Puffed Up and Pouty Like a Swollen Creek

I can't talk about Fight Club yet. I am sour on things; bratty and really don't have a lot nice to say. Everything is off, out of place and just plain not copacetic in my little corner of the universe. Yes, I am hiding--throwing sticks and tossing stones and just not ready to come out. Maybe when it is sunny here again I will.

I do feel guilty for neglecting the blog. I haven't written because I am so negative lately. I can hardly stand to be around myself; much less spend time, thought, and words giving it a name, labeling and cataloging it here for you. I can't even find humor at it--at myself and well, that almost never happens. The yuckiness that I feel lately is thick and chewy and I want nothing to do with it and trust me, neither do you.

Yesterday though, when the sun peaked out a tiny bit, I did go for a little run in the morning and while not fantastic it was okay because it didn't hurt, I could breathe and of course, I was getting to run. But I didn't feel great and it was totally disgusting down by the river where I ran: sewer smell, gray and red mud slicks, twisted and broken trees, mushy gravel and occasionally, an impassable flood pool. All that on a mostly paved path.


In the afternoon I was feeling even better and really wanted to get another workout in. But Tuesdays Beau has his theater class . Typically, while Beau is in class, Carmella and I go shopping or go down by the river and she rides her bike and I run along side her. However, having seen the condition of the trail that morning and knowing Carmella's sensibilities I knew that wasn't going to work out. And because of the general lack of resources, as discussed in the previous post, shopping was out too.

So I convinced Carmella to go on a hike.

I convinced her by telling her we didn't have to run and that we could bring Lola.

Beau's theater class is in the historic section of Roswell and right near the old mill.
The mill area has been completely transformed in the last 10 or so years. When I was younger I thought of the area as a bit sketchy but now I am not even sure if I can afford to breathe the air over there it is so fancy and cute in it's pretentious small town quaint. (Hmm, that sounded a bit snarky. See, I told you I am not nice lately.)

I have heard that there are hiking trails over there and I have been wanting to check them out as I am always looking for new places with new sights to put the miles in. I have no idea how long they have been there but as far as I know they were not there when I lived over in that area during grad school. (I lived a block over on the street with all the churches. A huge 2 bedroom for $500 a month with hardwood floors that I had all to my little lonesome. It was cheap and wonderful and that is where I lived when I very first started running. Ah, nostalgia. . . )

At any rate, for those who have not been there and are also in need of a new place to run it looks like there are quite a few trails and they go all the way down to the cliffs at Allenbrook . How long the trails are I don't know-- the maps I saw didn't say but I am really really bad at reading maps. You go and figure it out and report back to me.

The trails are a little technical, probably most like the ones at Sope Creek. I don't know if you can mountain bike on the mill trails or not. I did not see signs saying one way or the other and I did not see any mountain bikers or really anyone else on the trails.

I brought my camera and we took pictures along the way.

This is the waterfall at Vickery Creek.
I am not totally clear on the names since I saw that it was called Big Creek in a few places. All I know is that I use to hang out a lot down at the waterfall off Sloan Street in high school and we called it Vickery Creek and we could walk straight across the top. And sometimes, never me, people jumped off the waterfall.

This is how it looked yesterday. I was kind of scared just to stand near it. Betting no one is jumping off it or walking across the falls this week.
There are mill ruins all over. Most people hate kudzu but one of the things I love about the landscape of the South is seeing the battles between the vines and the architecture. It is a war in slow motion.


Even though she made me promise we didn't have to run. She ran most of the time. Seriously. She is so silly. Running? It is what kids do. That walking crap is for old people.

I have never seen so many mushrooms in the area as I have this summer/fall. In fact, I have been wanting to make cut outs of Smurfs and put them under the mushrooms on the trails I run on. I think people would like that.

In my not so scientific study of local trails in the area and mushroom life the ones at the Lieta trail are the most interesting: bright pink, red or the spotted variety. At Kennesaw Mountain and at the mill trails all I've seen are the brown and white kinds and toadstools.

We walked down Sloan Street to check out the Founder's Cemetery.
I could stand it only long enough to take few pictures. I got chewed to pieces by mosquitoes if I didn't keep moving. I can't believe how bad the mosquitoes are and here it is mid fall.Aren't they usually gone by now? It it terrible. My legs look like I have the pox!

