I miss my laptop.
That is all.
I miss my laptop.
That is all.
I never thought I’d say this but I have a sports-related injury.
I have patellar tendinitis from, get this, RUNNING TOO MUCH.
Today was the beginning of week three of my 5k training (did I tell you I was doing that?). The first two weeks were awesome; I was overcoming challenges and not giving up when I felt tired like I used to do. The lazy and complacent old Lauren? That bitch is gone, y’all. The new Lauren LOVES to run. On Saturday I ran for three minutes without stopping just to see if I could handle the three-minute running intervals for this week’s training. Nailed it. Then on Sunday I decided to see just how long I could run without stopping. After five and a half minutes running at 5.5 MPH I decided to stop but I bet that I could have kept going.
Unfortunately, training six days a week has left my stupid almost twenty-eight year old knees sore and pissed off. My body isn’t used to this kind of physical activity and I guess I’m hitting it pretty hard and fast. Also, I don’t feel like the treadmill absorbs much of the impact from my weight.
All I know is that when I started the first three-minute run tonight I wasn’t sure if I would be able to finish it. The pain was only in my knees but it was awful. I kept running until I heard the ‘ding’ on my training app and then I slowed the fuck down. After running at five MPH slowing down to three felt like I was barely moving but even at that speed it still hurt.
I wanted to cry.
I didn’t finish today’s training routine but I did walk for the remaining twenty minutes at a steady 3.5 MPH. I felt defeated. My legs wobbled as I walked home and I was cold since I didn’t work up a sweat at the gym to keep me warm once I stepped outside.
After consulting with Dr. Google and self-diagnosing I popped some ibuprofen and relaxed on the sofa. So what if I have to take it easy for a few days? I’ll keep walking until I can run without pain. I’m not giving up this time.
So nice try, body. You may have slowed me down but you won’t hold me back.
There are probably millions of people out there who believe in the practice of running to the doctor for every sniffle, cough, or bout of diahhrea.
I am one of those people.
Granted, MOST of the time there is actually something wrong with me that can be described as an infection and you can’t buy antibiotics at the drug store. If you could I would skip the $25 copay and just diagnose myself. It’s always one of three things: sinus infection, upper respiratory infection or a urinary tract infection. Okay, so the symptoms of the last one aren’t the same as the first two but those are basically the only illnesses I ever get. I used to get strep throat once a year but I’ve been downgraded to upper respiratory infection which actually sounds worse.
Every morning after I eat breakfast I take a prenatal multi-vitamin (no, I’m not pregnant but prenatals are the BEST vitamins) and a vitamin C supplement. I wash my hands, use hand sanitizer, and I even cover my mouth with my elbow when I cough or sneeze. You’re welcome.
And yet I somehow still get sick.
My husband, however, never gets sick. He takes vitamins too and yes, he washes his hands but he isn’t a germophobe like me. He doesn’t have half-taken prescriptions in the medicine cabinet like I do. In fact, the man hasn’t been to the doctor since he pinched his sciatic nerve two years ago and had to be carried down three flights of stairs by EMT in this weird little chair since he was too tall for the gurney.
Anyway, he never gets sick. And you know why? His body creates its own antibodies like it’s supposed to and hasn’t built up an intolerance to it.
HOWEVER, my never-sick hubby? Is fucking sick. And man, is he being a pain in the ass.
Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say? Men are such babies when they’re sick. Blah blah blah.
In my case? Total bullshit. Jacob has a stomach bug (like what I had in November that killed me for a week) and he’s taking it easy but he still helped me around the house and watched Avery so I could go to the gym. The only time an adult gets to be demanding and lazy is when he’s sick and he’s fucking blowing it. Stay in bed, I encouraged him. I’ll bring you something to drink. I head to the kitchen and he hops up and unloads the dishwasher. Really? Go sit down (after you finish unloading). LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU!
