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Oh my god, this post. I wrote it about two weeks ago in Notepad because reasons. Notepad crashed. I whined about my stupidity on Facebook and got a lot of smug suggestions that maybe I should try being less stupid. (“Have you considered saving your work? Are you aware of things like Gmail and Google Docs?”) Related: I hate everyone. (Kidding.)

This is long and rambling and not interesting. Now that I’ve sold the hell out of it, read on.

Anyway, I mentioned in my last post that one of the main items on my MUST DO list was re-establishing an exercise routine/schedule. In my previous position, I was able to go to the gym pretty much everyday during my lunch break. This was perfect for me. I didn’t have to scramble to work out in the morning in the midst of getting the kid ready for school or in the evening which is prime Do Nothing time. When I started in my new position, my new boss was perfectly fine with me working out during the day, but it quickly became evident that I wouldn’t always have time to do so. I still made an effort, but five days a week quickly dropped to three and then two and then here and there and for long stretches not at all.

The results of this are what you would expect. I’ve had less energy. I’ve had more, uh, ME. But perhaps worst of all is that my anxiety has gone through the roof. I am this odd mixture of lazy and high-strung. When I really let those two behaviors loose, I end up doing nothing while panicking about it. Without going into too much detail, I have to say that the last eight months or so without regular activity have been pretty tough for me. I feel kind of crazy is the thing and I feel less so when I take an hour a day and kick my own ass.

But without a regular chunk of the middle of the day for ass-kicking, I didn’t know what to do. I could maybe exercise some evenings, but really I’d just rather hang out with the dudes and make dinner and relax. The other obvious candidate was the morning. That was a far from perfect option because:

1a) I’m terrible at getting up early. I love sleeping. I love being in bed. It’s comfortable and warm and there’s usually a husband and maybe a cat or two to snuggle with. Who in their right mind would leave such an awesome environment? Besides that, during the school year, I’m the one in charge of getting the kid up and out the door. Before you chime in with, “Why don’t you make the husband do that sometimes?” let me tell you that HAHAHAHA. He’s even worse at getting out of bed than I am and has way less patience for the kid’s morning antics, which are plentiful. So until the kid is capable of handling himself in the morning, it’s on me to keep him from becoming truant.

1b) I’m terrible at going to bed early. Part of the reason that I’m terrible at getting out of bed early is because most mornings I haven’t spent enough time there. I like being up late and goofing off. Plus this is usually when the husband and I do the bulk of our hanging out. And that’s important, you know? We’re both busy and have a kid and we need to have a good chunk of awake time just for us.

2) I’m kind of a wuss. For a good portion of the year, Pittsburgh is freezing. I hate running in the cold. HATE. IT. I’ve done it multiple times thinking I just need to get used to it. But no. It sucks. I know there are plenty of people who don’t mind it or even like it and I think they’re on rocks. I have a very basic treadmill that I got off of someone during their move, but I don’t really know if our old house can withstand me running on a treadmill anywhere but the basement. Our basement is kind of terrifying. Oh, look, here’s some footage of my last trip down there:

3) I’m kind of insane. I get “all or nothing” about things to a stupid degree and especially during the school year would say to myself, “I don’t have time/energy to get up and run three miles in the morning so I guess it’s just not happening.”

I lay all this out not as a list of excuses but because I think it’s important to be honest about what I will realistically do and what I will realistically make an effort to change. I can maybe tackle most of those things but I’m pretty sure running in the cold is not happening ever. So I’ll have to figure something out for the cold days but let’s table that part for now.

Keeping the above in mind, I decided to wait until the kid was out of school to attempt a new routine. And I decided that I would set a low bar: 25 – 30 minutes, leaving at 6:30ish on Tuesday and Thursday. No distance or speed goal, especially since I knew that those would not be where they once were some months back. Just sheer “getting it done.” So that’s my advice: figure out the easiest possible way to start something and go with it. There are no rewards for conquering some arbitrarily difficult task that matters to no one but you.

