Ego Recovery

Yesterday I tried to go for a run with what I now assume to be an upper-respiratory infection. It hurt like hell.

I got home and angrily marched up the stairs, crawled into bed and tried to nurse myself back to health. Five minutes later, Zack came upstairs. Upon seeing how angry I was, he crawled into bed next to me and told me, of all things, that the people in his workgroup that I met over the weekend had told him that I am “a hoot” and that they all liked me.

That’s how I know that Zack really knows me. He didn’t tell me that I was going to get better at running over time, or that it just hurt today cause I was sick. He told me something much more worthwhile, much more important to me. He scooped up my broken ego and said, “people like you.”

A Retrospective

Remembering conversations from Spring 2005:

1) Michael sees me get Coke for the first time in our 3 year friendship:

Michael: You’re not even going for the CokerPepper?
Sarah: No. I don’t like Dr. Pepper
Michael: But you’ve drank Dr.Pepper for as long as I’ve known you.”
Sarah: Yeah. I really don’t like it at all.
Michael: Why did you drink it, then?
Sarah: I was trying to develop a taste for it.
Michael: For Three Years?!
Sarah: I tried really hard.

2) Michael realizes (and appreciates) the sacrifice:

Michael: I’m drinking dr pepper and was thinking of how you faked liking it for so long, and that really means alot to me.
Sarah: I really did want to like it.
Michael: I know you did.
Sarah: I really tried…
Michael: And it means a lot to the Dr. Pepper community.

3) Michael comes to the dark side.

Michael: We have a small, extremly large problem.
Sarah: About what?
Michael: The Coke Issue. Lately I’ve felt that I need to try to enjoy Coke as you tried to enjoy Dr. Pepper. But your attempts failed. Mine have succeded, but only when a drop of lemon is added to the equation. I feel I have shown great shame to my family.
Sarah: Because you love Coke?

Michael: I’m not saying love, I’m saying, as the can does, (or used to,)that I enjoy Coca-Cola. I enjoy Coke like I enjoy popping an ingrown hair: it’s painful, but I get a sick satisfaction out of it.

More on Running

I got up on Sunday morning, felt the cool air outside, and thought the words, “This is a great morning for a run.” Then I passed out from shock. When Zack found me, he said, “You had a positive thought about running, didn’t you?” AS IF I AM SO TRANSPARENT.

Seriously, though. Me! Positive thought about running! Not hating life! What Is Happening?! So many emotion-filled punctuations! I even enjoyed running on Friday. I didn’t die afterwards, Scout ran better than ever, and Katy went with me on rollerblades! Cali-girls to the MAXX, y’all.

The trick is that I didn’t actually do any running this weekend. After five solid days of working out according to plan, Zack said that I should take some rest days, and that it was important to not over-do it. I said, “but look! I’m excited! I’m using verbal exclamation points!” He didn’t care that I was excited. I’m always excited. If I don’t use at least ten verbal exclamation points an hour, he’ll ask me if something is wrong. (!) SO, despite the fact that both Saturday and Sunday would have lended themselves nicely to a jog through the neighborhood, I gave my bones a break. Two days of not running was juuust long enough to remind me of how much fun NOT running is. You get to stay home! You can eat things instead! No need for all that heavy breathing and MOVING.

So I guess I’ll be looking for my proverbial carrot-on-a-stick this afternoon as I prepare to strap on the running shoes after work today. This week will be even harder to stay motivated because I have a pretty severe case of scheduleous interruptous. I’ll just have to focus on the positives: 1.) running doesn’t really take that long, and 2.) I don’t feel like someone beat me up with a baseball bat like I did last week. There’s a win/win if I’ve ever seen one.

TV & Allergies

Lo, there was TV in the land, and it was good.

Last night I sat down on the couch at 7:00 and I did not move for two hours. I watched My Name Is Earl, 30 Rock, The Office and Scrubs without interruption. All those “welcome back” commercials that NBC has been playing have been tugging at my heartstrings. I truly feel as if all my friends have just returned from a long stint as POW’s vacation.

In other news, I don’t feel too hot. My symptoms are as follows: sneezing, coughing, watery eyes, stinging nose, sore throat, mucus and (possibly unrelated) hiccups. Now, I’m not trying to jump to conclusions, but could I perhaps have an allergy or two? Every single plant in the known universe is budding right now in Texas, and I feel like crap. Sure, could be a coincidence. OR IT COULD BE ALLERGIES. I just printed off a coupon for Claritin D, cause I’m internet-savvy that way. (I may not understand the legal systems in place in China, but I can find a coupon. $4, right back in my pocket, thankyouverymuch.) Here’s hoping that one round of Claritin will knock this mini-congestion right outta my life. That’s not an impossible goal, right?

What’s worse is that I don’t feel good this week. This week that I decided to get healthy. Getting up in the morning to do 80 squats is one thing when you can breathe out of your nose. But doing four sets of push-ups when you have to dry your involuntarily weeping eyes between each set is a whole different monster. I am not looking forward to going out for my run today. But I am going. Oh am I ever going. I am not going to give my body any excuse to maintain status quo.

