Ok, I love the song New York Minute by Don Henley (and a bunch of other guys). But listening to it makes me wonder what the hell is so special about a New York Minute. Is is faster or slower? WHAT? Isn't the amount of time in a minute universal (unless you are in space which I think time is measured differently or is that only on other planets? Am I completely making shit up now? Probably.)

Speaking of time, I'm still having a bit of a rough go of adjusting to working part time in addition to working full time. In addition to training for a triathlon. But after tomorrow I have a whole week off or so and I'm going to spend every breathing minute in the gym. Or riding my bike. Except for Thursday afternoon during which I'll be getting a massage. A much needed massage as my stupid back decided that it would be a good time to freak the fuck out. I slept horribly waking every hour or so in pain, not including the awesomely weird dreams that I had that I was training to climb Mount Everest (a direct result of reading Into Thin Air before bed. Seriously go get this book and read it. It's amazing.)

I went to gym once last week. ONCE. I was so messed in the head with the sinus issues that I could barely think straight and running or any physical activity made me want to die. But this week is off to a much better start, I ran last night for 35 minutes (2 minute warm up) and clocked in 2.9 miles. 3.2 miles with the cool down. I'm mightily impressed with myself and at some point when I stop being amazed that I can run any sort of distance I'm sure I'll shut the hell up about it. But until then I'm going to talk about it until everyone wants to beat me to death with their keyboards or break my feet thus rendering me unable to run ever again.

Lets hit up the way back machine and discuss running- college style. We've already covered why I started and why I stopped running college but I've not touched on the awesomely embarrassing thing that I did while running one time. Lets be honest, I'm of average height (5'4") and possess a curvy figure albeit one that can be athletic and strong. So at the start of my running in college I was strictly a treadmill sort of person and we went early in the morning (7am is EARLY for college people, ok.) One morning and very tall and lovely European student got on the treadmill next to me. She was everything I'm not, TALL and lithe and blond. Whereas I'm short and a wee bit stocky and dark.

Never in a million years could I ever hope to keep up with her gazelle-like stride or pace but I was holding my own slow even canter (yes, canter like a horse or whatever). I have this thing where I HATE, with the fire of a thousand suns, being able to see the time click by on the onscreen display. It makes me crazy because time seems to move so much slower that way. So I toss my little gym towel over it so I can't see it. At some point about 15 minutes in the towel falls off and slips by my feet on the treadmill. Here is where things break down.

Not thinking AT ALL, I come to a dead stop on the treadmill while the damn belt is still running. This shoots me off the back of the treadmill like a rocket and into the wall behind me. Glorious, no? I'm alternately laughing and crying a little bit and the Blond Gazelle next to me stops running and rushes over to make sure I'm ok. I am, just horribly embarrassed.

Aannnd Scene!

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Where is my damn Sudafed?

Praise baby Jesus (because I'm sure he had a lot to do with it), but my landlord called me back at 9pm. In my head I'd given him a 9:30pm deadline before I totally lost my shit, which would involve me driving over to his house with my toiletries and asking to take a shower and use the toilet. He was massively apologetic on the phone and told me to get the carpet cleaned and send him the bill. Which I fully intend to do once I get my damn shit together. Currently I feel like bits of my sanity are held together with scotch tape and perhaps might go flying off if they were to encounter a stiff wind. Its the move that makes me feel this way. I spent at least an hour last night poking through the boxes looking for the giant powder blue makeup bag that held my salvation (sinus medication) and couldn't find it. This morning I was miserable, stuffy headed and still looking for that damn bag. Then I realized I might have actually already put the damn thing away, and just like that I opened my closet and there it was.

I'm slowly making progress with all the boxes and stuff piled around me in the new place. Last night I managed to get several boxes cleared away and make a real meal. One with chopped veg and everything. Tonight my goal is to attack the remaining boxes in the left quadrant of my apartment, the right quadrant is still a total mess and I'm dealing with it by completely avoiding it. Sounds like a plan, no?

The right will come under attack this weekend, hopefully by Sunday everything will be in it's own place. Oh, except that the giant Rubbermaid containers will be chillin' in the main room. Because there is only one closet and it's already full of clothes, extra bed linen, and shoes. I have no idea what I'm going to do with all of them since House Du Rubbermaid isn't really my decorating style. Perhaps I'll even get ambitious and hang pictures this weekend.

And steam clean the motherfucking carpet.

Oh, and make damn cookies for my nephew's birthday (which was a month ago).

Clearly I'm on top of it all.

Shit, shit, shit. I've turned into one of those people who bitches all the time about being busy yet does nothing to stop it. I hate those people. I guess I can add 'self-loathing' to my list of complaints and things to do.

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Crap. Literally.

Ok, so I'm not dead. I just feel that way, I've got another cold. Complete with sore throat and plugged ears. Oh, and overflowing toliet and a shower stall full of poop-water (which is escaping from the bathroom and onto the carpet in the hallway). AWESOME.

Best part is that I've called my landlord but his wife seems to think that overflowing sewage isn't that big of a deal and won't call her husband on the golf course.

I showered this afternoon at the gym and might have to pee in the backyard tonight.


