On What Aisle Would I Find the Will Power?

My best friend and I were having lunch today.  Two forty-somethings, enjoying a lovely al fresco dining experience at Chipotle.  We spent much of our time talking about how we'd like to lose ten pounds.  This is not an unusual conversation for us.  We have it almost every time we have lunch together (yes, I see the irony).  The difference this time around, however, was that we have finally come to the conclusion that we now MUST lose ten pounds. Not because we want to look sexy in our summer shorts.  We're beyond that.  I think our bodies are beyond that, by about ten years or so (okay, okay, twenty years).  No, we no longer WANT to lose ten pounds.  We MUST lose ten pounds.  We SHOULD lose ten pounds.We NEED to lose ten pounds.

We are at the age, we have decided, that needing to drop some weight is not solely about vanity anymore.  It's about health.  It's about longevity.  It's about being able to physically do what you want to do.  It's about staying injury-free, surgery free, and medication-free for as long as we possibly can.

So there we were, having resolutely decided that yes, it was time, and we WOULD lose the weight.  And soon.  We have running shoes.  We have the time to take walks/runs in the morning.  We know what healthy food looks like.  We just needed one more thing: will power.

We weren't quite sure where we were going to find that.  We had some ideas to get us started.

Perhaps we might find will power in our minds.  If we could just summon the inner motivation, channel it with some positive thinking, and visualize our success, we would have no problems achieving our goal.  Sadly, we've been trying to do this for eons, and it doesn't seem to be working for us (we should probably stop trying to do this over coconut crunch mochas--just sayin').  Next...

Or maybe we might find will power by looking to the triumph of others in their pursuit of weight loss.  Possibly we might be inspired to stick to it by some feel-good stories of other women just like ourselves who overcame seemingly insurmountable obstacles (such as Starbucks on every corner) and now wear pants two sizes smaller.  Unfortunately, when confronted with women like ourselves who have lost weight and now look fabulous, we mostly just get snarky and hypothesize about how they probably don't have jobs, have time and money to kill, and have private trainers and meal plans (we know they probably don't, but it makes us feel better).  Moving on...

So it didn't seem likely that we were going to find the will power we were looking for in any of these places.  We had looked there before with no luck and even less results.

So where does a girl go to get some will power these days?  I decided that I think maybe we can find will power in the grocery store (I'm still not sure on which aisle).  That sounds odd, I know, but getting healthy has to start with what you put into your body.  And you get the stuff you put into your body at the supermarket.

The problem is that the good stuff you put into your body is surrounded by all the other crap that you really, really want to put into your body (but shouldn't).  The hard part is that somehow you must summon your will power and pass up all the goodies (hello, Cadbury Eggs and jelly beans...) in favor of the good-for-you's (yeah, I see you spinach and broccoli).

And how do you do that?

That's not a rhetorical question.  I'm really asking.  How do you do that?  What's the secret?

Did you think I had an answer?  Cause I don't.  If I did I'd have marketed it, sold it, and be ridiculously wealthy.  And I would be thinner.  And probably have a personal trainer.  And a meal plan.

People I Can't Forgive, Part 2

Let's just get right into it.

OFFENDER #5: Newt Gingrich
It baffles me that people are, of their own free will, selecting this man as their candidate of choice to represent them not only in the upcoming Presidential Election, but possibly to represent them AS their President; to be the face of the United States of America; to be the voice of our great nation.

I say it again--it baffles me.  To no end.

This is a man who has TWICE abandoned ship in his marriages, both times during times of medical crisis for his (former) wives.  And both times he had already been cheating on said wives.  Yet he claims to represent the idea of "traditional family values".  Huh?

He is bombastic, impetuous, childish, bratty, and frankly just plain not likable.  The thought of this man running the country frightens me more than I can convey in words.  And I'm not alone.  Last night, as the networks began to realize that he was about to win the South Carolina primary, one of the reporters revealed that many of Newt's former colleagues who are still serving in Congress were, and I quote, "freaking out" at the thought that this man might be in charge.  And that was not just Republicans freaking out.  Newt is an equal opportunity guy.  He freaks 'em all out.

OFFENDER#6: Rick Santorum
Oh my god.  This guy freaks me out even more than Newt.  And that's pretty hard to do.

Some choice (paraphrased) quotes from Mr. Santorum:
•Your teenage daughter got pregnant from a rape? She should consider it a "gift from God".
•John F. Kennedy's speech on the importance of the separation of church and state: it "made (me) want to throw up".
•on President Obama: "what a snob" for wanting every child to have the opportunity to go to college.