Do you see it? In this picture?

The ray of light? The sun? It is what I am hoping for these days. Trying not to read too much into it that I saw it, however briefly, in a cemetery. However, it is October so I suppose that makes sense. . . somehow.

Maybe?

Summer's Sweater

Really.
Who wants to wear a sweater in the summer?
Especially if you live anywhere in the South. The only places more terrible than Georgia for summer sweaters is lower Alabama and central Florida. Places near the beach don't count because they have the breezy air that sometimes at night makes a summer sweater kinda nice. But nothing, I mean nothing, is worse than a sweater in the still hot air. It is called waiting on a hurricane air but the hurricane and its wind never comes and neither does the cooler air. Instead you are stuck with a sweater that you don't need or want.

Even as the summer heat begins to dissipate and the threat of hurricanes wane the sweater stays. If only you could return it like you can an impulse buy. But that isn't even a possibility.

I know you Southerners are smart and know exactly what I am talking about but for all you Yankees and cool West Coasters I am talking about humidity. I have decided, after my runs today and yesterday that it isn't the heat that is so terrible about the South--it is the humidity. I hate it the most of all conditions to run in. I am just sharing this with you because I just made my decision about it today and I wanted everyone to know.

Certainly I complain about a lot of things. And yes, I can be a bit of a Goldilocks runner. I do, I'll admit it. Just like how one can be particular about how they like their coffee; I want my running weather just right. And, not to split golden locks here but I am pretty easy when it comes to my coffee: I take it black but will deal with it however it comes: hot, cold, milky, cream, sugar etc. Most importantly I would just like it to be of the caffeinated variety. Similarly when it comes to running-- as I have proven many times over, I will suck it up and deal with whatever weather hand I am dealt as I am just happy that I have the opportunity to run.

Of course, this does not mean that I won't complain about having to suck it up. Just like if you bring me coffee that is tepid I won't be able to help to myself and will point that out. I will admit, that if nothing else, I can be counted on to complain. You know, everyone has at least one constant in their lives and my knack for expressing my disdain at the less than prefect is mine. As Carmella says "What ev's"

However, I just want to make it known, for the record, that I hate the humidity most of all. It tops the list. And sure, it is a long list. What can I say? I know what I like and what I don't like.

All summer I have been kind of blaming the heat--especially for the suckiness on my 3 hours runs in 90 degrees. Around here I have to think a low humidity day would be around 50-60%. Now whether or not that is actually low I can't say. I only think that if the humidity was below 60% it would probably feel pretty darn awesome. But since every time I go for a run--no matter the temperature-- it is never less than 65% and most times is closer to 90% humidity I can only guess that anything less would be fantastic. But no. I don't know for certain.

But you can criss cross bless yourselves that every single time I go out for a run I am thinking about how I wish it was a cool and dry 55 degrees. I do: I try to channel it. Heck, at this point just the suggestion of 65 degrees and for the air to not be out-sweating me keeps me going through all these runs that feel like I have a heavy wet sweater wrapped around my head.

I am going to admit that I was pretty excited that we finally made it into the 70's and out of the high 80's this week. But I have been nothing but disappointed by the 70's (I bet there were a lot of people that said that 30 years ago too).

Let me tell you, in case you aren't lucky enough to experience it for yourselves: 75 degrees and 90% humidity is still kind of crappy. Definitely, no doubt about it, definitely much better than it being really hot and humid but still not good. No where close to even being okay. Never mind ideal.

I don't know. I am just let down, that is all. I was expecting the 70's to be good. (again, 30 years ago--probably the same thing)

I know. I know. I have been told many times that is what expectations do: they disappoint. I'll never learn.

I just want to say here and now that I want summer to take her damn sweater and leave for several months. Because you know what? I want to wear my sweaters and my jackets and my cute boots and blue jeans. I want to run and not be grossed out that yes-- I do really sweat that much. I don't want to have to worry any more that when I pass people on the sidewalk or on the trail that I might be slinging some of my sweat on them. Beause, really, no matter how cute a person is you don't want their sweat on you. Well, okay. Qualifier: you don't want their sweat on you unless you are naked together. But in that case, there is probably a whole bunch of other, er, "human" things you have committed yourself to and swapping a little sweat, I would think: not really a big issue. Might even be a good thing. At least, that is what I hear. --Mom, Dad.