Other things that I resolved:

I didn’t disqualify myself based on my lack of skills. Another summer resolution that I might add is taking up yoga again. I used to do it fairly regularly but stopped, mostly because I really liked this one particular class that didn’t fit in my schedule anymore. (Again with this all or nothing nonsense.) But I would always recommend it to people for various reasons and the response that would always piss me off was, “But I’m not flexible.” Like…UGH. Do you only do things that you’re already good at? Really? Wow, life must be awesome for you. Or completely horrible if you’re one of those super rare people who have to work and develop abilities. While I’m not starting from Square One with running and working out (more like Square 12.5 or something…how many Squares are there? I’ve always had a rough time with math) it can kind of feel that way, especially since I can clearly remember how much better I was doing not that long ago. So I had to smack myself out of the, “Well, I’m back at a 12-minute mile so might as well just put my eatin’ dress on and get started on all this canned frosting,” mindset. It’s fine. I’m slow and starting over to some degree. I’ll get back to where I was. Or maybe I won’t. It doesn’t really matter. But sitting her whining certainly isn’t making me any healthier.

I gently kicked my ass. At some point, I have to cut the shit and do what needs to be done. So, one morning, about two weeks ago, I drooped out of bed at the ungodly (to me) time of 6:30 and drooped into running clothes and drooped out the door. The main force behind that momentous achievement being that I knew I had done the bare minimum to make it happen and quitting before I even started would just be stupid.

I have a goal in sight…that I paid cash money for. The kid and I are going to be running the Great Race 10k in September. We’re already signed up and paid. I’m a cheapskate and hate wasting money so we’ll be there no matter what shape we’re in. I just think it would be a nicer experience for everyone if I’m not crying the whole time because ugggghhhhh how did I let this happen?

September 2012, when I had things ON LOCKI’ve come to realize that people are full of shit. A very valid roadblock to this kind of activity is worrying what other people think of you. Real talk: there will be some people who think you have no business being at the gym/at the race/at whatever. They think you’re fat, you’re disgusting, you’re terrible, you probably won’t commit to health and fitness, etc. They only have time to think about what business you have being there because they’re not focusing on themselves. Also, you’re not going to risk bumping into any elite athletes who actively care what you’re doing. So any turd who thinks that about you would look equally foolish mingling with people who are actually good at this stuff. They only get access to judge you up close and personal because they’re down here in the muck with the rest of us. Ignore them. Or antagonize them by, like, eating a doughnut on the elliptical just to make their heads explode.

My next hurdle will be doing this twice a week. I got up early once last week and it was okay. But I gave myself a pass every other morning. The kid and I did get out for a few afternoon/evening runs so that’s good. But this morning, for example, it was NOT happening. It could have, though, which is frustrating. I didn’t suck it up enough. Oh, well. Tomorrow!

Consider this an awkward throat-clearing on a dreary Monday. I want to write again so I’m just going to…begin.

I’m dropping back in here after a generally insignificant weekend that somehow feels momentous. Perhaps the actual nothingness of it is what makes it feel so important. Our spring seasons always experience a hard shift into fifth gear near the end, with school, work, sports, and music colliding into a breathless combination of activities and obligations. Not having to really go anywhere these last few days and actually seeing each other for more than 10-minute bursts at a time almost felt odd.

But this weekend contained a lot of the activities that I’m hoping will make up most of our Saturdays and Sundays these next few precious months.

The husband and I slept in to a somewhat vulgar degree on Saturday. I always feel guilty for not getting a somewhat early start, but we needed the sleep and the time together. We’ve both been going pretty hard the last few weeks and are both still battling the lingering side effects of a nasty head cold.

After getting up, I worked on some laundry, which is an area of my life that is just thoroughly out of control. There’s just so much of it all over the house and I don’t understand how three people can have so much clothing. I also did a really half-assed job of putting away winter clothing and bringing out summer clothing. (Read: both types of clothing are sitting in piles all over the place.) We also have a large cabinet sitting in the middle of our bedroom that was displaced when we got a new washer and dryer and actually you know what let’s stop discussing laundry.

