllllll the time. I worry a lot that it makes me insufferable, but at the same time, I'm so super jazzed by what I've accomplished and what potential lies ahead-- my first 5K! maybe being brave enough to take Turbo Kick one day! progressing from 3.5 lb hand weights to 5 lbs! -- that I guess I'm willing to be a little insufferable to keep on moving forward.

Over Christmas, my Aunt Carol and I were discussing where I was at so far--I think I was down 20 lbs or so--and I mentioned I had been successfully working off weight before Mom's suicide, to which Aunt Carol said, "She was so proud of you for that." Which is true, I know, as hard as it is to acknowledge without second-guessing it, e.g., "Maybe if I had continued being an unhealthy mess, maybe she would have stuck around to take care of me." And it was so gratifying and touching to hear from my dad after I sent him a text about being halfway to goal (just because I like it so much: "I wish you the best. I was going to say good luck but it is not. It is hard work and determination. You have stuck with this program I am very proud of you. You should be too."). The reaction and acknowledgment by others is important to me, in spite of my awkward shyness about it all. But I think the thing Dad said at the very end of his text has been a critical difference this time around: I'm doing it primarily for myself. It's important to me to be focused and positive and acknowledge success as I'm in the middle of it. I feel like it makes me a more engaged overall citizen of the world (positivism!!!) and more likely to succeed at the other goals in my life, like taking the PHR certification test, going on my crazy trip to Iceland, continuing to find time to volunteer, and being a better friend and family member.

I've been thinking about Mom more lately. Not in any profound way... just thinking. I worry sometimes that when she committed suicide six years ago, I changed so much, so fast, so profoundly... I don't know, I worry that I'm not the person I was, or that I wouldn't know that person if I met her, and maybe she's the person with more potential, better ideas, braver and smarter. I also worry that if I give my grief too much power, let it drive my life choices or existence, I will stagnate, become sad, or sadder, and negative. And Mom really has nothing to do with a lot of that: I tended towards impatience and moodiness while she was alive. I'm snarky and intolerant of what I perceive to be condescension or mediocrity. And with missing my mom in constant competition with being very angry and very confused, I see the potential to become a grouch who holes up in her apartment with three cats, content to love guys on TV and visit friends when it suits me.

But all of the stuff about being sad or snarky or intolerant is only part of it, only part of me, and I know I choose how I go forward. I can be positive and honest and courageous and try just as often as I can be sad or frustrated (but probably not as often as I'm snarky, because let's be honest...). So I try, and if my instinct is to say "I give up," I let it be just a feeling and not some kind of overarching life philosophy. I try to miss my mom and remember good things without being a fibber and not recognizing the hard or sad things in their turn. I try to be honest, or at least be kind.

And if I lost the better version of me six years ago, time is linear. No use crying over spilled milk (I am the milk in that metaphor).

I try. In the end, I try. Every day, even just a little. That has to count as some kind of victory.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Couch to 5K Update

Last night, I ran my week 5/day 3, which set the goal of 20 whole minutes, unassisted by walking or a chair or oxygen. I did it, though I had to scale back from my 11.5-mile pace to 12.0 for about five minutes or so. My proudest moment was checking in with my heart rate after it was over and finding:
1) that my heart had not exploded or melted, and;
2) that my heart rate was around 161, much better than my early days of 170+... I don't know, that seems better; I'm not a doctor.

I also had a moment of self-directed frustration with my running playlist, which I normally feel feeds me what I need at the exact moment I need it ("Why, yes, Running Playlist, hearing 'Tik Tok' midway through this portion of my jogging helps me imagine being a more vital being, a young club kid with glam eyeshadow who can pull off fishnets and can put my hands up at 3:00 AM in a club, when in reality, that is far past my bedtime, and clubs are too loud."). However, in a moment of jokey joking wokka wokkery, I put Vangelis's theme to Chariots of Fire in the mix. This is a track I purchased long before I started all this exercise nonsense in order to illustrate a visual gag, not the first or the last time I've purchased a song on a whim with my Fire Kindling.

Needless to say, when you just bleep-blooped the treadmill down several pace units, it's not the time for the gradual majesticness of the opening strains of the theme to Chariots of Fire. I appreciate where you're coming from, Jessie, but the joke doesn't really land when you're straining to believe that you have the internal fortitude to get through the next 10 minutes of perspiration and redface.

I skipped over to "Two of Hearts" by Stacey Q instead.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

And those eggs were probably uniform because they were powdered...

I bought hot dogs.