Okay now. Anyway, I am getting myself excited again-- and it has nothing to do with the aforementioned sentences--well, maybe a little. No really. I just checked 10 days out weather forecast and guess what?

That's right: 50's.

The 50's will be invading Hotlanta next week. Sure it is high 50's and yes it still looks kind of humid but you know what?

That's right: People do need a sweater when it gets in the 50's. So it should be good.

Oh, but what will I do if have no weather excuses to complain about and blame my crappy runs on? No worries. I am certain something will come up. . .

So here it is: 18 miles in the humid, misty and rainy 75 degrees yesterday and 12 miles in the stale humid air today. I am looking at similar conditions for my long run and other runs the rest of this week too. And man, it sure does feel like we are waiting on a hurricane-- and at this point I might welcome it because then at least there would be a breeze.

Oh, but next week. It will get me by-- just the promise of it. You know you can always depend on the forecast 10 days out (Sarcasm people. Love it.)
Fall is closing in.
(I hope.)
Bring on the marathons!!!

If I eat only cookies, pop tarts and ice cream for the next 2 days

Do you think I can put enough body fat on to keep me warm for my marathon on Saturday?

Holy. Crap.

This is the latest weather forecast from Weather Channel for my marathon on Saturday:

8am

15°F
Sunny

8°F

0%

55%

From NE
4 mph

That 8 degrees is the "real" feel. And, I think it is really cute that they have a sun icon there. Like that is going to make any difference. If it feels like 8 degrees then clearly the sun is not doing its job is my thinking.

Uhm hi, yeah, I have never been outside when it was 8 degrees much less ran in 8 degrees-- much less ran 26.2 miles in 8 freaking cold ass degrees.

Holy. Crap.

Yes. I am freaking out.

But cookies are making me feel better. . .

PS. I have the absolute worst marathon luck!

Down for the Count

Of two.

Who?

Me.

Wednesday my Kindzia streak of consistently working out everyday for at least 30 minutes since 12/31/07 ended.

That's right. I caught Beau's stomach bug.

Holy moly. It was awful. I haven't been that sick in well, since last December when I had pneumonia or whatever the hell that month long chest rot I had then was. Really, though, this time was much worse than not being able to breathe. I just laid in my bed for 2 days and writhed in pain. I will spare you the ugly details since I can assume that you have probably at least once in your life succumbed to the perils of a stomach bug.

And I do feel lucky because my kids are older. Nothing. I mean nothing is worse than having a stomach bug and having to care for a toddler. Baby, not great. Preschooler, still not good. Kindergartner and second grader? Still not fun but with the older ones there is considerably less laundry as they are proficient in getting to the toilet to upsie or you, know, downsie. And babies, well, most of them are breastfed or still mostly bottle fed and well, a stomach bug on a liquid diet? Really how is that any different than everyday? But the toddler. They are mobile. And diapers? They leak. Oh God. It is everywhere.

So yeah, that was my silver lining. I don't have a toddler. Oh, and I also got lucky in that only one of my kids was sick when I was. Right, the easy one. Well sort of. No, not really in this case.

Sigh.

Carmella.

Bless the sweet pea's heart. She thinks just being human is creepy. So she is sort of a pathetic patient because she is so freaked out by the very idea of bodily functions so it is so much worse when they actually happen to her. Beau, on the otherhand, is sort of in awe about. He is like, whatever. I threw up. Can I go play at my friend's house now?

With Carmella there is hyperventaliating. Crying. Pacing. Writhing. Yeah, like two of me. We were in competition for who was more pathetic. And since she is seven who do you think won? Right. Like I've said before. She is always the better person. I was most pathetic.

-----------------------Oh, and Ryan would like me to mention "how awesome he is."

And by "awesome" I think he is referring to that he didn't come within 20 feet of me or Carmella without at least first spraying down the air with Lysol--which I can assure you did nothing for my nausea. He made Carmella sleep with me in the Hazmat room--aka, our bedroom.

