On going long . . .

Two days after the Museum of Aviation marathon and 2 days before I became so deathly ill I couldn't move from the couch for three days because walking up a flight of stairs winded me so much I would nearly pass out, I had my hair cut.

No no no.

Not a lot.

It still looks exactly the same as always except it is 2 inches shorter, maybe. The idea of shoulder length hair frightens me so the notion of me with short hair is just completely inconceivable. My short hair phobia is Lala's fault. When I was three and a half Lala chopped all my hair off because I got gum in it and the resulting hair cut made me look like a boy. And considering how offended I was that the Aviation Marathon recorded me as male and that I proudly wear a Run Like a Girl shirt I am sure you understand that I definitely do not want to look like a boy.

Why?

Because I am a girl.

So I will have long hair until I can just no longer have long hair. Which Lala is, well, 21 years older than me and until recently she had long hair--and I wouldn't be surprised if she grew it out again since she tends to favor long hair too. So, I think I will get to have long hair for at least another 20 years if it is at all genetic. I do wonder though how and when that grandma hair happens. Is it a slow evolution or does it just happen when you turn 80?

Darn it all.

I am already getting off the subject. Sorry, I am never one for the short or concise, in anything. Which is slightly ironic considering my short attention span but even when I was an art major I never could embrace the "less is more" concept that was so often parroted to me in critiques.

So anyway, not sure if I mentioned it before but my sister Pookie cuts my hair. She is a hair dresser by profession. She's pretty cute too. Here she is with me at party last month:

Which I should add that she did not last long at that party. Oh, wait here is another of us at the same party:

I know I look like the drunker sister but really I wasn't. I don't need alcohol for shenanigans. It helps; but it isn't necessary.

Anyway the party isn't my point. Just wanted to give you a visual on who is Pookie.

Pookie lives in town--ITP for the Atlantans in the house. Me and most of my extended family are OTP and live in the suburbs north of the city. Pookie is nice and drives up here and cuts or colors all of our hair here so we don't have to drive in town and go to the salon. Which would also cost more. So whenever she is up here with her gear I try to make sure I am around to benefit. Generally she does the cutting at Lala's. Which is fine by me since it is only a 10 minute drive to their house from mine.

Okay, so now I am almost to the point of my whole story. So pay attention. I'll set the scene:

Pookie is cutting my hair in Lala's kitchen. Carmella is sitting on the counter next to where I am standing doing a running commentary of everything. Beau is running around the kitchen talking guns with Pop-- who was eating a bowl of the $100 She-crab soup Lala had made the day before. I joke that after I finish getting my hair cut I am going to the grocery store and hope to spend around $100 for 5 days of groceries.

Lala is walking around with her hair in foils waiting for her grays to go blond or brown or whatever it is Pookie does to her hair. And I am just trying my hardest to hold still-- which by the way is very very hard for me to do and I am failing miserably because Pookie keeps letting out exasperated sighs at me. I am also worried she is going to poke my eyes out with her scissors so I am trying to be quiet, which is also hard for me to do.

Pookie changes the subject to running and asks Carmella if she is going to be a marathon runner like me.

Carmella empahtically tells her, "No. Running is boring. It takes too long."

And Pookie says, "You could run track-- or cross county in high school."

And Carmella with her wide brown eyes saucered with disbelief and confusion says:
"You mean like run to New York-- or California? People do that?"

Beauhawk: Crazy Hair Day, again.

He's Beau. His hair is crazy. All the time.

So technically we didn't have to even do anything but you know Beau. When there is an opportunity to take something up a notch he turns the volume up. Way up. This was a last minute, finish your breakfast and I'll do your hair do.

Side view:
Beau was very specific. He wanted a mohawk--which he calls Ho hawk--but I just didn't have enough product to do that.

There use to be this guy in high school. Dan. I had super secret crush on him (super secret because I had a boyfriend and because I was totally not Dan's type anyway. But we were school friends). He was in a band. He was punk rock. I was most definitely not. He even once told me I had the curviest legs he had ever seen. He did not say this as a compliment or as a come on but rather said it like he was marveling at something bizarre. He made it sound like I was a complete freak because I had muscular legs. Dan did not have muscular legs. He was just skinny.