The kid and I have danced around encouraging each other to be more active. I have increasingly become a slug over the past year and it’s pretty upsetting. In my previous job, I was fortunate enough to be able to work out during my lunchtime. My new job, while being wonderful in many ways, does not really have the flexibility to duck out for an hour in the middle of the day. Not regularly, anyways. So, I’ve really struggled to figure out how to get back into a good routine. Aside from the obvious physical, uh, softening that has accompanied this new schedule awkwardness, I’ve noticed that my anxiety has gone way up. Not getting that 30-45 minutes a day to wear myself down means that I get wound up and stay that way.

I’ll come back to this because there’s a lot of unpacking that I want to do about it. But for now I just wanted to mention that the kid and I took two really nice, long walks on Saturday and Sunday. During those walks, I kept thinking about how ten years ago I would take him for a walk in his stroller everyday when the weather was nice. Then one day I started working and that more or less stopped altogether. Back then, I would narrate our walk to him and he would babble back at me and point excitedly at school buses and construction vehicles. This weekend, we discussed how he felt about his now completed sixth grade year and paradoxes. Yes, paradoxes. We’ve cautiously allowed him to venture more onto the internet the past year and he finds some interesting stuff. We had a pretty in-depth discussion about the omnipotence of God which…what? Weren’t you just a squealing toddler who subsisted solely on PediaSure a few hours ago?

Goals for the summer (to be discussed further in later posts):
– Work on establishing a new workout schedule
– Incorporating the kid in this schedule as much as possible
– Writing
– Reading a book (I’ll come back to this, but any time someone mentions a statistic about how some depressingly high percentage of Americans haven’t read a book in the past year, I get pretty red.)
– Get this blog fixed (something became borked with WordPress on here like two years ago and I can’t figure out how to fix it. Help?)

So, you know how I mentioned in my last post that I was nervous about running the Great Race? I totally downplayed just how freaked out I was. Friday night I was getting really worked up and thinking that I should just not go. Especially after we drove from around Frick Park to downtown on the way home from a relative’s house and I thought, “This is really faaarrrr. Shit. It took us awhile to drive this distance. What kind of crazy person runs this?” Saturday I was home by myself most of the day, which was good in the sense that the husband and the kid didn’t have to be subjected to my panic, but bad in the sense that I really got down on myself.

I’m not going to be able to finish. Everyone there is going to be a serious runner since it’s a longer distance. I’m going to collapse on the side of the road in tears by mile 2.

I had only gone the full 10k distance once on a treadmill and I had had to walk and stop quite a few times. I was not at all confident that I would be able to go the full distance on the road and the controlled environment of my gym.

But Sunday morning came around and I found myself lined up with about 5,000 other people in Frick Park. I nervously stretched and danced around to keep warm and reasoned with myself.

If I have to walk a little bit, I’m not going to get upset about it. I will finish this.

The starting gun went off and we slowly funneled our way to the start line. It took me about five minutes to finally get there. As I started running, it seemed like absolutely everyone was flying past me. I kept feeling my legs trying to speed up to catch up with them, but I kept telling myself, “You can’t keep up with them and that’s okay. You need to just keep going at a pace you can maintain.”

I felt like I was going pretty slow, but I had put together an awesome playlist that was the perfect tempo to keep me at a reasonable pace. I was surprised to see the first mile marker since it didn’t seem like we had gone that far. When we got to Carnegie Mellon, the second mile marker appeared and I was not ready to collapse. I knew that the halfway point would be smack in the middle of the Pitt campus and if I could make it that far, I would take a walking break if I really needed to.

Close to the halfway point, it started to rain and I realized that I was feeling pretty good and might actually run the whole way. I was wearing the hat that had come in our race packets, and I was so glad that I did since it kept the rain off of my face. I also used it to prevent myself from looking too far ahead and getting worried about how much farther I had to go. Instead I looked at the feet of the people in front of me and matched their steps to the beats of my music. It was kind of hypnotic.