Okay, he did do lots of laundry but that was only because I told him he couldn't go hunting unless he did. Oh, and he did take and pick up Beau from school.

So yes, that was pretty awesome. But. I think he just knew that there was the potential that I might survive this little bug and there would certainly be hell to pay then.

And I will say that mostly, in my opinion, it was pretty awesome that he didn't get said bug because that would have meant I would have been the one doing all the laundry and taking/picking up Beau to/from school and that would have meant I would have had to drag my half dead self out of bed. Which I promise you, wasn't going to happen.----------------------------------------

So for 2 days Carmella and I have laid in bed moaning, not eating or drinking and pretty much just about dying.

Today though.

I deemed us well.

I based this on the lack of vomiting for over 24 hours, no fever and that we both managed to eat something other than a saltine last night for dinner without dry heaving.

So, I sent Carmella to school, along with Beau. I planned to run.After copious amount of laundry and decontaminating happened, of course.

She came back home at 9 am.

She has been fine since she came home so I think she was just freaked out about the possibility of getting ill at school. She said her tummy hurt. I, of course, didn't believe her. We are well I told her. But she had already been to that damn school nurse so I had to take her home. They all ganged up on me, what could I do?

Well, I'll tell you.

I went by her teacher's room and got lots of work for her to do. My thinking was that Carmella rather enjoyed her lay-in-bed- watch-TV-and-color-puppy-pictures-and-vomit-vacation. I mean, she did make puppy pictures for at least 14 of her closest BFF's. Who makes stuff for their friend's when they are sick? I'll tell you who, fakers!

So, I was a little merciless making her do math homework, social studies, reading, art project and even write a story. But she had writer's block and still hasn't finished the story. She also does not appreciate at all the fabulous Face Book suggestions received either. I think they have further crippled her creativity. So "The Talking Crayon Box" remains an unfinished masterpiece as of this blog post writing. Sorry, guys. Thanks for trying.

Finally though the rain brought, my hero, Ryan, home and I was able to get much jonesed for run in.

I should mention now that my running of late has been going better. Taking a week off seemed to be just the ticket. Though, since the weekend-- when the stomach bug first showed up on my radar-- I have felt a bit off. Even still I managed 10 miles close to marathon pace on Monday. On Tuesday I wasn't feeling myself but hit the gym for my "how far can I go in an hour" treadmill run.

After a sad first mile at an 8:20 pace I cranked it out and got it done with 8.26 miles for the hour. And that was with taking a one minute walk break after the first 4 mile mark (which I hit in 29:20 something) because I was certain I was going to lose my breakfast and decided I was going to quit. But I rallied and decided I could finish out the hour. And I did. Overall average pace for the entire workout was 7:16 pace. An hour and half after the treadmill workout I had to take the kids to tennis. It was nice out and I was bored so I did an easy 4.5 miles. I think the average pace for that was 8:20 something pace. All and all not a bad day. Well, until I got the upsies. And the downsies. And the fever. And the body aches. And the chills. And two days where I thought for sure it was the end of me. And for part of the time I kind of hoped it was.

So, yeah, well that brings us to today. Friday. The day I willed myself well. I should have known my tummy was still a bit shaky but I ignored it and forged ahead with my coffee and Uncle Sam's--aka, NOT.A.GOOD.IDEA. Lunch was hard to get down too--brown rice, Lima beans and tomatoes. I don't know what I was thinking. But still I thought: I. Am. Better.

You, know, ignoring all those gurgling and quarters dropped down a pipe sound my digestive system was making.

I was fine.

So I went out for my run. Left Ryan with Carmella and told him to get Beau.

Yeah! Outside! Fresh air! My ipod! Me!

Ever the optimist I thought I maybe could do my 16 miler I was suppose to do on Thursday. I brought a Gu and $2, just in case. No water though or Gatorade. What? Why would I do that? That would be smart.

Ryan asked me how far? How long?

I said, I don't know. At least an hour, maybe two or more. . . hopefully.

About a mile in I was ready to turn back. My body was not right!

But I make no decisions in that first mile (or while running up a hill for that matter)--just my little rule.