Murder in the 4-sets-of-20th degree.

Working out is HARD, Y’all.

Mundane activities that have never hurt before are causing me moan-out-loud pain. Activities like turning in my chair to pick up the phone, backing down the driveway, and (my personal favorite time to be uncomfortable) LAYING IN BED. I was flossing this morning, slightly leaning forward over the sink towards the mirror thinking, “THIGHS. ABS. BOTH HURT. While flossing?!?” But honestly. Flossing is real exhausting to my core. Don’t even get me started about sneezing, AKA TORTURE.

On top of the workout that I’ve been doing every morning at 6, I’ve also been running/walking when I get home from work. I have to split up my daily Hour O’ouch into two 30 minute sessions, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to finish the hour. And honestly, right now I’m probably only doing about 50 minutes, but if you count the 5 minutes of fast-walking I do going to and from my car every morning, that equals 60, and HONESTLY. Let’s not get nit-picky, okay?  I’m TRYING.

Yesterday I took Scout with me on my run. This was a pretty big deal, because a.) she’s still a 5-month old puppy and b.) she’s never been running with me before. She’s fairly well trained when it comes to walks–about 70% of the time I can get her to pace herself and walk beside me without tugging on the leash. The other 30% of her time is spent trying to get me to go faster. For that reason, I thought she was going to be really into running with me. And maybe she was. Maybe I just don’t understand what “into” looks like in the canine world. But instead of looking all graceful and smooth like some earthy California babe and her well-trained dog, we both looked kind of like Phoebe on the episode of Friends when she runs in Central Park. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s some descriptive wording for you: TOTALLY RIDICULOUS.  So maybe she totally loved it?

Scout was constantly running much faster than I wanted to run (moving forward…), but she never stopped looking at me (…+looking backward…). She, much like her owner, is conflicted with the inability to run or walk in a straight line if she’s looking anywhere but forward. So that went gracefully (…=catastrophic meltdown). Adding to the chaos, when she would run faster, I would run faster. So soon, I was sprinting full-speed ahead while playing hop-scotch/dog-hurtle with a puppy who was so outlandishly bonkers that she was practically doing back-flips down the sidewalk.

So, after we were done with THAT block, we totally walked for a while. Fast walked, though. Seriously. Real fast. Like, calorie-slayer speed.

Zack does Minnie The Moocher

Zack is famous in his family for this (2000) performance of *******(removed upon Zack’s request). For years, Zack’s dad has been telling me about it. This morning, I found the following gem of a video in my inbox, “digitally remastered for my enjoyment.” Thanks, Zip.

Internet, I had no choice but to share it with you. Zack’s dad’s commentary can be found in the commments.

[video removed]

Update @ 18:00 on 09 APR 08:

Just as I expected, Zack, upon seeing this video, suggested that I take it down.  STRONGLY SUGGESTED. Because I am a loving wife, and because I prepared myself for his reaction for over 12 hours, complied with his request.  Hope you got in while the gettin’ was good!

Long Post Wherein I Divulge My Plan For Healthiness

I am officially attempting to make a change in my life for the healthier.

During the past year and a half, I have gained over 20 lbs. I don’t think that I’m overweight, because I’m not. And I think 10 of those pounds are probably beneficial to me–adding curves where before there were none. That being said, I don’t like the 10 extra pounds, nor do I like the fact that I don’t see an end to it. I have been consistently gaining weight for over a year, and it has finally come to a head that unless I take active steps against the weight gain, it won’t stop.

I sat down and assessed what I thought were the factors that were contributing to my weight gain. They are as follows: Excessive Coke drinking, inconsistent physical activity, & birth control(?). The Nutrition class that I’m taking has opened my eyes to a whole new world of calories and balanced meals, as well as helping me be (painfully) aware of my shortcomings in areas of health. “Thin does not equal healthy,” the book says, adding, “and you ain’t gonna be skinny for long, sucka.”

First, I tackled the issue that I needed professional help with: birth control. I went to see my doctor who informed me that the pill I was taking was testosterone based, and could have had an effect on my appetite. I said, “OH, THIS CAGED MONSTER, YOU MEAN?” as I was (literally) still finding chick-fil-a crumbs in the folds of my jeans. Yeah. Could possibly have increased appetite. The doctor agreed to switch me to a different, non-testosterone based pill with a smaller dose that will still do the job, while putting the minimum amount of drugs in me possible. The reason that I kicked this plan off this morning is because as of Saturday, I took the last of the remaining FAT PILLS.