He has only been whiny once and that was because we were out of ibuprofen and I forgot to pick some up on my way home from running other errands. I eventually got some the next day and he managed to survive until then.
I’m not sure why he’s not being a big baby. Maybe my husband has evolved. From what I read on other women’s blogs and on Twitter it sounds like my husband is superior in many ways.
And you know why?
Because he’s a fucking robot, duh.
No, not really. He’s just amazing and he works so hard for his family that I wonder if he knows how to shut off and just BE. At least while he’s sick he can rest. That is, if he’ll let himself do it.
*Obviously this is incorrect.
I know that none of you will be heart broken by the following:
I am going to take a break from this blog for a week. I have other projects that need my attention and I stress over trying to write good content and it’s exhausting. I want to be funny and poetic and fucking brilliant and rather than try and fail I’m just not going to do it at all.
But just for a week.
I will still be posting my daily photo and frequently updating my 5k training/weight loss blog. I will also be working with Melissa over at her masterpiece You Won’t Go Blind where I am an editor as well as a contributor (and I will contribute this week!). I also need to focus on finding a job which includes perfecting my resume and applying for positions. Looking for a job is a full time job in itself.
In addition to the writing I’ll be doing elsewhere I will also be tackling some work that needs to be done around the house.
See you next week. Love you.
Hey, guess what?!?!!
I started another blog!
I’m out of control.
This time it’s called Fuck yeah, 5k! and will be the home of my weight loss journey and 5k training. That’s right, assholes, I’m going to run my very first 5k race in March. Normally I wouldn’t sign up for something like this but unless I have a reason to do something I won’t do it. Exercising for health should be enough reason but it’s not, at least not right now.
So check it out and if you’re on Tumblr feel free to follow me!
This post brought to you by TABASCO® Original Red. All opinions are 100% mine.
My husband is from Oklahoma where they basically dip their tortilla chips in something that resembles ketchup or some kind of bizarre pickled tomato relish shit that his grandma used to make. Who knows. It’s appallingly bad. I grew up in the city (sort of) where Tex Mex was invented. Yeah. That’s right. You’re welcome.
Actually I had nothing to do with it but whatever. I know my Tex Mex. I know spicy and I LOVE it.
While other people turn away at the sight of a juicy pepper on the side of their plates I reach for mine. Using peppers is like an art form. The flavor and the heat enhances whatever you put it on. Oh yeah. It’s GOOD.
The first time Jacob and I had pizza at some mom ‘n pop in Norman, OK I noticed that they had TABASCO® Original Red on the table. As I reached for the inconspicuous little bottle Jacob looked at me, eyes widened, in almost a look of fear.
“What are you going to do?” I smiled at him while silently judging him for being such a fucking square.
I shook the contents of the bottle onto my pizza and took a bite; Jacob looked horrified but I didn’t care because I was now eating Pizza Perfected. I offered him a bite of the deluxe veggie with Tabasco and he politely declined. Actually, he balked at my offer and made some excuse about how he gets blisters in his mouth from eating foods that are too spicy. I call bullshit.
Since the holidays are FINALLY over the next big food-related event is the Super Bowl so check out these Game-Day Party Menu ideas on how to add some heat and flavor to your snacks (and of course, pizza).
Damn. Now my mouth is watering.
Over the weekend I got the itch.
Not THAT kind of itch! The crafting itch! Every now and then I get the urge to paint, glue, build, revamp, and generally fuck up shit around the house in an effort to jazz up our living space. Residing in our living room is the rocking chair that my dad assembled and stained when my mom was pregnant with me. Not only is it old (okay, not THAT old) but it has sentimental value. I love that the rocker has been passed down to my family and someday I’ll give it to my daughter when she has a baby.
Anyway, my living room furniture is brown. All of it. The monotony drives me crazy and makes me do things like spray paint my garage blue. Yeah.
When one lives in north Texas (or anywhere, really) it is impossible to predict the weather. Today may be a fabulously sunny and brisk winter day but tomorrow? Who the fuck knows! It’s weather Russian roulette and everyone loses.