Anyway, Dan had an amazing fish fin mohawk. It was tall: a piece de resistance. He had to use A LOT of hairspray. I know this because Dan and I had talked hairspray. I had big hair too--not cool tall hair like Dan's-- but he could tell I had special knowledge about hairspray that could hold.

These days I never use hairspray so I couldn't do Beau's hair like Dan's (he had told me how he did his hair: eggwhites and hairspray.) Hence all the rubber bands.


In even more boring news here is the breakdown of last week:

Sunday: 15 miles on the bike at the Greenway. Had an asthma flare up and had to cut it short.

Monday: Still struggling with the asthma and just walked for 3 miles.

Tuesday: Optimisitcally thought I could do 16 miles. Had to use my inhaler and struggled a run/walk for 5 miles. Disappointing.

Wednesday: Got on the Claritan train. Ran 5 hard miles, 2 on the Leita trail. Raced some guy who didn't know we were racing. I kicked his ass.

Thursday: Still riding the Claritan train and got in 17 miles on rolling hills at an 8:20 something pace. Very happy.

Friday: 12 miles in an hour 37 at the Greenway trail. Then hopped on the bike for 20 miles for 70 minutes. Again, happy with day's workout.
Saturday: 7 miles on rolling hills at a general aerobic pace. 2 miles were on the Leita trail.

Totals:
Bike: 35 miles
Run: 46 miles
Walking: 3 miles

Sunday: Legs were dead. Had that tight calf, cramped calf issue flare up again. I walked/ran and did 4 miles in 41 minutes. Whatever.

Monday: Bit of foot tendinitis rearing it's head. Legs are clearly not up for running so I hit the bike. Bummed that Steph couldn't join me. I hit the Greenway again. I did 52 miles at just under a 17 mph pace. I could have kept going but I ran out of time. It was a nice ride and gives me optimism that maybe I can probably do a half ironman. I'd still like to do a 100 mile ride or 2 before I attempt a half iron. I want 56 miles to feel like nothing.

Badda Bing Badda BANGS!

Guess who got a new hair cut?

Well no. Not Ellie.
Tara?

Yep. Highlights too.
Carmella?


Yep.
She was disappointed that she didn't look any different. Honey, it is your legacy. Embrace it.

Beau and Chase?
Beau yes.

Chase no.

Tara's sister Melissa came over to Salon De Nat to let Pookie wield her magic on her too. But she left before I could get a picture. I was off getting the boys and then Carmella from their schools. I totally missed out on all the kid free fun.

And what about me you ask? Yep.

Carmella snapped this picture of me in foils.

Yes, I know, hideous picture. I didn't have time to shower and change before they all got here and then I had to run off and do the carpool shuffle and my errands.

But in all honesty, this is pretty much how I look everyday. Just substitute a visor for those foils and you've got me on any given day.

Pink skirt is cute though, isn't it? Pookie, who made fun of skirt at the Atlanta Half marathon, now openly covets skirt for ING marathon. I may lend her one. Still deciding which one I will wear.

But yay! Another convert.

Anyway, I really, really hate having my hair cut. I go way too long between trims. I am totally not adventurous when it comes to my hair. I have pretty much had the same hair since high school--blond, all one length long. And I am talking about the hair I had after I set aside the Clairol mist and stopped competing in who had the biggest, tallest, hardest hair ever contest. I have tried out many colors: every shade of blondness, red and brown. But I have been settled on dark blond for awhile. My sister calls it mermaid hair. I think it of it more as Captain Cave Man hair.

So this whole day of beauty got started because I called my sister over to cut my hair. Then everyone wanted cuts. So everyone one got cuts. And me?

I got some little blond streaks and. . . . BANGS!

Pookie was quite reluctant to cut them as she thinks I will spend all of our upcoming beach vacation bitching and moaning about them. And fair enough, she is probably right. But today? Today I love them. And yes, they will probably irritate the crap out of me running. Oh well. See. See how the taper really is madness.