Barely functional

Ok, so clearly I bored everyone with my post about running. So in retaliation I'll make you read a boring bit about my weekend. Bear with me I'm not my usual witty self... I'm so freaking tired right now I can barely sit upright. I've spent the last 4 days moving in 90+ degree heat. Moving oneself by oneself can be a long, laborious undertaking. My friends helped move the large bits but the rest has been up to me.

Tonight I spent longer than I care to discuss cleaning my old apartment. I want that fucking deposit back. I still need to finish cleaning the oven, wash the floors and baseboards and then I'm DONE. Oh and move 4 boxes out of the damn garage. Then I'll be really done.

Lets not even touch on the fact that I've been so tired that all my stuff is piled around me in the new apartment none of it put away.

Shall I mention that my parents are coming for a visit this weekend? Because just a bit of added pressure to heap onto the pile to get things put away. Yeah, if it doesn't happen my parents can just suck it up and deal.

The best part about moving, I drove the big ass Uhaul truck. It was wickedly fun. Oh, and moving all the major furniture only took 1 hour and 20 minutes. Which meant my lovely friends and I enjoyed a celebratory beer at 11:20am on Saturday. Oh, and my new neighbor saw us drinking and decided to come down and introduce himself (and his wife) and join us in the beer consuming. Awesome.

See, I loved driving the truck (not bad looking for not wearing a lick of makeup, having been sweating for a couple of hours, no?):

And my awesome friends enjoying a frosty cold one post move, although Dan (the dude in the middle) is looking not entirely happy:

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I've been running, twice exactly. And while my speed nor the distance I can do, 2 miles** (with some walking breaks tossed in there) isn't earth shattering- it is running. Albeit slowly. It's still not my favorite activity and I doubt it ever will be, yet there is something so alluring about running and the cult that surrounds it. I love the way runners talk about how it is just them and the road, a single, solitary activity with no judgment- just footfall after footfall. The runner's high, those sleek, gazelle-like legs, the steady gate...I want all of it. Although I fear I'll never have those lovely, shapely legs and my gate will always resemble a Clydesdale.

My Dad has always been a runner, for as long as I can remember he would don his running shoes and slip out of the house to pound away on the pavement. In my younger years I remember the torture he would inflict upon us by making us run with him in the middle of summer. In TEXAS. Our Mother would slowly follow behind us in that massive van she used to drive just in case one of us died of heat exhaustion. I could never make it very long and would eventually end up in the van with my mother. My brother on the other hand was a natural, born to the heat and pavement like it was his destiny. There was no end to the love and affection our Father felt about this, he loved that his only son was a runner- just like him. Some sort of triumph of genetics, while his daughters eschewed the very activity. I was always more of a waterbaby, excelling at racing to the end of the pool lane, flipping and coming back for more. I have the powershoulders of a butterfly-er that I've never been able to get rid of.

In college I attempted to be a runner, and for quite some time succeeded. I was running about 3 miles a day and while this was no great distance to do in one go, it was quite an achievement for someone so prone to disliking the sport. But this was also during the period of my life at which I flirted with messed up eating habits, living on diet ginger ale, celery and one cup a rice a day. Complete and utter ridiculousness, looking back and that time I'll admit I'm ashamed. In the end, though, I stopped running. Not because my body gave up from pure exhaustion or lack of nutrition- because really it was surprising on how far I could go on that one cup of rice a day but rather it was the doctor that told me I had to stop. A couple of months into my running I began to develop the most debilitating back pain- when not running I was hunched over like an old crone barely able to pick up my book bag. Turns out the combination of running and the huge breasts I had were messing up my back so badly (oh, the bouncing- I couldn't bare to have a treadmill facing the mirrors, it was like a horrible fun house mirror except REAL). So I quit and the back pain subsided somewhat. The dumb eating bullshit sort of started to clear up too, although it would take me more than a year and half to fully kick it's ass and realize how unbelievably stupid not eating was.

Then I didn't run again for 6 years, until last year (this time with much smaller breasts thanks to my plastic surgeon). There wasn't any painful bouncing or back pain, although a high impact bra is still in order (ladies, Enell is your savior- I don't exercise without mine. No bounce EVER.) Yet, I still didn't love it and it was the part of my triathlon training I neglected the most, figuring if worse came to worse I would walk it. And I did walk a good bit of it, this year I'd like it to be different. I'd like to be better at running, last year it was biking that I so desperately wanted to do well at and that didn't go exactly as planned. The point of all of this is that I'm trying, I'm trying to make myself a runner. It could end in failure yet again, or just something I can do but still don't love.

But I hope not.

Oh, and to answer Shannon's question about which Tris I am going to do, The Cleveland Triathlon Mini Sprint, August 3rd and the Greater Cleveland Triathlon Sprint on August 10th. Perhaps one more in September in Akron based on how those go. I've opted for Cleveland ones because while I LOVED the all women's Triathlon in Sylvania Ohio it just so far from my home and at one point on the drive home I thought I would pass out at the wheel from exhaustion. Just totally drained, and if I race in Cleveland I can stay the night at my parents house and relax without having to worry about that. Not driving off the road = good.

**ok, I wrote this post before I left for the gym today and I'm proud to report that I've now run three times. This last one for 2 miles (22 minutes) without stopping! Dude. WITHOUT STOPPING. I feel awesome. AWESOME.

The whole time I was running I was like "Oh my god, I'm rocking this. Look at MEEEEE! I'm running!"

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