I reasoned, well it has been 2 days. . . maybe I am just running too fast.

So I slowed down, my tummy threatening to rebel. As I reached the first of my 3 miles of uphills I considered walking but just tucked head and got through it, oh so painfully slow.

It started to rain and I worried about my new beautiful shoes and thought I should just do 6 miles. But then I thought about the 2 days I have languished in bed, dying and decided I needed to at least do ten miles to stay on track. So at the 3 mile I turned off to head into my 10 mile loop. And the tummy stayed there, on the vomit line but never crossed. I never felt great but it never got worse. At the 6 mile I was thirsty and licked my lips. Salt. Ugh. Gross. My spit was thick. Disgusting. Nothing was good. But with less than 4 miles to go I just plugged along and finished. Average pace was 8:42. Not terrible but 30 seconds slower per mile for the same run that I did on Monday and felt way less arduous. Really, in my mind, today should have been faster considering the 2 days of bed rest I had.

Do you count sick days as rest days?

I do. But maybe I shouldn't?

And so now I believe Carmella and guess that maybe she wasn't faking when she said her tummy still hurt. And maybe I even feel slightly guilty about that . . .

Sigh, I just want us all to be healthy!

Oh, one last thing. Since everyone thinks Beau is so funny here is the latest Beau drama, for your entertainment:

He has been an absolute pill the last week and a half at school, well and at home too. Mostly for his usual: talking too much, insubordination, being "wiggly" (seriously, that is what they call it). So I guess yesterday his teacher had had it and told him today he was being moved next to her at a desk by himself. Just so you know in the classroom they sit 5 kindergartners to a table. There are 15 kids in his class, 2 teachers. No one, but the teachers sit at desks. But in the older grades, they all sit at desks. Beau knows this.


The teacher however--for whatever reason-- did not at all inform me of this move. Beau did.
He enthusiastically informed me of it.
As in he had no clue this was a bad thing.
He was proud about it even.

This morning Beau came downstairs for breakfast and very excitedly told me that he was getting "his own desk" today. Next to the teachers, he informed me; nodding, smiling, brown eyes wide. All explaining why he jumped out of bed and got dressed lickety split for school. He had something to look forward to!

Carmella, having had the same two teachers for kindergarten and me, having had to sit at my own desk by the teachers when I was in kindergarten, knew exactly what this meant and that it was not good.

Carmella began by cataloging for Beau all the naughty children that had had to sit at the solo desk in kindergarten, many of who-- she furthered-- were still quite naughty in second grade. The desk, she told Beau, was bad news for him.

Beau tried to argue how he no longer had to share a table, emphasizing again, that he, Beau. Was getting his own desk. Next to the teachers even. You know, near the front of the class.

We tried, in vain to tell him this was not good. It meant he was naughty.

Beau wasn't listening, he was too excited for his new desk, his new position--you know, the one next to the teachers.

So I shot an email off the lead teacher explaining that Beau wasn't getting that the solo desk was punishment.

And this afternoon she shot one back to me that she tried making the solo desk "unpleasant as possible" for him by telling him stuff like his desk "had no table captain".
Okay.
You know.
Beau may not always have all the sails of his ship flying but, come on. Everyone knows at a table of one you are always the captain.

She also told him his desk didn't have a number.

Now this would have devastated Carmella but Beau?

Any table that he is at is number one in his mind.

Numbers? What are those?

She also told him that he couldn't line up until she told him he could. Which I am sure this was the most frustrating part for him but I think kindergartners don't get to do anything without being told to do it. So really, how is that different?

So when he came home from school today I asked him if he was sad at his desk by himself. And he told me emphatically No! It was great! And best of all he didn't have to sit next to, I will call her Betty but that is not her name, anymore. Apparently Beau really doesn't like Betty. He has mentioned before that she is not his favorite but I didn't really pay attention. Apparently, she picks her nose and has bad breath. Which is weird the nose picking would bother Beau since he is a staunch nose picker himself but I think when it comes to girls he operates on a bit of a double standard.

So that was my day and what I learned today is this: I can't will myself better, Carmella doesn't lie--ever. And Beau? You just can't take that kid down. Unlike his Mama, he isn't going down for any count--ever.

