I ate a second dinner tonight.
I started off my day with good intentions. I had a cup of coffee (with creamer because I love it and just take it into my calorie count everyday) and then went skating for a whole 30 minutes. Hard core roller skating, ya'll, like it was 1991. I had a sensible peanut butter sandwich on wheat for lunch and then a small cup of pasta with a light alfredo sauce and a whole buncha spinach tossed in for good measure. Oh, and I had a cupcake while my kids were napping.
Then I had to have an MRI scan done tonight (who knew they could do them so late in the evening but I was glad to not take the time off from work), stopped at the grocery store on my way home and by the time I pulled into my driveway, I was famished. A smarter person might have gone to bed, or just had a glass of water, but not this girl. I dug out Carrabbas leftovers (chicken marsala!) and sat myself down to dinner #2. And now I'm on cupcake #2. And I don't feel guilty and just thought you should know. :)
Monday, January 16, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Flashbacks
This will not be a happy, everything-is-punderful post. Feel free to redirect to another webpage, or keep reading you're interested. Just consider yourself warned.
Six and a half years ago I was involved in a pretty serious car accident. In April of 2005, I had left school and was on my way to pick up a friend's son; I was going to babysit that afternoon. I took the interstate towards the mall and was listening Jay Z's "99 Problems." It's funny the things I remember so distinctly about that day. I was in the middle lane heading south. A good distance up ahead, I saw a car in the northbound lane cross into the median and then come into traffic on our side of the highway. It was a small truck and it cut a diagonal across all three lanes of oncoming traffic and went down into the ditch. I remember looking into the rear view mirror to make sure it was clear and I moved into the far left lane, as far away from the truck as I could and slowing down as quickly as I could safely slow down. I remember breathing a sigh of relief when the car into the ditch and then the sharp intake of air as I saw the car come back into traffic. And then, as cliche as it sounds, time slowed down and every detail is etched into my mind. I saw the truck ping off three cars in front of me; everytime it would spin around a full 360 degrees and hit another. It hit the SUV in front of me, which I then rear ended. The truck spun around one final time, nailing my sweet Toyota Corolla in the back before it finally stopped and started smoking. In the median, the front of my car in the bushes, I put my hand up to my face and felt blood. Though I desperately wanted to see my reflection, I knew that once I did, I would be an emotional wreck. I tried to call my mom and couldn't get through. I tried to call my friend, whose son I was going to pick up and couldn't get through. I called my best friend and told her, so calmly, that I had been in a car accident and was likely going to be taken by ambulance to the hospital; I would ask to be taken to the one where my mom works. I looked in the mirror, saw the blood smeared on my face, took a deep breath and got out of the car, where I collapsed. The next thing I remember, I was on a stretcher, being loaded into the ambulance. I remember pleading for the medics to go back to my car and get my purse, my CD case and my school bag. Somehow, I had the foresight to get those things then, which was good because I wasn't able to get into my car until a week later. In the ambulance, I requested that they not belt my arms down. They were afraid I was going to seize, but I was such a state of panic that they took a verbal consent.
I remember being wheeled into the emergency room and being left alone, strapped down in a neck brace for what seemed like hours. It took me awhile to realize that I wasn't at my mom's hospital, but at one across town. I imagined my mom in the ER across town, waiting for me. I was alone and scared and I just wanted my mom. It's amazing how difficult it was to find someone to help me, to call for me and let my family know where I was. At some point, my mom showed up and after rounds of xrays, I was told nothing was wrong. A police officer told me that had my seat been moved up just 2 inches closer to the steering wheel, I could have done much more damage. I was lucky that I was okay.
But what they didn't tell me was that sometimes, they can miss injuries. I spent four months in physical therapy, telling the doctors that something more was wrong, before they realized that I had, in fact, broken my wrist and it had healed improperly and would now cause me lifelong pain. What they didn't tell me was that the reason no one was checking on me was because there were three other people brought in from the accident, all with more serious injuries than my own, including the driver (sidenote: he was drunk at 3:30 in the afternoon. He had found out a few months prior that he was a diabetic, which he denied for a long time. He was driving home to PA and had stopped off for a late lunch and a few beers, which caused him to go into a diabetic shock, which caused the accident). They didn't tell me that it would take two years to settle with the driver's insurance company and that for two years, I would have to think about the accident on a daily basis. They didn't tell me about the paralyzing fear I face. I couldn't drive at all, anywhere for over a month. It was over a year before I could drive on the same stretch of road and several years before I would drive down the highway without thinking of the accident. I mean, as recently as just two years ago, five years after the accident.