Oy.  This guy is such a  right-wing idiot he makes Rush Limbaugh look like a mere entertainer...

OFFENDER #7: Rush Limbaugh
Oh, wait, according to Rick Santorum, Rush IS just an "entertainer".  Yeah, right.  Name me any  "entertainer  "who has Republican candidates walking on eggshells so as not to offend.

I don't get it.  I just don't get it.  At all.  Not even a little.

This man called a female college student who wanted insurance coverage for birth control a "slut", a "prostitute", "someone who wants to be paid for having sex".  And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, he proposed that she should have to post videos of her having sex with said birth control online so he, and all the other "taxpayers" who paid for her contraception, could get something for their money.

Wow.  Any person with a daughter should be offended.  Any person with a brain should be offended.

And yet none of the Republican candidates seem to be offended.

Why does this man, this arrogant ass (and really, that onomatopoetic name is far too nice sounding for him) hold so much sway with Republicans?  Can he actually deliver votes, or is he just a big, loud-mouthed blowhard?  That's a serious question.  My money's on the blowhard.

That may be the one and only thing on which I actually agree with Rick Santorum.


OFFENDER #8: Sarah Palin
Yeah, I know.  I already have her on my first list of People I Can't Forgive.  But she's that bad.  Even John McCain had a hard time keeping a straight face on CNN yesterday when asked to comment on Ms. Palin's recent announcement that, should there be a brokered convention for the Republicans, she would of course be available to step in and do whatever her country needed her to do.

Please, Sarah, do not mistake the need for a brokered convention as the need for you to in any way try to enter national politics.


Election season has a long way to go.  Stay tuned for Part 3.

Where's the Fire?

Okay, people, I need you to slow down.  On so many fronts.

I need you to slow down in your cars.  The speed you go on any given street is not a guessing game, or a game of any sort. There are signs posted to tell you exactly how fast you can/should be going, just in case you can't quite remember.  They are not suggestions.  They are the law.  You need to obey them.  Even if you don't think you do.  You really do.

I need you to actually stop at the stop signs.  All the way.  Completely.  No rolling through because "there was no one coming".  The sign doesn't say "STOP if no one's coming".  It just says stop.  Which is what you should do.  Again, even if you don't think you should.  You really should.

I need you to slow down in parking lots.  I'm sure you're in a hurry.  That wine's not going to chill itself now, is it?  I get it.  But in case you hadn't noticed, parking lots are full of not only cars (which clearly are going far too slowly for you), but also people (who clearly are also going far too slowly for you).  Please keep in mind that you are operating a two ton hunk of metal with powers of acceleration and destruction far beyond those of a sauntering pedestrian.  It's not a racetrack.  It's a parking lot.  People are supposed to go slowly in a parking lot.  I know that frustrates you, but it is not their fault that you didn't plan your time wisely and you are behind schedule.  Don't take it out on them.

And while I'm on the whole parking lot scenario, may I make a suggestion?  If you are driving down the main lane of a parking lot and a car is in the process of backing out of a parking space, thus impeding your forward progress, gently lift your right foot off of the accelerator pedal, shift it slightly to the left, and gently press down on the brake pedal.  Let the car out of its space.  Be kind and safe.  If you are the guy who speeds up and veers around cars that are slowly backing out of their spaces, might I remind you that sooner or later that's going to be YOU stuck in that parking space, trying to get out.  Karma's a bitch.

Little Can Be Big!

It’s the little things that can make the difference.  

It’s the little things that can help you see the bigger picture.

It’s the little, tiniest of things that can end up mattering the most.

A few days ago, our doorbell rang later in the evening.  At any other time of year, I would have wondered who it was.  But it’s the holidays, and I knew it was going to be the UPS man.  He has a routine in our neighborhood, and he generally shows up at our house around 7:00pm.  

Olivia (who begins her Christmas countdown every year on December 26th by declaring “364 days till Christmas!”), ran to the door.  She also knew who it would be.  By the time she got there, the UPS guy had already dropped off the package and was walking down the driveway toward his idling truck.

As she picked the package up, I heard her yell loudly enough for the deliveryman to hear as he got into his truck, “Thank you!”

It was the littlest thing, but it made my heart do a little happy dance.  

The UPS guy never waits for us to open our door.  He’s in a hurry.  He drops the box on the porch and runs.  He’s got deliveries to make and a schedule to keep and probably a family to get  home to when he’s done.  