Okay, Cat. I promise. Your post is coming. I am having title trouble.

Derailed

I completely lose my focus in the taper. The cut back of the taper is a challenge for me because it messes with my ingrained running habit. I like to run between 40-50 miles a week. I don't like to run much over 65 miles in a week because the running becomes forced. At the same time I don't really like to go below 35 miles. I will accept a week of as low as 30 miles so long as I am doing lots of other stuff like cycling or swimming. Anything less than 30 miles a week is just uncomfortable for me as I have pretty much been a 30 miles a week runner since I started running 9 years ago.

But since I am balancing recovery, training and taper to gear up and perform well at Country Music Marathon next weekend I am trying to not worry so much about my numbers. I know I really have nothing to gain as far as fitness but do risk the potential of injury if I push too hard. My plan has been to balance the running with cycling and swimming. It is, or rather was, a good plan.

The problem?

Well, my bike exploded yesterday.

The other day I found it laying in the garage. One of the kids must have knocked it over. I checked it over--not really sure what I was looking for since my bike knowledge is negligible at best. I do know that my derailleur was already bent. James, the bike shop guy, asked me a while back if I had crashed or fallen. For the record I have never crashed or fallen (yet)--well, at least not on this particular bike. But the bike was once Lala's and when she clipped in she fell. A lot.

I explained all that to James and he said it would eventually need to be replaced but was fine for now.

And it has been fine.

Well, until yesterday.

I noticed immediately that it wasn't shifting great. I thought the chain might be misaligned. I even stopped and looked it over; poked at the chain, looked at the derailleur, touched the sprockets, got my hands a little dirty. . . But knowing all that I know about bikes I really couldn't see anything to adjust or that looked off. Just to be safe though I figured I would stick to the surrounding neighborhoods rather than hit the open road and risk running in to trouble in heavy traffic.

This proved a very wise decision on my part. I didn't really have trouble until I hit my first significant uphill--about 5 miles in. I was downshifting and all the sudden I heard cracks and popping and pings and knew that it couldn't be good.

The plastic shield (I guess that is what is) had shattered and some metal rings had popped off and were scattered all down the hill. I had to call Lala to come get me.

So . . . does anyone know how long and how much this is going to cost me to fix?

I am thinking the bike might be out until after the marathon. Sigh. Figures. Just when the weather was finally getting nice (read warm) enough to bike (read too hot to run). . .

The ways in which I screw myself

Okay, here's the real deal: I am trying daily--pretty much every second of the day-- to distract myself from the devastation of the drought.

Okay, I know that sounds sarcastic but I am not joking.

Really, I cry a little everyday.

Seriously.

You'd cry too if your bills were piling up and you weren't sure you could pay them-- or the 8 employees you had-- because your business, your livelihood was going to pot because of a lack of rain; because of a water ban.

A level 4 drought.

And yeah, you would be pretty annoyed about all those people in Alabama who are sucking our water out but don't have a water ban like we do. There is no outdoor watering here, ever. And you see, that is a pretty big problem for those of us in the "green industry". It's a big problem because we don't really make any money if stuff doesn't grow and people don't want us to plant flowers or mow their lawn. And who can blame them because really? Who wants to pay someone to cut a dead lawn or pay for flowers and landscaping that is just going to die? So, go ahead, call me petty but if us landscapers in GA have to go broke because of our diminishing water supply then so do those in Alabama if it is our water that they are using to water their lawns.

And don't even get me started on the Floridians and theirs mussels. Because, really? You know what? The ecosystem I'm most immediately concerned about are named Carmella and Beau I am little more worried about keeping the shell over their heads than what the hell happens to a bunch of way too fragile mussels in some drying up river. My kids? Way cuter and worth more to this world than a bunch of mussels. So call me selfish (not shellfish, mind you), I totally don't care that I am not seeing the "bigger picture."

Selfish and petty is what happens when climate change fucks with you so personally. You start thinking really small, not globally. At all.

