I hate me in the face

I've been feeling pretty "BLECH" lately. I haven't managed to run since my last post about running (also my first...), and haven't done much else useful in that time either. Oh, I found my Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred dvd. Does that count?

I keep telling myself I *should* work out, I *should* watch what I eat a bit more carefully... But when it comes down to it, I just don't. I have great excuses for not exercising: I almost killed myself trying to run and am SO SORE and I need to recover; It's "that time of the month" and I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to drag my ass to the computer and Shred or worse yet drag myself out on our very public road to run; it's too hot; it's too cold; the kids are awake; the kids are asleep... well, you get the idea.

So all weekend I've been super cranky and feeling super fat and, as I said, "BLECH." I was hungry at 4:30 so I ate some leftovers, knowing dinner wouldn't be for a couple of hours. Then I made myself impromptu fudge s'mores using marshmallows, a chocolate bar, peanut butter, and stale ice cream cones. Luke helped me eat that, but yeah, I felt even slothier after that. And also not hungry.

By dinnertime at 7, I was still not hungry and having major guilt over my "snack." So I moped. I helped Luke cook tacos for them and moped. He, wonderful guy that he is, hugged me and told me he loved me and he was sorry I was feeling so shitty lately (I wonder if, just a teeny bit, that didn't mean he was sorry he had to deal with my shittiness too. I wouldn't blame him, I've been pretty shitty). He asked if there was anything in particular that was causing it and I said no. Because really, feeling fat shouldn't be enough to cause the kind of dark cloud that's been overhanging me for the past few days. I did mention my self-loathing "I hate your stupid fat ugly face" feelings to him, as an aside, and he suggested I go for a run. HA! Like I wanted to subject myself to pain and torture on top of my bad mood. So he suggested a bike ride, even though we'd taken the boys on one earlier. "A real bike ride," says he.

I whined inside. I thought about my soft comfy bed and my next Percy Jackson book. Then I decided to Suck It Up Already, Woman and, in the words of Nike (the brand, not the goddess), Just Do It. I installed my new bike computer (with the help of my super-helpful guy), donned my duncecap bike helmet, and rode.

Time: 21:30
Avg. Speed: 10 mph
Distance: 3.5 miles
Calories: 150

So it's not much, but it's a start. It's more distance than I've done in a single, respectably-speeded go. And I'm amazed how long it didn't take me. I'm thinking I definitely want to start riding the boys to town, since it's only about 2-3 miles away, but the busy streets make me nervous.

I'm also amazed how good I feel. I shouldn't be amazed, because I ALWYAS feel awesome after exercising. It's just the BEFORE exercising crappy feeling is so convincing. I'm not sure what to do to get myself to do this with consistency. But for now, I don't hate me in the face anymore.

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Daily Gratitudes

-- Clouds and almost rain on a just-too-warm day

-- BOOKS, specifically YA fantasy

-- My public library, #1 per capita in the country. ♥♥

-- Suburbia, where I can ride on paved roads and sidewalks and feel safe 

-- Endorphins

Nothing to see here

Oh. Um, hi there, Internet.

I know the grandparents are waiting for a post about our camping trip last weekend, complete with pictures-I-haven't-even-uploaded-yet and that the other two people who read this blog are just like, "hey, don't you have anything interesting to say?"

Well, not really. I mean, I've been enjoying my summer. And by enjoying, I mean hiding out in the house for the past week because it's been stiflingly hot and humid outside (YES I am a wimp and NO I can't handle 95º and 90% humidity). As mentioned, we did go camping last weekend (among other adventures).

The truth is, I just haven't had anything interesting to say. And while I'm feeling pretty upbeat, on a mental and emotional level, I'm also feeling very whiny. And no one likes to listen to a blogger whine. I mean, I could tell you how I feel tired all the time, even though I've been sleeping better the past couple of weeks. I could tell you how I want desperately to lose some weight and feel healthier but can't seem to motivate myself to consistently exercise. I could tell you how I have come to LOATHE runners because I want so desperately to be one of them and can't seem to do it. I could tell you how I hate having no money left at the end of each paycheck to do things like join a gym, get a haircut, or fill in my way-too-long gel nails I treated myself to for a belated Mother's Day gift (um... 4 or 5 weeks ago. Yep, they're ugly now).

But like I said, no one likes to listen to a blogger whine. So I talk about my life in short 140 character bursts while my blog gathers cobwebs, along with my house, my body, and my brain.

Daily Gratitudes: 

-- Audiobooks, the only way I keep my house moderately clean

-- Lego Duplo, hours of choking hazard-free entertainment

-- Percy Jackson and the Olympians, 1-day reads that help me brush up my mythology

-- My kids being CHAMPION travelers. We spent probably 12 hours in the car last weekend and they hardly complained. 

Warning: Serious Bitchfest Ahead

Oh. My. Gods.

Ow.

I just got home (literally, walked through the door 5 seconds ago, so my pain is still RAW and FRESH) from my first Couch-to-5k "run." For the uninitiated, this program is supposed to do just what it sounds: get you from literally no exercise to being able to jog/run 5k in 9 weeks. Three "runs" per week, starting the first week with a 5-minute warm-up, followed by intervals of 60 seconds jogging/running and 90 seconds of "brisk" walking.

In short, I suck.

