Turbulance

On my way to Vegas, hard to type with the plane moving as much as it is! 5 days, two bags, maybe I over did it, but high shoes take up a lot of room. Big week for R, will post more when I'm not trying to hold my computer and type at the same time!

I gave up....

I didn't give up improving, I gave up posting. But I'm not going to do that, so I'm posting again.

A few weeks ago I was feeling pretty rotten about myself. I had been working out since I started posting and I wasn't getting any results on the scale. My legs looked better, but that's about it. And I was having a rotten week and sulking. Then on FB a friend noted the anniversary of the death of someone I went to high school with. She died of leukemia and left behind a 2 year old daughter and horribly distraught husband. This girl has battled anorexia during high school, she was in ballet and completely obsessed with how she looked. Where had it gotten her, and then I think of all the people she left that were so sad, or would never know her and basically I felt like an enormous asshole for caring so much what the scale said and not just living.

Then the shootings happened at the movie theater and I wanted to leave this crazy country and find somewhere quiet to live.

I want to keep working out, but I cannot obsess to the detriment of my mental wellbeing. R and I are entering a part of our lives where the kids are grown and on their own and I should be so happy and excited about what I'm going to do. Not standing in my underwear in front of a mirror saying terrible things to myself about how I look. I need to start being nice to myself, no matter what I look like or I will never be happy, no matter what the scale says.

One year younger

During a conversation last night discussing age with my darling daughter, I mentioned that it sucked I was going to be 43 this year. Every year when it gets close to my birthday I start saying my next age, you know, roll it around a little, get used to the idea. Why cling to the number that will soon disappear. Well, it seems that I got so used to it, I had myself convinced I WAS 42 and then started thinking that I would be turning 43. She set me straight, I was so excited last night to learn that I was just turning 42. Then I got upset because I thought how fucking old and senile do you have to be to forget how old you're turning on your birthday. So the happiness was short-lived, but on August 4th, you can wish me a happy 42nd birthday, and I'll take it.

Run/walk was 7.75 km today and I felt awful. Turns our 3 pieces of cheese and two glasses of red aren't decent fuel for working out the next day. The boys were having 5 Guys, and although it one of life's treasures, it's not exactly fitting in with my current plan so I skipped it. Not one fry. Before you critique the choice of wine over five guys, hello!! Wine is good for you, read the articles. I only drink it for my heart, I'm that dedicated.

A funny thing happened on the way to workout

It didn't suck. The alarm when off, even though I had that moment of complete delirium where I kept hammering my phone to make it stop, when it was R's phone making the noise. I got up and I was awake, ready to go. The first week or 5 I was pretty tired and grumpy when the alarm went off but I'm finally getting used to it. And I have to say, there was almost a hint of being ok with it this morning. I started running right out of the gate, my toe didn't hurt and I went pretty far before I had to stop and walk.

OMG and my friends boyfriend said "what's up with Laura, she looks emaciated" - he was exaggerating of course, but he simply does not realize what a compliment that was. Sad isn't it. My friend was jealous because he said she didn't look emaciated. Girls are seriously fucked up.

Can Somebody Get Me A Toe?

Last night I made plans with the Italian son to go to the track at the more reasonable hour of 6:15am. He is a sprinter and needs a track to train on, I didn't think initially that R was going to ride. The reason I didn't think he was going to ride is that he's going to ride 100 miles tomorrow, in the mountains. This would have caused me to decide to take a break the day before, but not R, he's tough (crazy). So last night I'm practically falling into a coma waiting for the broadcast of the Tour to be over. I went into our bedroom to pet the cat, and instantly fell asleep. I could still hear sounds from the TV and willed myself back up to go watch the exciting conclusion. Swung my legs over the bed and cracked my toe on the metal rail. My baby toe. The unnecessary one. I thought to myself, after I finished swearing, self, you've broken your toe this time. I stated this to my concerned family back out in the living room. They said "I think he's going to do it, look, he's on the back of so and so's wheel, he's going to win the sprint, you can't win the sprint unless you can get on the wheel of the guy in front of you, the guy in second always wins." They were clearly horrified by my statement.

I woke this morning at 6, got up and went to the track. My toe is indeed broken, and I'm such a badass I still did seven laps, 4 running. But now I fear that I will be punished for my wanton disregard of the toe. Could somebody please call John Goodman and see if he can get me a toe.

Little Black Plastic Bags

The Parketery (we live beside a cemetery - I prefer to call it a Parketery, or Dog Poo Park depending) provides these bags for the dog walkers to collect the reward their dogs leave them every morning as a thank you for talking them for a walk. I watch person after person stand and watch their dog have a shit, then bend over to pick it up with the bag careful placed over their hand like a glove. I would very much like to resurrect me darling grandfather, and R's darling grandfather and put them in our chairs. The disgust that would be hurled at the 20 year olds would be hilarious. "What in the name of Joe Jesus are they doing, what's this world come to??!!"

Today's exercise program was varied and challenging. I started just by walking the track for a few laps to warm up, then I ran laps until I got bored of running in a circle. I walked just outside the park where there are stairs and ran up and down those until my legs said "STOP!" - after I could feel the lactic acid reside a bit, I walked down to the bottom of a hill and then sprinted up. I did this 5 times. I then went back onto the track and lunged myself back to lactic acid hell. I finished with some more walking laps. I will hurt tomorrow, but I know R will take tomorrow off as he loses his mind on Tuesday and rides morning and night. So I figured I could hurt myself today.

Would like my French workbooks to come! I can't rent the villa in Provence in January if I can't speak French now can I?

Drunken Enlightenment - the Best Kind

We had friends over for dinner last night. Irish friends...'nough said. As we were pontificating over the question of age, we all came to the same conclusion. We feel no different mentally than we did when we were 20, even though now we're 40. Don't get me wrong, we may not be the assholes we were at 20, but the core of who we are has not changed. We've learned and grown and had perspectives changed by circumstance and challenge, but are still the same person. So we naturally surmised that this is probably going to be the case at 60 and so on. It became clear that it was more important than ever to get or keep our bodies in good condition because of how much it would suck to be mentally sound and have our bodies let us down. For example, I love to dance and listen to loud music. I always want to be able to drop it like it's hot. And I don't give a rat's ass if I'm too old, if "Shorty Got Low" comes on, I'm going to hit the dance floor and embarrass the shit out of whichever grandchild is being married. So maintaining an ability to bend is imperative. I do not want to be the funny grandma dancing on youtube, I want to be the badass grandma dancing on youtube.

This helped clarify why older people could be grumpy, they did not do this and are now paying the price of having a little too much eat drink and be merry. Ironically, all of this knowledge came to us as we were eating, drinking and being merry. Our poor Italian guest had quite a bit of difficulty understanding our profound discussion, but he hung in there. Not gay. Bummer. Nice kid, will have to work with what I've been given.