And so for the past two years, I've been okay. Until last weekend, when I was driving down that highway and watched a car dip down into the grassy median and begin to spin around until it was pointed towards me, towards oncoming traffic. I slowed, moved as far to the right this time and eventually pulled off the side of the road, shaking. I called 911 and reported the accident and waited there until an ambulance pulled up.
And now I'm not sleeping very well. I'm overly cautious when I'm driving, constantly checking my mirrors and the location of the cars around me. I am replaying my accident over and over again. And did I mention not sleeping? Because all I can think of before I lay my head down is what if I don't ever wake up-- who will love on my boy? Who will make sure that Jason laughs every day? Who will teach E$ all of the things I want to teach him? Who would talk to Myles about college and books? What would life be like for those I would leave behind?
I feel, sometimes too acutely, the worry over death. I worry less about my actual death and more about the life that continues on without me. I don't want to miss out on any of it. I had just gotten to a place where I wasn't paralyzed by the idea of my dying, when this stupid thing happened and the flashbacks are sudden and fierce and I can't sleep.
Six and a half years ago I was involved in a pretty serious car accident. In April of 2005, I had left school and was on my way to pick up a friend's son; I was going to babysit that afternoon. I took the interstate towards the mall and was listening Jay Z's "99 Problems." It's funny the things I remember so distinctly about that day. I was in the middle lane heading south. A good distance up ahead, I saw a car in the northbound lane cross into the median and then come into traffic on our side of the highway. It was a small truck and it cut a diagonal across all three lanes of oncoming traffic and went down into the ditch. I remember looking into the rear view mirror to make sure it was clear and I moved into the far left lane, as far away from the truck as I could and slowing down as quickly as I could safely slow down. I remember breathing a sigh of relief when the car into the ditch and then the sharp intake of air as I saw the car come back into traffic. And then, as cliche as it sounds, time slowed down and every detail is etched into my mind. I saw the truck ping off three cars in front of me; everytime it would spin around a full 360 degrees and hit another. It hit the SUV in front of me, which I then rear ended. The truck spun around one final time, nailing my sweet Toyota Corolla in the back before it finally stopped and started smoking. In the median, the front of my car in the bushes, I put my hand up to my face and felt blood. Though I desperately wanted to see my reflection, I knew that once I did, I would be an emotional wreck. I tried to call my mom and couldn't get through. I tried to call my friend, whose son I was going to pick up and couldn't get through. I called my best friend and told her, so calmly, that I had been in a car accident and was likely going to be taken by ambulance to the hospital; I would ask to be taken to the one where my mom works. I looked in the mirror, saw the blood smeared on my face, took a deep breath and got out of the car, where I collapsed. The next thing I remember, I was on a stretcher, being loaded into the ambulance. I remember pleading for the medics to go back to my car and get my purse, my CD case and my school bag. Somehow, I had the foresight to get those things then, which was good because I wasn't able to get into my car until a week later. In the ambulance, I requested that they not belt my arms down. They were afraid I was going to seize, but I was such a state of panic that they took a verbal consent.
I remember being wheeled into the emergency room and being left alone, strapped down in a neck brace for what seemed like hours. It took me awhile to realize that I wasn't at my mom's hospital, but at one across town. I imagined my mom in the ER across town, waiting for me. I was alone and scared and I just wanted my mom. It's amazing how difficult it was to find someone to help me, to call for me and let my family know where I was. At some point, my mom showed up and after rounds of xrays, I was told nothing was wrong. A police officer told me that had my seat been moved up just 2 inches closer to the steering wheel, I could have done much more damage. I was lucky that I was okay.