Honestly, this pain and suffering from the drought isn't new for us-- like it is for most Georgians. Ryan and I have been keenly aware of how much it sucks when you can't water your lawn--never mind that our drinking water may soon dry up. It was bad in the spring and we weathered it but we thought surely hurricane season would drop a ton a rain and fall planting season would be good--as it always has been--for us. But fall is worse than spring. So, yeah, like I have been saying for the past 6 months; the landscaping business is the wrong one to be in. Insurance? Now there is the one to be in. Or so it seems, since a good chunk of our change goes there.

Truthfully. I am devastated daily.

And being in the taper and not getting my recommended daily dose of endorphins is making me feel totally crazy.

I have been way down this week. Way down. Like, I've been thinking I should download some Bob Mould on to my ipod so far down. These little 4 and 6 miles runs aren't cutting it. Today I promised Steph I would ride with her but then I bailed because I felt I could squeeze a 16 miler in today before my half marathon on Saturday.

I need to give HUGE props to Steph. I think everyone deserves to have a friend like Steph. This morning when I set out on my run it was in the high 50s--prefect running weather. That is until it started raining before I even hit the half mile mark. By the 5th mile of steady rain I was ready to quit. I pulled out my phone to call Ryan to see if he was home and would come get me since I've already had my long run in the rain. I felt I had nothing to gain but misery by plodding ahead. But before I could call I saw I had a text from Steph.

She said the icky weather was trying to foil her bike and she wished I was there. Sheesh! How could I quit my run after I bailed on her and she was still riding in the cold and icky weather? I tried my best to hang but after another few miles I was too cold and my shoes were too wet. I called Ryan and he picked me up right as I hit 10 miles.

Guilt. Sadness. Anxiety-- plagued me all day. I really needed to feel good--even if it was just for a second and was about nothing-- so I went to the gym. The air conditioning hasn't been working too well there lately so it has been way hot but tonight they had a giant fan out pointing right on the treadmills.

It was so nice. The wind on my back. The whole time.

I surprised myself with a great treadmill run. I wasn't expecting much since I had already run 10 and they weren't an easy 10 since I had gone out with the plan of 16 miles at marathon pace. Despite the rain and misery I still finished the 10 in just under an hour 24.

My 5k on the mill came in at 21:38. I slowed it down thinking that would be it but then I rallied and ran it out to the 10K. I finished in 44:07. Now, I feel all giddy from the endorphin flood.

Not to worry though, I am sure at 4 am I will wake up--like I have every single day this past week--stricken with anxiety about our business situation; that really I can't do anything about but nonetheless pray and hope and wish and dream that everything will be okay. And tonight when I wake up inexplicably in the middle night I can add to my worry list the wonder of if maybe I screwed myself out of a PR this weekend because of my treadmill fun tonight.

Yeah, I know, who cares.

The weight of the world on your shoulders? Come on. Who doesn't have that?

And yes, no need to point out the obvious: I know how damn frivolous my running seems in light of our current situation but running right now is the only thing that is keeping me sane. Yes, I love my kids--little spots of happiness-- but everyone knows small children are not exactly what keeps one sane. God love them but more often than not they are known to do the opposite. So yeah, the running, it helps me be all chipper and prevents me from transferring my stress onto them. Everyone else though? Watch out.

You know, if I could just figure out how to make all this running and fitness crap pay the bills then we'd be golden. And then it would actually be a real bonafide--something to worry about, whine about, bitch about and lose sleep over--problem when I screw myself by running too hard before a race. Right?

The Universe is NOT Conspiring Against Me!!!!

At least for today it is not.

Okay. Seriously. Who did it?

Okay, seriously, I don't really don't care who did it but please do it again.

So today I am backing out of my driveway and I notice something in my driver's side rear view mirror. I am in the middle of the street not completely sure what I am seeing. I know what I think I see-- but it doesn't make any sense. Still in the middle of the road, I roll down my window, adjust the mirror and low in behold I pull out from beind the mirror a one dollar bill. Upon closer investigation I also find a ten dollar bill. I check again, hoping for a hundred, but eleven bucks was it.

How weird is that?

Wait, I'm sorry. How cool is that?

My car? It makes money!

I check the left side mirror but no money.

Still $11 I didn't have earlier today. I'll take it. For sure. I'll take every red penny the universe is willing to toss my way.

I guess today was a good day.