Even though he never actually hands me the boxes, I have always, always, always yelled “thank you!” to him, even if I thought he couldn’t really hear me.  

Because maybe he can.  

Maybe he reads lips.  Maybe he has bat hearing.  Maybe he runs away so quickly because no one ever says thank you.  I don’t know.  But just in case any of those scenarios are true, and because it’s just plain old polite to thank someone when they give you something, I have always yelled “thank you!” to the UPS man.  

And now so does my daughter.  

For all the times I doubted whether anything I was doing was sinking in; 

for all the times I felt like I was banging my head against a wall; 

for all the times I was absolutely positive that my kids did not hear a word I was saying; 

for all the times I was beyond sure that they were not even trying to listen; 

for all the times I thought they were missing the point; 

for all the times I was convinced that setting a good example was perhaps not going to pay off in the end run--

just the simple act of my daughter screaming “thank you!” at the top of her lungs into the darkness to a person she couldn’t see who probably couldn’t hear her felt like the biggest, most gigantic little gift in the world.  

Naked Shopping

So, yeah, I know a few posts ago I wrote about "running naked".  And now the title is "Naked Shopping".  But this one isn't metaphorical.  It's actually about shopping.  While being actually naked.

Hah.  

Didn't see that one coming, did ya?

So here's what happened.  

One of my favorite stores, Title Nine, advertised a "blowout sale" today in downtown Sacramento.  I was pretty excited.  Love their stuff--it's clothing for people who move a lot.  Sort of REI, except all women's clothing and slightly more fashion forward.  Their catalogs are full of women who look athletic and powerful and wildly stylish.  I want to be in their catalog.

So off I go to the "blowout" sale.

I arrive at the Convention Center. This is where they are having the sale.  It's a HUGE place.  I mean, really large.  They hold actual conventions there!  So I am expecting a convention-center-sized sale.  

It was in a Costco-sized room for sure, but it amounted to rows of tables on which were cardboard boxes full of various types of apparel.  The boxes were labeled with size, and the tables were labeled by apparel-type (tank tops, running shorts, dresses, etc...).  A respectable amount of tables and boxes, but hardly what I would call a "blowout".  With all the empty space in that room you could have still had a full-on convention in there amidst the sale.  I was disappointed.

But there I was, so I decided to at least look through some boxes and see what I could find.  

I found a pair of pants, a dress, a running bra to try on.  

So can you see it coming yet?  Figured out the naked part?

Turns out that when you hold a sale in a convention center, it's a BYODR (bring your own dressing rooms) affair for the retailer.  Their solution was to slap together some PVC and some black fabric and create one giant dressing room.

So...

There I am.  Standing in the middle of this somewhat shaky looking structure (and I use the term structure loosely) with about a dozen other women.  All in various stages of naked.

Did I want to be naked with them?

Of course I didn't.

First of all (and I apologize to any of my male family members who are reading this but I am going to have to ask you to skip the rest of this paragraph, possibly even the next one as well--you'll be sorry if you don't, I promise),
I was (seriously, stop reading guys)
wearing (this is your final warning)
a

thong (I warned you; I even skipped a line to give you one last chance).

Frankly, I don't even like looking at my butt (apparently I don't like having panty lines even less).  I certainly didn't want to subject anyone else to looking at my butt.  How was I going to try on a dress and a pair of pants without fully exposing my derriere to this room full of women?

There was no way around it.   I was going to have to get naked.  And, not only did I have to expose my butt, I also had a running bra that I wanted to try on, so apparently the girls were going to make an appearance as well.

I reluctantly entered the room and backed myself into a corner (literally) and began undressing.  Even though it was rather cold in there, I made the crucial decision to take my socks off, because ladies (I know you know this) there is nothing, and I mean nothing, more unflattering than standing in a fluorescent-lit room in your underwear and your socks.
Word to the wise: lose the socks.  You'll feel better about yourself.  I can't explain it, but it's true.

Anyway, the sides and corners of the room (where the fabric walls would hide half of you) were conspicuously more populated than the center area, where you would be visible for 360 degrees.  We were all trying to put our best body part forward and keep the rest as out of sight as possible.  

But of course when you're naked, or pretty much naked, there are parts of you (the naked parts) that you can't hide. 

Now I'm not in terrible shape.  I'm in what I'd call "reasonable shape for 45".  And while I aspire to it, I certainly do NOT look like the women in the Title Nine catalog, which is who I imagined would be shopping at this sale.  I imagined coiffed, toned, muscular, athletic women who had flocked to this sale because they had worn out all of their workout clothing due to their grueling yoga/running/cycling/triathlon regimen.