But what they didn't tell me was that sometimes, they can miss injuries. I spent four months in physical therapy, telling the doctors that something more was wrong, before they realized that I had, in fact, broken my wrist and it had healed improperly and would now cause me lifelong pain. What they didn't tell me was that the reason no one was checking on me was because there were three other people brought in from the accident, all with more serious injuries than my own, including the driver (sidenote: he was drunk at 3:30 in the afternoon. He had found out a few months prior that he was a diabetic, which he denied for a long time. He was driving home to PA and had stopped off for a late lunch and a few beers, which caused him to go into a diabetic shock, which caused the accident). They didn't tell me that it would take two years to settle with the driver's insurance company and that for two years, I would have to think about the accident on a daily basis. They didn't tell me about the paralyzing fear I face. I couldn't drive at all, anywhere for over a month. It was over a year before I could drive on the same stretch of road and several years before I would drive down the highway without thinking of the accident. I mean, as recently as just two years ago, five years after the accident.
And so for the past two years, I've been okay. Until last weekend, when I was driving down that highway and watched a car dip down into the grassy median and begin to spin around until it was pointed towards me, towards oncoming traffic. I slowed, moved as far to the right this time and eventually pulled off the side of the road, shaking. I called 911 and reported the accident and waited there until an ambulance pulled up.
And now I'm not sleeping very well. I'm overly cautious when I'm driving, constantly checking my mirrors and the location of the cars around me. I am replaying my accident over and over again. And did I mention not sleeping? Because all I can think of before I lay my head down is what if I don't ever wake up-- who will love on my boy? Who will make sure that Jason laughs every day? Who will teach E$ all of the things I want to teach him? Who would talk to Myles about college and books? What would life be like for those I would leave behind?
I feel, sometimes too acutely, the worry over death. I worry less about my actual death and more about the life that continues on without me. I don't want to miss out on any of it. I had just gotten to a place where I wasn't paralyzed by the idea of my dying, when this stupid thing happened and the flashbacks are sudden and fierce and I can't sleep.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Remember when I said...
Remember when I posted just a day ago and asked you to poke me or message me or nudge me gently, reminding me to write? One sweet mama did and so here I am, unable to sleep at this ungodly hour of 1:00am, writing a blog post for you.
The holidays are here, in full force. I am big on traditions, the ones that we had growing up and creating our own with the boys. I think I do this partly because the traditions ground me and help me remember to be full of gratitude for how much we really have (even when, or especially when, it feels like we don't). We've started an advent calendar of sorts (read: a mason jar of colored popsicle sticks; we pull out one a day and read what I oh-so-sneakily wrote on the back the night before... or just in the minutes before because I totally forgot the night before. Don't judge). Santa brings the boys holiday pj's on Christmas eve, while they're in the bath and they JUST BARELY MISS HIM, OH MAN SANTA WAS IN OUR HOUSE AND YOU MISSED HIM BECAUSE YOU WERE IN THE BATH. But my favorite-- my very favorite-- is the annual holiday card, complete with family photo. Now I don't get all Looney Tunes and write a family newsletter or anything (too pretentious for me, but I'm not judging those who do), but I do get a little nutso over getting a good picture of us all together before the first week of December. It's getting hard because the oldest is working full time and H.Bomb is only with us every other weekend and E$ is three, which means he'll generally do the opposite of whatever it is I want. Last year's card may have been the best ever:
(eyes closed)
(strange dogs and faces)
(scared Jason, waving E$)
(two angry kids)
(almost... but not quite)
(E$'s eyes are closed)
(um, yeah)
(this was the one I used, despite the wave)
(the forced smile)
The holidays are here, in full force. I am big on traditions, the ones that we had growing up and creating our own with the boys. I think I do this partly because the traditions ground me and help me remember to be full of gratitude for how much we really have (even when, or especially when, it feels like we don't). We've started an advent calendar of sorts (read: a mason jar of colored popsicle sticks; we pull out one a day and read what I oh-so-sneakily wrote on the back the night before... or just in the minutes before because I totally forgot the night before. Don't judge). Santa brings the boys holiday pj's on Christmas eve, while they're in the bath and they JUST BARELY MISS HIM, OH MAN SANTA WAS IN OUR HOUSE AND YOU MISSED HIM BECAUSE YOU WERE IN THE BATH. But my favorite-- my very favorite-- is the annual holiday card, complete with family photo. Now I don't get all Looney Tunes and write a family newsletter or anything (too pretentious for me, but I'm not judging those who do), but I do get a little nutso over getting a good picture of us all together before the first week of December. It's getting hard because the oldest is working full time and H.Bomb is only with us every other weekend and E$ is three, which means he'll generally do the opposite of whatever it is I want. Last year's card may have been the best ever:
See?!? Complete and total awesomeness. I love the colors, the fonts, the photo, the message. I don't like cards that are specifically Christmas; I try to be sensitive to the fact that some people don't celebrate Christmas, so this card was perfect. In every way except for the fact that I can't mail it out again this year.
