Lazy Sunday

I do love me a Sunday with nothing to do. I've been on the move the past three weekends. Today, I anticipated my Sunday with no plans like a kid on Christmas Eve. I moved from the bed to the couch at around 8 a.m. and lounged there until about 10:30. I was moving in and out of consciousness at that point. You know that "oh my God, somebody drugged me, I can't move feeling..." That's where I was.

So, I forced myself off the couch and went to the gym. I'm on Week 2 of my "Couch to 5K" program and needed to get one more workout in this week to keep pace with the program. I still dislike running, and I dislike running on the track even more. But, I haven't thrown in the towel yet. Still working toward that 5K in October. Good thing that's still three full months away. I don't feel like my progress is very good at this juncture. Then, for the first time in years, I got in the pool for some lap swimming. What a feeling....refreshing, peaceful, easy on the body.

Back home....back on the couch. Wow....I think the lap swimming zapped all remaining energy. Christ I'm tired. Another two hour nap. I've been glued to the TV all afternoon, too, taking full advantage of the free HBO/Cinemax weekend compliments of Mediacom. Of course, mostly what I've watched are movies I've seen 25 times. Still love "Waiting to Exhale" with pre-crackhead Whitney Houston. Now, Ocean's 11, with a really stellar cast including Don Cheadle!!

Six more hours before I'll think about going to bed. Most of that time will be spent right here on the couch. I guess this is pretty much what Bailey's day is like. Damn, she's lucky.

The only thing better than a Sunday with no plans is a three-day weekend with no plans! Bring on next weekend and the Independence Day holiday.

Thank You For Being a Friend

On my 4.5 hour drive back from Minneapolis this afternoon, I had time to reflect on how blessed I am to have such fabulous friends. As I cruised south on Highway 52, I kept hearing the song: 

Thank you for being a friend

Traveled down the road and back again
your heart is true you're a pal and a confidant
I'm not ashamed to say
I hope it always will stay this way
My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow

And when we both get older
With walking canes and hair of gray
Have no fear, even though it's hard to hear
I will stand real close and say,
Thank you for being a friend.

By the luck of the draw, really, you can be dealt a royal flush when it comes to your family or, sometimes, you are dealt some really crappy cards and come up with nothing.

But when it comes to your friends, you have choices. I am profoundly grateful for my friends--friendships that began in kindergarten that are comfortable and grounding to friendships that are still newly forming and that make me think in new ways and find appreciation in things I had taken for granted. Friendships begun based on a single common thread, with a classmate or co-worker, but friendships that grew because of deeper threads that reinforced the friendship.

When I think collectively of my friends, I think in some ways they are all very similar. But, really, they are all very different and each enriches my life in unique ways. I can't explain exactly why one or the other has become such an important part of my life. But, when I don't see a friend or communicate with a friend for some time, there is a definite void that is not automatically filled by another friend.

My friends know when I am down, can make me laugh almost on demand, and are hopeful for a world that should be better than it is now. We are comfortable in each other's presence and can relish the quiet times shared when two friends are merely sitting in the sun enjoying the company of the other without the need to fill each minute with chatter.

Thank you, my friends, you know who you are.

 

If only I was 50 now...

I would have been a contender at the Farley "Kick Off to Summer" 2 mile run/walk.

I'll start with the back story...

About a week ago, two of my co-workers planted a seed in my head to join them in a 5K run in October. Let me set the record straight...I am not a runner. I went out for track once in the 8th grade. I threw the shot put. Oh, I think my coach probably put me in some other races, but I know I was never a winner. This body is not built for speed. However, I have always been one to jump on the bandwagon and give in to peer pressure, so although I haven't completely committed to running the 5K, I haven't abandoned the idea either. In fact, last weekend, I spent about two hours googling "fat person running 5K." Yes, there are numerous blogs and posts on this topic. I probably should have googled "fat old person running 5K" now that I think about it.

Last night (Friday), I show up in Farley and my sister tells me that she is getting up at 6:30 a.m. to participate in the Farley 2 mile run/walk. My sister getting up at 6:30 in and of itself is a small miracle that I had to witness. She asked if I wanted to go, so I said sure -- thinking it would be a good pre-test, if you will, of my abilities to run a 5K in October. Now, bear in mind that this was a completely spur of the moment decision; therefore, I did not have my running shoes, my sports bra, my iPod, or any of my other normal "I'm going to work out" gear. Additionally, I was meeting two life-long friends, Jean and Bob, for dinner on Friday night.

Lesson #1: It is probably not the best idea to drink 4 beers and 2 Bombay and tonics within 12 hours of attempting to "run" a 2 mile race. On a normal day, that would be cause to make me lie on the couch for several hours to shake the fuzziness in my head. I did take advantage of the opportunity to "carb load" by eating a ginormous plate of lobster ravioli for dinner.