My first 5 minutes were great. I was walking along at a great clip, about 3 mph according to Sanoodi, my Blackberry tracking application (which, incidentally, I highly recommend for Blackberry, iPhone, and Windows Mobile users. It's free, GPS tracks your route and other info -see end of post- and uploads it automatically to your account!). I got sidetracked waiting for a stoplight, but did my first few runs without much trouble. Except that my ankles started to ache a bit.

By the time I was through, I had skipped one run altogether (another stoplight snafu) and walked the last 10 seconds of one. And my "brisk" walks? HA! It was all I could do not to drop to the ground and CRY for 90 seconds. But I kept moving, at least.

In the end, I walked about 1.5 miles in about 33 minutes. I think I might have done better if I'd just WALKED the entire way, rather than the combination. My body hurts so much. My calves felt, for my last 5 minute walk (cool-down) like they had lead weights attached. My ankles feel like they've been in a torture chamber. I mean they HURT. Especially the right side - when I step, it hurts from my ankle halfway up the back of my calf. Bad form?

And I am sweating. This is not bad, but highly unusual for me.

The good news is I GODDAMNED DID IT. I got out, in public (a really huge hangup for me, exercising out in the open) - I mean it was 6:30 and 7 pm and I was walking/jogging past the traffic that backs up Raymond Drive in Naperville at rush hour. Not pretty. But I did it. It was actually worse in the forest preserve (where I was heading to have some privacy - HA!), where people could hear me panting and gasping. I felt like an ass. But I did it.

I'm glad this is only expected of me 3 days per week because if I had to do it again tomorrow, I'm pretty sure I'd die. As it was, I was considering shredding tomorrow, but that hurts my ankles too. WTF is up with that, anyway?

The best news? I had the forsight to make my final walking song Jack Johnson's "Bubble Toes," which puts me in this weird state of eye-rolling bliss no matter what the situation. So I was able to make it home without resorting to a crawl.

And now? Shower. If I can stand up that long.

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Sanoodi details:

• 
  
• Wed Jun 17 18:22:22 2009
• 00 hr, 31 mins, 27 secs
• 
  
• 1.5 mi
• Average speed:2.9 mph
• Max speed: 5.7 mph
• Pace: 20:58 min/mi
• Altitude gain: 26.0 m
• Altitude loss: 27.0 m
• Altitude change: -1.0 m

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And lest I forget, my daily gratitudes:

- I have two working legs and feet and health enough to attempt this
- Toddlers who nap in high chairs
- Awesome husbands who make dinner while you attempt suicide run
- 70º Overcast evenings, perfect for running
- Fresh, clean, running water in which to shower

Remember This

In every parent's life, there are moments you hope your child will forget. Moments where you cross your fingers and pray to whatever god or higher being you believe or don't believe in, hoping against hope your child won't remember you losing your temper, watching that scary movie, or running off to a neighbor's house naked. Today was not that day. Today was a day I whispered to my son, just as he was falling asleep, "Don't forget this. Please, Quentin, remember this."

Today we had a nice breakfast out together, went to the library and a short grocery shopping trip, and then had a positively blissful evening. We grilled Tofurkey sausages and ate together at the living room table because the dining room was occupied - by a tent.

After practicing his piano lesson, Quentin, Jude, Luke, and I all went for a bike ride. Jude rode in the trailer behind Luke,

but Quentin rode the whole way - about 1.3 miles.



Upon arriving home, we toasted marshmallows on the propane grill and made s'mores.

Then we all piled into the tent for a bedtime story.

It was a Super, Fantastic, Wonderful, Very Good Day.

I hope he remembers. I know I will.

Linguaphilia

As antisocial as I am, language is something hugely meaningful to me. I would call myself a linguaphile, clinging to purity of language but also allowing it to flow naturally, desiring to learn new words and new meanings and new languages. This is, evidently, something I've passed on to my son in one way or another.

Quentin started talking early (by 18 months he was already using short sentences, where Jude is still only managing a couple half-formed words) and is, shall we say, loquacious. I mean, the kid never shuts up. But, to his credit, he doesn't just jabber on with toddler- or preschool-esque words and language. In true only child form (which he was up until he was three, long enough to develop a habit), he most often speaks like an adult, and frequently uses words which would confuse the piss out of some fully-grown humans.

His curiosity is insatiable and his memory indelible, both of which undoubtedly contribute to his language abilities. When I am reading to him and he doesn't recognize a word, he often glarks the meaning, but most of the time, he'll ask me what it means. And then? He remembers what I've said. Hell if I can get the child to remember to put his dishes away after eating or not hit his brother, but the definition of some heretofore unbeknownst to him word? Forever emblazoned in his mind. 

Last night, we were reading a short tale in one of his (formerly mine!) Sesame Street saga books. It was a mystery, involving an invisible mud monster.  "Mommy, what's invisible mean?" asked he. I defined it for him and we went on with the story and bedtime.

This afternoon, whilst playing outside, he rang the doorbell. I shushed him, lest he wake his brother. He thought for a moment, then said, "Mommy, what's 'wicked' mean?"

I had to think for a moment, deciding where he might have heard the word. "It depends on the context, I guess. It can either mean really bad or really cool." Ah, the confusing irony of slang.

He thought hard, looked confused, and thought some more. "Well, what's the word that means you can't see it?"

Ah, now I understood. "Invisible."

"Mommy, is the doorbell invisible?"

And we were off on another conversation, but I'm sure he'll never have to ask about that word again.