Secondly, excessive Coke drinking. Like a gay cowboy, “I’ve been tryin’ ‘a quit you (coca-cola, lover of mine)” for at least 45 light years, and I have thus far only been a miserable failure. It wasn’t until I was reading a chapter about vegetables in my Nutrition book that I realized the error of my ways. “Vegetables without fat (dressing, etc),” it states, “are sometimes gross. So if it takes the fat to get the veggies down, eat the fat.” It helps if it’s good, non-saturated fats, but even still. Eat the veggies. — How does that relate to Cokes? Like this: when I don’t buy Cokes at the grocery store, (which come in 12 oz cans) I buy a coke at work from the vending machine. A 20 oz. bottle of Coke out of the vending machine. Sometimes 2 a day. So here’s my plan: no more than 12 oz. of soda a day. I’ve set up my diet game-plan to absorb the extra calories, and GOOD GOSH, I LOVE COKES. Maybe I’ll start getting the smaller, 8 oz. cans, or perhaps try to wean myself as I become more and more health crazed. But as for right now, I’m going to start becoming more healthy by putting a cap on my Coke drinking instead of trying to eliminate it; I’m going to set a goal for myself that I feel is both helpful and achievable.

Lastly: Zack and I sat down together to create a plan to help tackle inactivity. We assessed my current abilities, set goals, and created a work out plan with resistance training (per doctor’s recommendation, women need to do resistance training after the age of 21, because muscle mass breakdown results in added fat in the body. Since the female body peaks at around the age of 20 in regards to muscle mass, breakdown/weight gain has to be combated with more than just cardio.) and cardio. My goal is to exercise around 60 minutes a day in order to align myself with the recommendations of the US Dept. of Health and Human Services, and in order to look like Madonna.

KIDDING. She looks WEIRD! I don’t want to have mountains of muscles on my arms. I’d just like the gentle molehill of my belly to go the way of bellbottoms and Zack Morris’ cell phone. Away.

I’ll do 30 minutes a day of resistance training via push-ups, sit-ups, planks, squats, etc. Then I’ll do 30 minutes a day of running. I’d like to be able to run 3 10-minute miles without walking. Right now I can run/walk 4 miles in 50 minutes, so you can see that I’ve got a ways to go. I’ll be starting by trying to run a mile without walking, and by making sure that I’m moving for at least 15-20 minutes.

SO THERE. That is my plan. Now I’ve said it, and the whole internet knows and I can’t just sit on my butt and do nothing about it anymore. I figure this plan, with a dash of ‘eating better’ and the threat of public humiliation should be what I need in order to get it in gear.

I got up this morning at 6 and completed stage one of the daily plan. That’s when I realized Zack had set the dials on my workout plan to “MURDER WIFE.” I survived, but survival doesn’t mean that I didn’t fall down the stairs on my way to eat breakfast after the workout because I was so weak. NOT THAT I DID THAT. (I totally did that.)

tech-savvy youth

I hit the snooze button this morning for a very specific reason.

I was dreaming about having an argument with Zack over which trashcan I put in what room in the house, and I really wanted to see how it turned out. Would the wood trash can wind up in the kitchen?! Would I consider brushed metal? And where can I find a wooden trashcan in real life? — These are all questions that did not get answered. I’m seriously starting to doubt my sleep-drunk decision making abilities.

Yesterday two ladies in the office asked me questions about their cell phones. I always assume that when people ask me questions about cell phones, it’s because they know that I used to work for Cingular, and that I’m a trained cell phone guru. Whilst I was bragging/(complaining?) about this to Zack last night, he noted that perhaps the 75 year old women were asking for my help, not because I’m such a badass, but maybe cause I’m 50 something years younger and was birthed into the age of technology.

I refused to believe that his assessment was true, assuring myself that the genius that is my bank of cell phone information was clearly shining through. And also, I’ve mentioned that I worked at Cingular. Then today another lady (60?) asked for my help with a Microsoft Word document that she was trying to edit. “Every time I try to type something,” she complained, “the cursor keeps eating what I’ve already written! I know I used to be able to just type, and the rest of the words would… mmmoooovveee. “

Imagine her delight when I introduced her to the “Insert” button.

So I forfeit. I guess they don’t ask me complicated-technology based question because of my vast repertoire of knowledge, rather they ask me because of my decidedly baby face and noticeable lack of wrinkles.

Six of one, right?

A Good Reason To Strangle Your Sister

Three times this morning I put forth an earnest effort to put on my T-shirt before I discovered that I was trying to shove my arm and head through the same hole simultaneously. My nose ring looked me squarely in the face and said, “One more time, sister, and I QUIT.” I AM TIRED. And with good reason.

At 2:45 this morning, Zack and I both woke up to hear a very small but very persistent dinging noise. It sounded very much like the noise a light pull makes when it knocks against a ceiling fan’s globe. It was happening long enough and consistently enough to get us both out of bed, (angrily, of course) to search for it. I became convinced that our fan was irritating the shoe rack on the closet door, (I’m real logical at zero-two-hundred-hours) and went back to bed. The noise started again not but a minute later and Zack scowled, “THEY ARE SHOOTING AIR-SOFT PISTOLS IN THE BACK YARD.” They, of course, being Katy and the rest of her night-crawling friends.

Here’s what I learned: Air-soft pistols are louder that you might think.
Here’s what I’m going to learn: whether or not that face Bart is always making when Homer strangles him is realistic.