Here's a brief sampling of pre-edited photos for this year's card (keep an out for waving hands, moving dogs and closed eyes):
(eyes closed)
(strange dogs and faces)
(scared Jason, waving E$)
(two angry kids)
(almost... but not quite)
(E$'s eyes are closed)
(um, yeah)
(this was the one I used, despite the wave)
(the forced smile)These didn't leave me much to work with. They were all almost perfect and then just fell flat. Le sigh.
And now I'm feeling redundant-- I almost always do a black and white photo with a color background. I put our names in the same order (by age). I choose an funkier card as opposed to one with rolling, pretty script with bright colors and a theme of general love and happiness during the holidays. There is certainly no one putting any pressure on me except for myself; when I showed Jason the one I think I'll order for this year, he sort of grunted and nodded and farted twice (no lie), all of which I took as his approval. I'm ordering straight from Sam's Club instead of Etsy to save a few bucks, so I might have to settle with a lackluster font, but it's just a card, right?
If you're the kind of person who never actually gets around to sending out holiday cards, you might be wondering why this is such a big deal to me. If you're the kind of person who frets over a newsletter, you might be wondering why choosing a simple card keeps me up at night. Sometimes, I wonder why I think so much about it, to the point where it has become a joke in my family and among some of my friends-- my odd obsession with The Holiday Card. To me, that card means that we at least sort of have it together. It means that my kids are growing and doing well, that we are all doing well. That we are happy enough to make taking this picture a priority and that it means we're not being bogged down by the heavier things that often come in life. Knock on wood, that card means that we are not sick, that we have jobs and a home and can still surround ourselves with love. That we have a lot to be grateful for. So please bare with me as I obsess over The Card; understand that in the end, whatever picture is there, whatever font is there, it all just means I have a lot to be thankful for.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Once Upon a Time...
Once upon a time, I used to write. I was a writer. And a reader. And a crafter and a baker and all kinds of other things. Currently though, I am a mother and a teacher and a wife. Those things are sucking up every second I possibly find and it leaves very little no time for such things as blogging. I have time to pin things to Pinterest, so you can check me out there. I found a great pin a few weeks ago that really sums me up:
Tis true. And with the holidays coming, there will be less time. But I'm planning on making a comeback before too long, so keep checking on me. Or poke me on FB and tell me to start writing again. Or send me an encouraging email.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
And it's October!
No post in August or September, huh? I am an awful blogger. For those who read/check in, I'm sorry. I have reasons and excuses if you want them (huge vacay in August, new house at the end of August and school in September).
In short, life is great. It is wonderful (and punderful, always). We have a new house, our old house has become a home for our oldest and my sister, we had awesome vacations in August and the school year is off to a great start. I feel so lucky to have E at school with me, to see him enjoying himself during the day.
Here's my confession-- since we moved and got rid of the DVR, in an effort to save money, I've become the kind of person who schedules her life around shows. I can't give E a bath because Glee was coming on; I can't go to sleep early to get up early because Criminal Minds or Grey's Anatomy is coming on. I can't (fill in here with a timely task) because (some cheesy show that I could probably watch online) is coming on. I'm so about organic food, healthy living, getting good sleep, avoiding unncessary chemicals and food dyes, recycling, composting but damn I cannot get behind the no TV thing. I am such a child of the eighties..