I missed the 4-mile marker entirely, but looked up when we got close to Duquesne because a band was outside cheering everyone on. There was a guy on the other side of the road shouting and cheering and letting us know that we were at mile 5 and only had a little over 1 mile to go.

Mile 5? Whoa, this is almost over.

I also knew that we were past all of the hills and it would be downhill and then flat the rest of the way. At that point, I realized that I could totally make it the rest of the way running.

So I did. I just kept going.

The rain started coming down harder and I laughed when “Just the Two of Us” by Bill Withers started playing in my earphones.

“I see the crystal raindrops fall and the beauty of it all…”

I guess the proverbial runner’s high was kicking in. I felt great and proud of myself and everyone else that was splashing toward the finish line with me. I couldn’t believe how willing my body was to continue. At the Great Race 5k last year and during practically every run between then and now, I had let my brain tell me how I was too heavy to run so far and that I couldn’t finish without walking some. But here I was, just doing the damn thing.

Point State Park finally came into view and I literally could not believe it when I saw the finish line. I ran through and trotted into the muddy area where everyone was meeting up and wolfing down water and bananas.

My legs felt like they were vibrating and when my mom found me I could tell that my eyes were wide and that I was babbling that I had ran the whole time.

I don’t think I can even begin to explain how excited I was to achieve such a goal, even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to. I think I’ll let my soggy grin tell that story.

P.S. The title of this post comes from one of my running playlist mainstays, “Running Up that Hill” by Kate Bush:

So it seems like the tea tree oil treatment is helping my face situation, though I think it might have something to do with the fact that it requires me to wash my face more. I don’t know.

I was really hoping to embed that Proactiv commercial featuring Puff Daddy where he says that it “moisturizes my situation…it preserves my sexy,” but apparently he took some kind of legal action and deprived the internet of that joy. Asshole.

The oil itself has a really strong scent that makes my eyes water, which gives me that satisfying, “It hurts therefore it must be working” experience.

It’s also a super effective contraceptive method. When I put it on, the husband goes, “AUUUUGGGHHHH WHY DO YOU SMELL LIKE THAT?”

Speaking of the husband, his birthday was yesterday. The baby and I gave him a book of Kurt Vonnegut interviews and some bougie popcorn. I helped him to devour one of the boxes of Fleur de Sel Caramel and guuuuuhhhhhhh it was so good. We’re going to the mother-in-law’s tonight for his official birthday dinner. I made these Vanilla Chai Cupcakes with Cinnamon Buttercream Frosting. I hope they’re good.

 

I’m running the Great Race this weekend and I’m really nervous about it in a frustratingly non-specific way. It’s the 10k, which is a longer race than I’ve ever run before, and I’ve only run a 10k distance exactly once. I think I’m scared that I won’t be able to finish and am dreading the shame that I will inflict upon myself if that happens. Sounds healthy, doesn’t it? But it’s clarifying for me why exactly I don’t do too many races. They kind of ruin my weekend. Aside from having to get up at an ungodly hour on Sunday, I have to physically coddle myself on Friday and Saturday. Usually by Friday evening I’m ready to stay up really late and whatnot. But this weekend I have to spend prime goofing off hours sleeping and hydrating. I really wish the husband was into running so that we could do it together. Woe!

When I got my very own rosacea diagnosis, the dermatologist did not say, “Yes, the persistent acne and blotchy skin is from rosacea…which, by the way, is a really nice way of saying, ‘You have tiny bugs shitting in your pores.'” He stopped at “rosacea.” If it hadn’t been for the internet, I would have spent the rest of my life slathering expensive prescription cream on my face, blissfully unaware of the horrors taking place on my microscopic levels. So, thanks Buzzfeed. I guess.

And, you know, I long ago accepted that we’re all just piles of bacteria and nastiness moving through a soup of bugs and muck, but at least I previously hadn’t been thinking about our face bugs shaking hands when I kissed someone on the cheek.