Who knew I'd have to disrobe in front of these goddesses?

Frankly, I don't think I would have showed up had I thought the possibility existed that I would have to try to squeeze into a disappointingly snug dress while simultaneously trying to hide all the reasons why that dress was snug AND having to endure all this while comparing myself to what I was sure were all the overly fit workout queens who would be surrounding me.

I didn't want to look up.  I was sure it would only confirm that I was surrounded by women my age who looked much younger and much more in shape than me.

I kept my eyes lowered for as long as I could, but finally I couldn't help but sneak a peek.  

I was pleasantly surprised.

I found myself surrounded by women my age (and older) who looked just like me.  Not a perfect body among us.  And while we were all different shapes and sizes and clearly none of us were going to make any Victoria's Secret models nervous about losing their jobs, I thought we all looked pretty good.

It was kind of liberating.

Like the time I participated in a triathlon.

Stay with me here.  I know this seems super tangential, but it'll come back around I promise.

So I'm at this triathlon.  They made me write my age on the back of my left calf.  In ink.  I was sure people of all ages would see my age as they sped past me and silently marvel at how slow I could actually go and still be technically moving.

Or even worse, I would get the dreaded "You're doing great!  Keep going!  You can do it!" cheer that really means "Wow, you look like you're really out of shape--good job making it this far!  You'll make it to the finish line eventually..."

But really what happened was that as  (much older) people passed, they would yell "Go 43! You rock!"   And as I passed (much, much,much older) people, I would yell "Keep it going, 78!"

It was supportive.  It felt good.  It felt like there was nothing to hide and absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

That's how the giant dressing room full of naked women felt.

We were all out there doing our best and giving our all, and in search of some fun clothing to support our efforts.

We were all willing to fully bare ourselves (literally) in front of complete strangers in the hot pursuit of fashion.

I think that takes a bit of confidence that comes only with age and experience.

After all, I didn't see any of those Victoria's Secret-type women or Title Nine catalog models in that giant dressing room.

All I saw were athletic, powerful women in search of wildly stylish clothing.

People I Can't Forgive, Part 1

I'm generally a pretty nice person.  I'm far from perfect, and I don't expect others to be perfect.  I subscribe to that whole crazy notion of people living in glass houses not throwing stones.

Everyone makes mistakes.  Forgiveness is part of life.  It's a good part of life.  It makes you feel better.  It makes others feel better.  It allows life to continue along with less crap in your head.  Forgiveness makes you a happier person.

There are a few people, however, I am having trouble forgiving. They are listed below in no particular order.

Now I realize that none of these people have asked for my forgiveness.  So it's not like I'm doing wrong by them.  In fact, I think it's safe to say that all of the people on my list so far would actually not even think they have done anything objectionable or offensive or requiring my (or anyone's) forgiveness.

I would disagree.  Strongly.

So here is my list, thus far, of people who have committed egregious sins that I cannot bring myself to absolve.  I have included not just their names, but also their offenses.  As well as the severe and occasionally debilitating impact their transgressions have had on my life.  Yes, overly dramatic, but thanks to and according to Kim Kardashian (OFFENDER #1), melodrama is now something that should be not just a regular part of people's everyday lives, it should be celebrated, rewarded, and captured in every possible medium every single day so people can have it crammed down their throats.  Kardashian has made being a melodramatic, shallow, non-contributing, uneducated, greedy beauty queen into something to which young girls aspire.  My heart has never hurt more than when my wonderful teenage daughter came downstairs with her hair in a high ponytail, and told me how excited she was because the fabulous hairdo made her, and I quote, "feel like a Kardashian".  I cringed.  I may have visibly and audibly gagged.  We had a long talk.
I will be more accepting of Kardashian and her ways when she starts to responsibly demonstrate for her many young admirers that there is more to happiness than money and glamour.

OFFENDER #2: Sarah Palin
Oh, my god.  I could go on for days about the many things Ms. Palin has done that I find inexcusable and unforgivable.  But I'm going to concentrate on one.

She made ignorance into a badge of honor.

When asked what newspapers or magazines she reads and she failed to come up with any, she deemed it a "gotcha question" from the "lame stream media".  How is that a trick question?  The fact that you don't read any news periodicals should be a direct commentary on you, not the interviewer.  But people cheered her on, sympathizing at how she was dragged over the coals by Katie Couric.  Really?  Has Katie Couric ever dragged anyone over the coals?  She's far too perky for that.