And now Raising Hope is on, so I need to go focus on that.=) But you understand, right? Poor white Cosbys? It's good stuff.
In short, life is great. It is wonderful (and punderful, always). We have a new house, our old house has become a home for our oldest and my sister, we had awesome vacations in August and the school year is off to a great start. I feel so lucky to have E at school with me, to see him enjoying himself during the day.
Here's my confession-- since we moved and got rid of the DVR, in an effort to save money, I've become the kind of person who schedules her life around shows. I can't give E a bath because Glee was coming on; I can't go to sleep early to get up early because Criminal Minds or Grey's Anatomy is coming on. I can't (fill in here with a timely task) because (some cheesy show that I could probably watch online) is coming on. I'm so about organic food, healthy living, getting good sleep, avoiding unncessary chemicals and food dyes, recycling, composting but damn I cannot get behind the no TV thing. I am such a child of the eighties..
And now Raising Hope is on, so I need to go focus on that.=) But you understand, right? Poor white Cosbys? It's good stuff.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Edge
A few things first--
1. I'm still running. Again, I wish that I was making more/better progress, but it's better than just sitting on the couch. Right? (right.)
2. My kid is seriously funny. He is witty and quick and he is only three. For the record, E$ sleeps in our bed and we love it and don't plan on changing it anytime soon. So he woke up one morning, sat up, pressed both of his hands to my cheeks and said, "Mama, I need breakfast." Then jumped up out of the bed and ran to the kitchen. He comes back in a box of ice cream sandwiches,which I promptly instructed him to return to the freezer and to not eat one. He pivoted, turned and was gone for five minutes, which, you know if you know any three year olds, is long enough for there to be trouble. He returns with a chocolate mustache and beard and when I ask, "E$, did you eat one of those up front?" his response is a quick, "No." Then a long pause, and he completed his sentence: "I ate it at the table." And what could I do with that?
Now the heavy. The house stuff. Have I even updated here about the house? We weren't looking for a house, but J found one and it is perfect. It's like it was built for our family, except it was built in 1987 when I was seven and Jason was seventeen and that just sounds creepy. So anyway, he found this house and we fell in love. We got qualified and we made an offer. We sat on the edge of our seats over the course of three days and finally signed a contract, ON OUR ANNIVERSARY. And! We could rent our current house to my sister, so we didn't have to sell or spend a buncha money fixing every little detail of our current house and everything was falling into place and it's karma and kismet and meant to be and huzzah! End of story, right? Not so fast. Then came the actual financing, which should have been a cinch, according to our mortgage broker, but it wasn't. We spent two weeks waiting, only to get a rejection last Thursday, so we made the changes and waited another week to get rejected again. We're not done, but are now sending a "fresh packet" to a new underwriter and crossing our fingers while we wait. That alone is enough to make me want to check myself into the pysch ward, but there's more. E$ gave up his pappy last weekend. He can fall asleep without it, but is waking up in the middle of the night, searching for it and crying. Mourning, really. Monday night, we were up from midnight until past two, watching Sesame Street on the Netflix. I know it just takes time and I know it will get better, but geez oh Pete we have enough going on and now the pappy is gone. You think that's enough to handle, right? That Life would cut us some slack. Sike. At work, J is facing challenges with scheduling and parts coming in (or not coming in) and has been super stressed over that. AND!! It gets better. One more thing, J said. One more thing and he was done and done and done. Just. One. More. Thing.
Guess what? Yesterday in the mail, J got a notice to show up for jury duty on Monday, the day we were supposed to close.
(But as of tonight, we're not closing on Monday anyway. Paperwork is likely to take at least a week or so, so everything is being pushed back. Assuming it all goes through. But, as Jason likes to say, we've made huge deposits into our karma bank, so we're bound to get a break sooner or later... right?? )
1. I'm still running. Again, I wish that I was making more/better progress, but it's better than just sitting on the couch. Right? (right.)