Because then later I went to TJMaxx. You know, just pursue the racks because I was in the shopping center buying Dags-- Steph's youngest a really cool birthday gift.

So anyway, I found on the clearance rack a pair of Seven jeans. Unlike my new brother in law Wes, it is rumored, who buys $400 dollar jeans for himself. I don't know what $400 jeans do for him but I would never spend more than $50 on jeans. In fact usually I find most of my jeans on the clearance rack at the Gap for under $20. At any rate though, Seven jeans are legendary amongst the young suburban mommy set. But personally for me to shell out over $100 for jeans I'm going to need them to work a miracle and make me look like Gisele Bundchen. So while in the past I thought Seven did nice things there just wasn't the magic I was looking for to justify the price tag. See, I can be reasonable.

It doesn't matter though. Even if I could afford it most of the time I can't get my calves into these designer jeans anyway--and even if I manage that I still have to fight them over the my casting-shadows-on-the-knee-quads. And if I manage to pull them all the way up usually the only thing holding them up is my thighs and my butt, waist, and hips are swimming. Way too much ass-mo-phere, if you know what I mean.

Jeans, I have found, are not made for the runner.

Anyway, I figured what the heck. It won't hurt to try them on.

Problem?

They were a size 24.

I know I was really reaching here and being ridiculously optimistic. I think I am a 26, maybe on good day a 25 and some days probably a 27. But really, what do I know? Remember, I buy my jeans at the Gap or Express and they are sized 0, 2, 4, 6 etc.

So I pulled a bunch of other jeans back there with me. Rock and Republic, Guess, Antik Denim, and other brands I had never heard of. I saved the Seven's for last. I guess I was having a good or wait, really, magic dressing room day because everything fit. Well except those Antik Denims. Which upon further inspection I found they were a 29 not a 26 as I thought. Even still they were totally tight in the leg and wouldn't stay up.

I am so wrongly shaped.

So finally I pull on the Seven's.
They slide easily over my calves.
Magic.
Then over my thighs.
Okay, maybe not slide-- who am I kidding, all my jeans are tight in the thigh. Like Johnny Cash wears the black there's a reason why I wear skirt.
Then wonders of all wonders right over the butt and hips and low slung on the waist zipper up, no sucking in and button fastened. Holy moly. They FIT!

Clearly, these jeans are marked wrong because I have never been 24 in the waist but who cares!
I scored $150 jeans for $40!

They are awesome and now, after 6 years I feel like true suburban housewife!

So I am guessing tomorrow they probably won't fit me and the magic will end. But whatever today they do and today I got eleven dollars.

Oh, so really, if you think about it; I got Seven jeans for only $29!
Yeah me.
Of course, this probably means tomorrow will suck. I hold no illusions about how the universe works.

It is only Tuesday

And my week is already sucking.

Very bad, as Beau would say.

First, I am completely devastated that the solitaire diamond in my engagement ring fell out of the setting.
When and where and how?
I have absolutely no idea.
But it is gone.
I have retraced my steps today and, well, the world is a big place for one little diamond.
Ugh, I am so sad.
I noticed it was gone this afternoon when I was talking to our accountant. And yes, that is always a whole other heart attack.

Oh, and no. It is not insured. Of course it isn't.

See, we have so much insurance on everything else and pay-I-can't-even-tell-you-how-much for cars, house, employees, equipment and health insurance a year and never, ever have to make a claim. Of course it would be the one thing that we don't have insurance on that I lose. Of course it is! Fabulous.

As if that isn't enough my son just came downstairs dressed as a girl. Okay, that is funny in and of itself. Beau's and Carmella's costumes and theatrics are always funny. But today is not the day that I want to laugh at myself.
Upon introducing the Beau queen, Carmella exclaimed cheerfully, "Look Mommy! I put bows in his hair and helped him put on your boobs!"

See, that is the not so funny part. Because it is just sad that even my kids know I have to "put on" my boobs. Here is the picture with my boobs "put on"--backwards no less.
But you know what is bothering me the most is that they found my ugliest bra. A nude! Ugh. Told you this week was sucking.
One last picture. And what you can't hear is the "siss" sound Beau is making as he touches his ass because he is so hot in Carmella's bows and my "put on" boobs.

End bitch session.