Over the weekend, I launched a campaign to get the situation under control, which included ordering tea tree oil, which is supposed to help, and new mite-resistant pillow coverings. Then I announced that I was going to be washing our pillows.

“I saw it on Pinterest. What could go wrong?” I bellowed. I used these instructions, which are informative but I must warn you contains the concepts of pillows basically being sponges that double in weight over a year or so due to us seeping all of our face bug shit and life oil into them and oh wait I’m vomiting, brb.

And actually, the whole process was going just fine. I washed my pillow, the baby’s pillow, and a few spares that we keep for guests, and they all came out fluffier and much, much fresher than they went in. The husband’s pillow, for some reason, came out of the washing process smelling like a dog who had spent the afternoon swimming in the Allegheny. (For reference, my dad and I swam in the Allegheny once when I was a kid and my mom wouldn’t let us near the house for like a day and a half.)

I attempted to rectify the situation by washing it again with some baking soda and vinegar to no avail. So the husband is out trying to find a pillow today, probably with a stiff neck. He called me a little while ago to report that Target only had two down pillows that were both really expensive. He called me to update me on this in quite colorful language and I think he heard my sheepish grin over the phone. My defense of his pillow’s demise have ranged from honest regret (“I’m soooo sorry. Really. My intentions were good. I just wanted your pillow to stop eating your face,”) to butthurt (“MY INTENTIONS WERE GOOD, DUDE, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME? I JUST WANTED YOUR PILLOW TO STOP EATING YOUR FACE. EVERYONE ELSE’S PILLOWS WERE FINE. WHY DOES YOURS HAVE TO BE DIFFICULT? YOU AND YOUR PILLOW ARE EXACTLY ALIKE YOU DESERVE EACH OTHER,”).

(Awkward throat-clearing: I don’t do giveaways very often because I’m not a serious enough blogger to get a ton of pitches from companies. But when I do host one, I like it to be something that benefits a local Pittsburgh business. I also picture my usual Daria self being all “GIVEAWAY YAY PEPPINESS!” and that makes me feel weird. I have no idea what the point of this “disclaimer” is. I just felt the need to talk it out. Thanks for listening.)

So, if you’ve been reading for awhile, you’ll know that about two years ago I took some initiative and started working toward making myself physically healthy again. For years, and particularly when I started graduate school, my health was not a priority for me. I didn’t exercise and had really yucky eating habits which, if I’m being honest, I’ve always had even when I was “in shape.” But that’s a whole other post.

After finishing my MA, I realized that I had spent the last several years focusing on my brain and stuffing knowledge into it. And that was satisfying, but it came at the price of completely ignoring my body. I wanted to start focusing on my body, especially since I had entered my 30s and knew that taking care of myself was going to be more important than ever.

I started the Couch to 5k program and began paying more attention to the food that I was eating, how much, and when. I also took advantage of the fact that I worked on a university campus that offered fitness classes and started taking yoga and Pilates. I gravitated toward those because they were familiar to me. When I was a ballet dancer, Pilates became a big part of our routine. Dancers are obviously very strong, but there are often areas that are prone to weakness, particularly the abdominal and core muscles for women. Much like any physical structure, a body with a weak core won’t last very long. Pilates also worked on areas like the legs, feet, and back, which are overused and prone to injury. Just like how athletes cross-train, us dancers supplemented our ballet with Pilates to help us get stronger and avoid getting hurt.

Working on my core strength is even more essential for me if I want to avoid hurting my neck again. My posture was getting worse and worse because my core was getting weaker and weaker, so I’m more mindful than ever of getting those muscles in shape.

I’ve stuck with running, yoga, Pilates, and healthy eating (with plenty of indulgences, of course) for a little over two years now. I don’t know that I’m skinnier, but I’m definitely healthier. And I’d even dare say that I’m healthier than I’ve ever been in my life. By the way, if you’re at the site and can see my little Daily Mile widget on the left or if you follow me on Twitter, you’ll know that yesterday I ran six miles. So…yeah. Pretty proud of that.