2. My kid is seriously funny. He is witty and quick and he is only three. For the record, E$ sleeps in our bed and we love it and don't plan on changing it anytime soon. So he woke up one morning, sat up, pressed both of his hands to my cheeks and said, "Mama, I need breakfast." Then jumped up out of the bed and ran to the kitchen. He comes back in a box of ice cream sandwiches,which I promptly instructed him to return to the freezer and to not eat one. He pivoted, turned and was gone for five minutes, which, you know if you know any three year olds, is long enough for there to be trouble. He returns with a chocolate mustache and beard and when I ask, "E$, did you eat one of those up front?" his response is a quick, "No." Then a long pause, and he completed his sentence: "I ate it at the table." And what could I do with that?
Now the heavy. The house stuff. Have I even updated here about the house? We weren't looking for a house, but J found one and it is perfect. It's like it was built for our family, except it was built in 1987 when I was seven and Jason was seventeen and that just sounds creepy. So anyway, he found this house and we fell in love. We got qualified and we made an offer. We sat on the edge of our seats over the course of three days and finally signed a contract, ON OUR ANNIVERSARY. And! We could rent our current house to my sister, so we didn't have to sell or spend a buncha money fixing every little detail of our current house and everything was falling into place and it's karma and kismet and meant to be and huzzah! End of story, right? Not so fast. Then came the actual financing, which should have been a cinch, according to our mortgage broker, but it wasn't. We spent two weeks waiting, only to get a rejection last Thursday, so we made the changes and waited another week to get rejected again. We're not done, but are now sending a "fresh packet" to a new underwriter and crossing our fingers while we wait. That alone is enough to make me want to check myself into the pysch ward, but there's more. E$ gave up his pappy last weekend. He can fall asleep without it, but is waking up in the middle of the night, searching for it and crying. Mourning, really. Monday night, we were up from midnight until past two, watching Sesame Street on the Netflix. I know it just takes time and I know it will get better, but geez oh Pete we have enough going on and now the pappy is gone. You think that's enough to handle, right? That Life would cut us some slack. Sike. At work, J is facing challenges with scheduling and parts coming in (or not coming in) and has been super stressed over that. AND!! It gets better. One more thing, J said. One more thing and he was done and done and done. Just. One. More. Thing.
Guess what? Yesterday in the mail, J got a notice to show up for jury duty on Monday, the day we were supposed to close.
(But as of tonight, we're not closing on Monday anyway. Paperwork is likely to take at least a week or so, so everything is being pushed back. Assuming it all goes through. But, as Jason likes to say, we've made huge deposits into our karma bank, so we're bound to get a break sooner or later... right?? )
Monday, July 4, 2011
Week 4 and The Summer Effect
I'm on week 4 of the C25K program and while I'm not quite where I want to be, or where I should be, I have definitely seen progress. I can run for five minutes now, not just two and I'm covering more ground. I am transforming myself into a runner-- both my body and my mind. Even though I played soccer for years, I never considered myself a runner because I couldn't run a 5 (or 6 or 7 or even 8) minute mile. I put up this mental block against running; I couldn't do it because of my ankles or knees, because at my weight, it would put too much pressure on them. I couldn't run because I just didn't have the endurance and would wheeze the whole way through. And while those things are true, they really aren't excuses. In fact, they're reasons for me to run. I *need* to be in better shape; I want to feel healthy and strong again, for my husband, for my kids, and mostly for me. This is surely a slow process, but five minutes is better than 2 (and secretly, I look forward to my runs!)
It's July, which is crazy because I've technically been off from work* for two and a half weeks and I just now feel like I'm getting into the groove. At 3, E$ is more energetic than ever and gone are the unplanned days where activities just spring up organically. We need to have a schedule, a plan and this is how I am reminded that full-time stay-at-home moms work so very hard. It is seriously exhausting and we have definitely spent too much time and money out eating lunch. I'm hoping to do better in July and then we have our big vacation in August, with just a few weeks after that until E$ starts school. It is nice, though, to not have a set bedtime or to wake up to an alarm clock. To not pack lunches or set out clothes the night before; to be flexible with whatever comes up and to encourage E's curiousity. It's like the signs we always see at Topsail Island on our annual W-Family vacation: it's summer and we're on island time.