Since this winter has been unusually warm I have been trying to spend as much time outdoors as possible. I know that the dreary grayness of REAL winter is coming and I don’t want to take the sunshine for granted.
We live in a subdivision that has many playgrounds and lucky for us the nicest and least spider-infested one is at the end of our block. I get on our coats and we walk past less than ten homes before we’re at the park. It’s nice. I feel lucky. Never in my dreams did I imagine that this is what I’d want when I grew up. The American Dream wasn’t in the cards for me. I was going to be alone forever hopping from city to city, never curing my wanderlust and making sure that my mother was always right about one thing- I can’t finish anything I start.
So I’m walking, holding my tiny daughter’s blue nailpolished hand as I keep her from running into the street and she sees the playground. Forget keeping her next to me. She takes off for the stairs, climbs, goes down the slide, back to the stairs, and repeat. She’s laughing and making sure that I am watching her. Another mom and toddler pair walk up and her kid, a little boy not much older than Avery, finds Avery and then run around each other for awhile. She picks up mulch and throws it into the air like confetti. He mimics her. I smile at his mother apologetically, sorry that my kid is a bad influence.
I start to get bored so I pull out my phone and send a few tweets and text messages. Just as I’m sending a text to my husband my kid walks up to me, shows me her hands, and says “Mommy, mess?” She had been playing with what looked like a clod of dirt and was showing it to the boy so now her hands were muddy.
Wait a fucking minute.
That isn’t mud. I smell her hand. It’s shit. I panic.
I check her diaper. Clean. Where the hell did she find poop? The mother of the little boy checks his diaper. Nope. Clean. She walks over to where the kids were playing to investigate and finds a huge pile of dog shit buried under a layer of mulch.
She hands me a baby wipe so that I could clean Avery’s hands and we both decide to head to our respective homes. As we walked away I told her that I would email our HOA to complain about the dog shit and how fucking ridiculous it is and OMG PICK UP AFTER YOUR GODDAMN DOG.
The more I thought about it the more angry I got. What if Avery had eaten the poop? What if the dog had worms or some other funky diseases in its poop and she ingests it?
More importantly, WHAT IF SHE HAD EATEN THE POOP AND KISSED ME ON THE MOUTH?
This post brought to you by Hiltons of Branson. All opinions are 100% mine.
Jacob and I have been bouncing ideas back and forth about vacations. Should we take one? When? Can we afford it? The past year has been stressful and I know that throwing saving up for a trip into the mix will cause him even more stress so I told him that I would do some research and crunch some numbers. The goal is to find a fun and cheap vacation.
One idea we briefly discussed was Branson, MO. It’s within driving distance and has tons of activities and shows. While it’s family friendly and we’d be going sans child I figured that it was worth a look anyway.
The hotels I found the most reasonable with the nicest rooms were the Hilton Branson Convention Center Hotel and the Hilton Promenade at Branson Landing. Their rooms look modern like a boutique hotel’s accommodations which isn’t something I originally expected from a hotel in a city that mostly caters to the elderly. It looks like Branson is making the attempt to appeal to a younger, hipper crowd. Like Jacob and me.
The Hilton Promenade has a swanky lounge called Clear that would be great for drinks after a long day of walking. I love to unwind with a cocktail (or six, whatever) and if Jacob and I get hammered we can just go upstairs! No cab needed! Genius!
There are so many shows and points of interest in Branson: The Beatles cover band, art galleries, and real life family bands (which, let’s face it, are a little creepy but I bet they have sing-a-longs!).
After perusing a few websites I found a couple of rad activities that Jacob and I would both dig. The riverboat cruises look like a lot of fun. If we went on 4th of July weekend they offer a nighttime cruise with dinner and I bet seeing fireworks over the river while on a boat? AWESOME.
While I wouldn’t have thought that Branson would be a good fit for us it might be a vacation destination worth looking into!