A few weeks ago, the cool people at the Verve 360 Wellness Salon and Spa in downtown Pittsburgh found this humble little blog and commended me for my efforts toward fitness. They offered me the opportunity to come and take one of their Pilates classes and to give a free class to one of you lucky people, too. On Monday, I took them up on their offer.

Verve 360 is in a gorgeously renovated building downtown, with the salon on the first floor and the spa areas on the second. After checking in, I met Linda Williams, my instructor for the evening. After I got dressed, Linda took some time to find out what my experience and level of fitness was and learn about any injuries or physical difficulties that I had. She explained that we would be doing a Pilates chair class, which I had no clue about. She showed me their equipment, and I recognized the Cadillac, but hadn’t used in a number of years. The Pilates classes that I take at work are all on a mat on the floor, so this chair thing was totally new to me.

What was immediately wonderful about the class was that it was just me and two other people. Verve 360 keeps their classes small so that you are guaranteed personal attention. This is crucial for something like Pilates, because even though you can learn the basic movements and do them on your own, to get the maximum benefit you really need someone with a trained eye to tell you what adjustments you need to make.

Our class was an hour long and the exercises focused on all parts of our bodies, strengthening them while gaining a better understanding of how they all work together to create movement and balance. The chair, like most Pilates apparatuses, had springs so that you could adjust the tension and, therefore, the amount of work that your body had to do to complete a movement.

At one point, I had my feet planted on the bottom part of the chair and my hands on the seat and needed to lift the bottom half of my body up by engaging my core, butt, and leg muscles. Mentally, I didn’t know how I could do it, but I took Linda’s advice and stopped thinking about it. Then, with a grunt, I was pulling myself up in a way that didn’t seem possible just moments before.

Linda was able to keep an eye on me through each set of movements and let me know what to adjust (“Ribs in, shoulders down, legs turned out,”). It was so fantastic to have someone there to remind me of what I need to think about so that when I do Pilates on my own I can incorporate those adjustments into my practice.

As you can probably tell, I’m pretty evangelical about Pilates and would love for one of you to get to take a class at Verve 360. Whether you’re a seasoned athlete who would like a little extra personal attention or a total newbie to exercise, you will get so much out of this class. So, if you’re in Pittsburgh or the continental US and are planning on being in Pittsburgh some time soon, leave a comment saying why you’d like to try a Pilates class at Verve 360 (or just leave a comment, I’m not picky). You can earn an additional entry by tweeting about the giveaway and leaving a comment here letting me know that you did so. And you can earn even one more additional entry by sharing this giveaway on Facebook and leaving another comment here letting me know that you did that.

The winner will be chosen at random and announced next Thursday, July 5th. Good luck! And thanks to Verve 360 Pilates Pittsburgh for providing the prize!

(Disclaimer: I received a complementary Pilates class from Verve 360 in exchange for hosting this giveaway.)

About a month and a half ago, I suddenly noticed that the skin around my lips was very dry, flaky, and red. I attributed it to seasonal weather changes and sensitive skin, generously applied various moisturizing agents, and tried to be patient until it cleared up. Except it never did. I finally admitted that it wasn’t going away on its own and made a dermatologist appointment.

I have a typically long wait for an appointment (May 14th) and am bracing myself for the hours of my life that I will waste in the waiting room. In the meantime, I did some Googling and figured that the condition was due to either rosacea (which I have), a fungal infection (Christ, I hope not), or a food allergy (dear God, no). So I refilled a prescription for a roasacea medication that I let lapse a few months ago in the hopes that that would help. The flakiness has subsided, and the area feels better, but the redness is still there and it’s really embarrassing. I feel like I look like a clown, which sucks because a) I’m not a clown and b) I really, really hate clowns.

Anyway, yesterday was kind of brutal. I greeted the day on basically no sleep because of an hours-long thunderstorm that kept me up all night. Normally, I sleep through those but for whatever reason this storm demanded a bleary-eyed audience.