When asked what she learned after going through the home of revolutionary war hero Paul Revere, she rambled on about second amendment rights and made no sense whatsoever (apparently, she also learned that Paul Revere had "warned the British").  When called on her gaffes (and called on it by a fellow conservative talk show host!), she once again accused the reporter who had asked her the question (again, as a reminder, that question was "What did you learn in there?") of trying to "get her".  People applauded her for exposing those 'hardcore liberal journalists' whose only true intention, apparently, was to make her look bad.

How much more of a softball question can you get?  If you can't even answer that one, you should bury your head in the sand, not puff up your feathers like a proud peacock.

You, Sarah Palin, make my blood boil.  If I have to go on blood-pressure medication, I'm going to bill you for my copay.


OFFENDER(S) #3: The Inventors of the Urban Dictionary
Those aren't words.  Don't encourage kids to use them.  It makes kids sound stupid.  And it makes the adults that try to use them sound even stupider.  Look that one up.  It's probably in the Urban Dictionary.

OFFENDER #4: John McCain
Once upon a time, I admired John McCain.  I appreciated his intelligence, his forthrightness, his ability to speak the truth even when it didn't match up with the Republican party line.
Then he brought us Sarah Palin (see #2).
I pretty much blame John McCain for inflicting Sarah Palin on us all.
Did you not do your research, John?  Did you?  Did you?  Did you not see it all coming?
Unforgivable.

I think this will be an ongoing list.  I will update periodically.

I'm going to stop here (for now), because it's just a day before Thanksgiving, and in the spirit of the holiday, I will focus (for now) on what I am grateful for--family, friends, and a bumper crop of GOP presidential nominees who, as a whole,  might just be the next update to this list.

Running Naked

I did the unthinkable this morning.
I ran.
With no music.

No buds in my ears.
No soundtrack to cover the sound of my footfalls.
No melodic voices to smother the "to do" list formulating in my head.

It was nice.  Peaceful.  Fast.

I generally will not run if my Shuffle isn't charged.
I've been known to start out on a run and turn around less than 100 yards later if the iPod runs out of charge.  Really.  I have done that.  Priorities.
I just have never really run without an accompanying playlist.
I have special attachments on my earbuds so they won't fall out while I run.
I have even gone so far as to arrange my songs by "bpm", or beats per minute, so that my pace will increase/decrease at certain points along the run, which seems to help me get a little more mileage.
The music is motivating.

This morning though, at 5am, I headed out the door naked (metaphorically, you know, without the music; it was 5am in November, so yeah, I did have running pants, a wicking long-sleeved shirt, a gore-tex jacket, ear warmers, a hat, and gloves; but naked mentally).

I was surprised by so many things.  Not just that I could run naked (with no music).  Eeew. I just re-read that part.  I'll find another metaphor.  Sorry everyone.  Try to get that mental image out of your head.  Please.  Pretty please.

Anyway.  I found out some things.
I  can run three miles with no music.
And I ran faster than I normally do.  And the run went by more quickly (which, I guess, makes sense if you are running faster than you normally do).

Without the music, I thought about things and people and places.  My mind wandered.  It was easy to get lost in my own head.  I wasn't waiting for a song to end, or anticipating what song would be next, or fiddling with my Shuffle to get to a certain song.  I was just moving my feet, listening to the steady sound of my breathing.  It's very calming to notice that your legs and your lungs can work in unison, increasing and decreasing speed in response to one another.  It makes you feel very in tune with your body.

I noticed details in my neighborhood (you can take down those Halloween lights now).  I heard sounds that are usually drowned out by Coldplay and Kelly Clarkson (lots and lots of very communicative birds in our area).  And while I cannot explain why, for some reason without headphones funneling Bruno Mars into my ears my sense of smell was much keener.  On a crisp fall morning, if you're paying attention, the air smells like camping and the beach and Christmas all rolled together.  I just never noticed that before.

It was very dark.  I don't want to say the darkness was disorienting, because I was just running a one mile loop over and over again, so it wasn't like I was going to get lost.  But it was kind of like the blackness made me less aware of where I was, which made me less aware of how far I'd gone, and less aware of how far I had yet to go.  The darkness concealed the distance, in a way.  In a good way.

I think I'll try it again tomorrow morning.

I'm going to run... how do I phrase this so no one gags... with my senses available.