*Teachers are never really off. Even in the summer, we are planning and thinking ahead and working on the next school year. We just have a different schedule.
It's July, which is crazy because I've technically been off from work* for two and a half weeks and I just now feel like I'm getting into the groove. At 3, E$ is more energetic than ever and gone are the unplanned days where activities just spring up organically. We need to have a schedule, a plan and this is how I am reminded that full-time stay-at-home moms work so very hard. It is seriously exhausting and we have definitely spent too much time and money out eating lunch. I'm hoping to do better in July and then we have our big vacation in August, with just a few weeks after that until E$ starts school. It is nice, though, to not have a set bedtime or to wake up to an alarm clock. To not pack lunches or set out clothes the night before; to be flexible with whatever comes up and to encourage E's curiousity. It's like the signs we always see at Topsail Island on our annual W-Family vacation: it's summer and we're on island time.
*Teachers are never really off. Even in the summer, we are planning and thinking ahead and working on the next school year. We just have a different schedule.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Day 3, Run 2
So I've officially started the Couch to 5K running program and ya'll, it is hard. I am heaving this morning after a lousy 2 minutes of running. I am so much more out of shape than I thought I was; sheesh. I keep telling people about it, though, and about my end goal of the Mud Run in September. I need other people to held hold me accountable. I want them to ask me, so I can brag a little and be all like, "yeah, I ran for 5 minutes today, what?" (oh vey).
Can I just share with you that I am fat? And I no longer had any sports bras that were worth their salt? So while I browse through the Title Nine and Athleta catalogs, envious of "no bounce, hold it all in" bras that are (no lie) $75, me and my DD's went to Target and bought a $18 bra. The best part? Apparently, I am no longer the bra size I thought I was; I have to get my husband to HOOK THE BRA IN THE BACK FOR ME. Yes, friends, I am so fat that I can't even hook my own bra. It's tight, but there's very little bounce. I am super self-conscious about people watching me when I run, too. I mean, I can write you a poem in no time, I can teach students how to write papers and understand literature, but running? In daylight? On the street, where people can see me? Slightly humiliating. I assume, probably incorrectly, that everyone driving by is looking at me. That the women out walking her dog probably runs 10 miles a day and is laughing at me as I shuffle along (because really? That's what I'm doing. Not running, just shuffling...)
These are all just my potential roadblocks. I can't run today because I don't have shoes/don't have the right bra/it's too hot/it's too cold/someone will see me/my husband doesn't care if I'm fat. But I really want this; I want to feel fit and in shape. The last time I was proud of my body was after giving birth and while that high carried me through the postpartum belly sag and the desire for elastic waist pants for two years, it's now time to reclaim my body for myself and be a better example to my kids, and my husband. I need to spend a little time putting me first and this girl wants to get covered in mud in September.
Can I just share with you that I am fat? And I no longer had any sports bras that were worth their salt? So while I browse through the Title Nine and Athleta catalogs, envious of "no bounce, hold it all in" bras that are (no lie) $75, me and my DD's went to Target and bought a $18 bra. The best part? Apparently, I am no longer the bra size I thought I was; I have to get my husband to HOOK THE BRA IN THE BACK FOR ME. Yes, friends, I am so fat that I can't even hook my own bra. It's tight, but there's very little bounce. I am super self-conscious about people watching me when I run, too. I mean, I can write you a poem in no time, I can teach students how to write papers and understand literature, but running? In daylight? On the street, where people can see me? Slightly humiliating. I assume, probably incorrectly, that everyone driving by is looking at me. That the women out walking her dog probably runs 10 miles a day and is laughing at me as I shuffle along (because really? That's what I'm doing. Not running, just shuffling...)
These are all just my potential roadblocks. I can't run today because I don't have shoes/don't have the right bra/it's too hot/it's too cold/someone will see me/my husband doesn't care if I'm fat. But I really want this; I want to feel fit and in shape. The last time I was proud of my body was after giving birth and while that high carried me through the postpartum belly sag and the desire for elastic waist pants for two years, it's now time to reclaim my body for myself and be a better example to my kids, and my husband. I need to spend a little time putting me first and this girl wants to get covered in mud in September.
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