As I stumbled into work, my phone rang. It was the principal of my son’s school. I realized that if my son was sick, she wouldn’t be calling me, so that meant that someone was in trouble.

He had gotten into an argument on the school bus with his friend and had decided to kick his friend in the shins. Only he missed somehow and managed to kick his friend in the neck. I’m still not clear on the physics of this situation, but whatever.

My face turned as red as my clown lips as I realized, “My kid is a terrible bully and I am the worst mother ever.” The principal, however, didn’t seem too annoyed since the baby had already apologized to everyone ever and started crying because he felt so bad. And his friend, thankfully, was not hurt and had accepted the baby’s apologies. I silently thanked myself for never having enough time to sign him up for karate lessons. I was able to talk to him on the phone for a second. He sobbed as I reminded him that it’s not okay to get physical, especially not with your friend, and told him we would discuss it later.

Now, I understand that this was just a disagreement between friends that went to an immature and irrational place, and I don’t actually think that my kid is a bully. It’s just weird for me because when I was a kid, I was always the one to shrink away from conflict and, as a result, was often the target of teasing.* So I don’t really understand his perspective. On the one hand, I’m glad (?) that he seems ready to stick up for himself, which I never did, but on the other hand, I really don’t want him picking on anyone.

Later, when we finally got a chance to talk about it, I asked him if his friend was okay and if he was upset with him. “Yeah, I told him I was sorry,” he said. “We’re still broskis.” So, that was comforting. I would hate to see two broskis torn apart by a lapse in judgment.

* I’m happy to report, however, that I’m not bitter about all that stuff and finally stopped dwelling over it years ago since I know the people who teased me probably don’t remember it at all.

So I went on the treadmill today, because I didn’t have sunscreen and therefore couldn’t go on the track. I’m doing the Ease into 10K program, which is like the 10k version of the Couch to 5k. And today, for the first time in a long time, I really felt like I was okay. My breathing was in control, my legs felt fine, and while I wasn’t on pace to set any landspeed records, I was holding steady at 5 mph, a nice jog. I got nice and sweaty, logged almost 3.5 miles, and got to watch an episode of House Hunters. Really not a bad way to spend one’s lunch break.

I’ve signed up for the zombie 5k and the Great Race 10k, both in September. And I’d honestly been getting pretty nervous about them, even though they’re still months away. But I think I’ll actually be able to do them. My body is feeling stronger and more capable and like it’s getting back to where it was before my neck had that big failure. If nothing else, the neck injury has really taught me not to take my health for granted.

Anyway, everything else is good. We’ve been enriching the baby’s life through the classic works of American cinema.

We also took him to see Cabin in the Woods the other night, which is hilarious because I had just seen several indignant tweets from parents about people bringing their 9 and 10-year-olds to that very movie and what terrible people they were for doing that. So, hi! Worst parents ever! Right here! We’re a family of horror movie buffs, what can I say? And no, he did not have nightmares, and he’s only eaten three puppies, which is a significant drop.

Speaking of the baby, his baseball season started on Saturday. They had their annual parade at 10, then their first game at 2:15. It’s worth noting that it was 40 degrees and rainy all day Saturday, so that was pretty miserable, though cute.

Also on Saturday, we went to Art All Night with the sister-in-law and her friend who were in town from D.C. because they had submitted works. It was also too cold for this and I sped through the entire thing like, “Yeah, great. Art. Whatever. Can we go somewhere warm now?” So we went to Primanti’s and it was amazing.

Last Thursday was the Big Freedia show. I had not adequately prepared myself for all of azz that I ended up seeing. Be sure to watch the dancer on the right.

I mean, I expected it from the dancers, but watching a bunch of Pittsburgh girls grind on the stage was a little weird. Very fun, though. I’m glad we went.

So, hey. It’s been a minute? No big, I just became a little overwhelmed with work stuff and needed to simplify life where I could. This meant more or less taking a hiatus from the internet, minus my usual spewing of brilliant nuggets onto Twitter when the spirit moved me.