Sorry. I've tried to start this post at least six or seven more writerly, interesting ways, but that's what it all boils down to (ha ha, boils, which is what you do to hot dogs? No? I'll keep working on it...). I was at Trader Joe's on Friday, picking up far healthier groceries, and I decided I had a craving for hot dogs. Trader Joe's has an uncured beef hot dog with cheddar, which sounded perfect. The only problem is that once I've had a hot dog, I've got an open pack of hot dogs that are just biding their time until I throw them out because I'm not sure how long they can last when they're uncured and also, is it normal for them to get a slimey outer coat? Probably not?

So I pondered, as one does with problematic hot dogs, and I figured out a second use for the wieners.

I vaguely remember going to YMCA day camp one summer in my youth, and naturally, my one memory related to it revolves around food. I remember eating uniformly perfect lumpy scrambled eggs with hot dogs cut up in them. Like any chubby child--I imagine--I longed to go back into the breakfast line in a series of disguises to get seconds, thirds, fourths, and fifths. When I described the dish to my mom when she picked me up that afternoon, I believe she said, "That sounds disgusting."

Inspired by nostalgia, but also feeling pressured by my participation in a Lose It challenge to eat more veggies in March, I moved ahead with a modified version of the dish I remembered by sauteing a cup of Market Pantry Italian Vegetable Blend (broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, green beans, maybe?).

I don't know that Mom was 100% with her assessment, but like Hostess Snoballs, I think eggs and hot dogs lose their appeal once you've passed age 12. I don't think I can blame it on the vegetables, though on second thought, I don't know that Italian Vegetable Blend with large hunks of cauliflower floret were the best choice.

This morning, like a reasonable grown-up, I had oatmeal with berry mix.
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On Monday, I attended my first BodyFit class. I've been looking for a way to challenge myself and increase my strength training, and the class description promised it was good for beginners. It was, I guess, if you don't mind spending the next two days feeling like you've been pummeled in your arms and legs. My first experience with an exercise ball, and at one point, I wanted to kick it across the gym in a fit of pique. STOP TELLING ME TO KEEP MY BOOTY OFF THE GROUND! I HAVE TOO MUCH BOOTY! IT HAS NOWHERE TO GO AND ALSO MY HAMSTRINGS ARE ON FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRE!

I'm going back Sunday morning. I hope by then my triceps have recovered--when people speak of "shredding" their muscles in a workout, I think my mental picture of running my tender, noodly muscles over a box grater is apt--and I've somehow managed to forget how horrible the verb "pulse" can be.

(But really, it was great--I was exhausted by the end, and my legs were jelly, but it was exhilarating to be challenged and, despite some whimpering, keep up with the class.)
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Day 3 of Otter the Kitten and just as I predicted, Trumper gave him a sample bath last night. This morning, they were running back and forth through the apartment like cuckoo birds. E. Edward joined in every now and then.

Plum retreated to the space between the couch and the slipcover again. Her response when I pet her and said goodbye was probably the cat version of an expletive. So this is probably the first and last kitten I will be fostering.

Monday, March 11, 2013

It would have been the BEST if Michelle Obama had shown up during the "Stronger" number...

Do you remember the Presidental Physical Fitness test? The one you took in middle school, particularly the one you took after you'd blossomed into a C cup and you were more concerned with trying to control the wild undulations of puberty's gift than with making any kind of time for a mile?

I know that wasn't just me. Sometimes it feels like it was just me, though.

I wish I could run it again. Not only because I've had 20+ years to adjust to puberty's gift--thanks, Gaia of Lilith Fair, they got even bigger; not necessary--but because I managed to run almost 2 miles yesterday, and I feel as though I deserve a certificate graced with the signature of the President of the United States.

I would have even settled for everyone busting into a choreographed dance to Britney Spears's "Stronger" (what was on my Fire Kindling as I walked into the locker room afterwards), to be honest. Instead, I just got a good feeling inside. I guess that's an okay reward.

(I would have preferred a choreographed dance number...I've always wanted one of those.)

Later on, at home, when I tried to do a side plank, I felt far less triumphant. Damn the planks! Damn all the planks!
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I am fostering a kitten for the first time. His name is Otter (profile here). He's a snuggler, first and foremost, and while he's playful, he's not as berserk as I was fearing a kitten might be. Trumper would very much like to groom him and roll him around, and I believe in Trumper's powers of persuasion, so hopefully there will be cute snuggling pictures before my 1.5 weeks are up.
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I wish one of my real-time friends were watching Justified. Because this season has been so crazy good, and I want to talk to someone about it. More specifically, I'd like someone to listen to my theory that Ron Eldard grew his hair out for Super 8, decided it looked really, really cool, and just started showing up to auditions with his modified Shaun Cassidy 'do. If I were a casting agent, I'd be like, "Ron, when you return to your Shep-on-ER haricut circa mid-'90s, then we'll talk. Until then, you will only be qualified to play weird, violent drug addicts. Best of luck to you."