Physically, I’m doing okay. My insurance had had enough of me going to that physical therapy snakeoil treatment, so I’m basically trying to make sure that my neck doesn’t get any worse the next few months and hopefully will continue healing. It seems to be doing okay and I mostly only notice any discomfort or pain if I sit for too long or if I get too ambitious during yoga and try to do like plow pose or something.

What’s kind of really upsetting is that the combination of my neck injury, the required period of inactivity, Christmas, and the god-I’m-depressed-about-this-let-me-eat-this-stick-of-butter methods of dealing mean that I have more or less gained back all of the weight that I lost after working so hard at getting healthy and active. I’m bummed and trying to do what I can about it, but I easily get stuck in the, “I’ve ruined all of my hard work and now I shall be overweight forever,” rut of self-loathing. Also, last night I made the extremely poor decision to watch the first episode of the first season of The Biggest Loser (I know, I know) and one of the contestants was my size exactly. That was upsetting.

ANYWAY disordered thinking aside, things are okay. The husband and the kid and I are trekking to New York this weekend (no, that is not an invitation to rob my house). They’re going to go see Kraftwerk while the sister-in-law and I will spread our distinct brand of classiness all over Queens.

Now that spring is settling in, I’m getting excited about stuff that will be happening the next few months. On the 26th, presumably still glowing (read: scrubbing the grime off) from NYC, the husband and I are going to go see Big Freedia. You might recognize her as the singer in the episode of Treme when Davis and Aunt Mini go to a bounce show. She is also the creator of this wonderfulness.

Speaking of Azz, I made the husband watch a documentary from 2000 called American Pimp that had recently popped up on Netflix. It was obvious that it had influenced parts of Idiocracy (the Upgrayedd character) and “The Playa Hater’s Ball” from Chappelle’s Show. I, of course, fell asleep midway through. This morning, I asked the husband if he had watched the rest of it and if it was any good.

“Yeah. Great soundtrack. It was just kind of way too long for what it was. They just kept explaining the same thing over and over again.” Then he sighed, “Like, ‘Yes, we get it. You can’t show the bitch no love.'”

I spent a good portion of the day yesterday sneezing, but was certain that I was in the early stages of seasonal allergies. “Woohoo! Spring!” I thought initially. Around mid-morning, my left nostril shut down while the right one went into overdrive to ensure that I had a steady stream of clear, watery snot. At that point, the first seed of doubt began to sprout in my brain, but I pushed it away.

“I’m cool. I just have allergies. I’m fine. I’m not getting a cold. I just have to stand in the middle of my office and forget what I was going to do while letting a Kleenex hang out of my nose. It’s my process.”

After dinner, I could feel my head start to feel like dough and finally admitted defeat. “I have a cold. Dammit,” I said. Only it sounded more like, “I hab a code. Dammid.” I was also coming to terms with the fact that I definitely had a stye in my right eyelid. I stood in the middle of my bedroom half-naked, having deliriously removed my pants at some point, and declared, “This sucks.” The combination of ailments made me feel as sexy as when I initially hurt my neck and had to adopt my Nosferatu posture.

This morning at the school bus stop, I was approached by one of the usual characters that I encounter from time to time in my neighborhood. This time it was the minimally-toothed, lisping lady who warned me of the used condom nearby.

Today there were no neighborhood watch emergencies. Instead she asked me if I had a fresh Kleenex, or “Kleeneksh,” as she calls them. Thoroughly out of it and breathing out of my mouth, I started to hand her the Kleenex that I had in my hand. “Well, I have this one, but I’ve been using it and so it has a little snot on it,” I said. She looked at the Kleenex, looked at me and, I swear to dog, backed away slowly.

“Sho, that’sh a no,” she said, reaching my conclusion for me since I was obviously in no shape for rational thought.

“Um, yeah, I guess so,” I replied.

“Becaushe we don’t want to shpread germsh around!” she called out over her shoulder, before wiping her nose on her sleeve.

My nose may be leaking and my eye may be swollen, but I can out-crazy the crazy lady when I really put my mind to it.