This morning at 6:15, I waited anxiously in bed to see if Kathy was truly going to get up. Damn...I heard her rustling around in her room. Not to be outdone, I sprang out of bed, still trying to shake the fuzziness of last night's alcohol.

We get up to the Farley Park and check in for the race. There was the 2 mile run/walk that we were doing and an 8K for the more serious runners. I had great visions of running at least a mile. Ummm, yeah, that barely lasted until I made my way out of the park.

Lesson #2: Without my running shoes, I immediately started getting cramps in my shins. "Power through, power through" that's all I kept thinking. Then, without my sports bra...well, there was a lot of ... should I say "motion" going on. I felt a little self-conscious...but...what the hell, it's just Farley.

One of my motivations for doing this little jaunt was feeling secure in the notion that at least I would not come in last. Surely I could beat Kathy because she wasn't planning to run at all. I gained a couple of other lessons if I'm really going to try to do the 5K.

Lesson #3: I'm going to have to get off the treadmill and get outside to run. I need a lot of "data" when I run. I need my iPod, I need to be able to watch Bravo with closed captioning, I need to know my incline, my speed, how many minutes I've been running, how many minutes I have left, how far I've run, my average overall speed, the number of calories burned, I need a fan blowing cool air in my face. I said I am not a runner. I need a lot of distractions. Running outside on hard concrete, in the humidity, with unplanned hills, and lots of bugs flying in my face was just downright uncomfortable.

Lesson #4: Start out slow. My exuberance got the best of me, and I flew off the starting line. That lasted all of about 200 yards. Dammit...see, I needed to know my speed. Pace myself...I'm sure that was my problem. My physical condition had nothing to do with it!

In the end:

• I finished the race in 26:13. I pretended not to notice that the winner was a 12 year old girl who finished in like 13 minutes. I swear she cheated.
• I wasn't last..I beat Kathy and some moms pushing double strollers.
• I finished 3 minutes ahead of the guy who won the 8K. I was happy that at least I didn't get lapped by that crowd.
• If I was already 50, I would have won my age group. The winner for the 50-59 group clocked in behind Kathy at 29:55. Next year--that medal is mine!

Here are a few snaps of Kathy and me, in our first official race.

Kathy on the inhaler after crossing the finish line.

I'm hot...and I'm not talking Paris Hilton hot.



Thank God...she'd didn't go DFO on me.



Sisters, are doin' for themselves...



Mother Nature or Oprah?

Today is another one of those days where I have a lot of random thoughts on my mind. First off, let me post my May picture of Willow Creek Park. Remember, I said I was going to post a picture at the beginning of every month to mark the changes of the seasons. As a reminder, here is what the park looked like in April:

And, although the month of May is practically over, I actually did take this photo during the first week of the month. Amazing how one month can transform a spot on this glorious earth.

My morning started today at about 3 a.m. when a seriously loud clap of thunder and seemingly close bolt of lightening illuminated my bedroom and scared the bejesus out of a soundly sleeping Bailey. She bolted out of bed. By the time I was finally getting back to REM sleep, the alarm went off at 5:15.

When I got home from the gym tonight, I noticed that water was seeping into my basement. ARRGGHH. Curses to the rain gods who dumped all that rain outside my house. As I was grousing about moving some stuff away from the wall, sopping up the water with some towels, and plugging in the dehumidifier and fan, I stopped and thought to myself, "stop whining -- this is nothing." All week, we have been amazed and horrified at the devastation suffered in Joplin, Missouri; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; and other countless cities and towns across the Midwest. The death toll is unthinkable, the devastation unimaginable. Equally as horrific was the devastation suffered in Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia just one month ago. I heard on NPR that this year has been the deadliest for tornadoes in over 60 years.

As I thought about all the deaths from tornadoes, I recalled that the death toll from the earthquake and tsunami in Japan in March was over 15,000. The Mississippi River reached unprecedented flood levels in the lower half of the United States this spring. Even with all of our expertise in forecasting weather patterns; building stronger buildings; implementing advanced warning systems; constructing dams, berms, and levees; and calling for mandatory evacuations we still are unable to guarantee the safety of anyone who stands in the path of Mother Nature's fury. Is there any force that is more powerful or unpredictable than Mother Nature?

Well, maybe Oprah? I caught bits and pieces of her star-studded send-off show at the United Center and I caught most of her good-bye episode tonight while I was sweating on the treadmill. I don't know...I feel real conflicted about it all. I don't want to be a hater, but there is a part of me that is really bugged by Oprah. I used to like her quite a lot. But, in the past few years she seemed awfully full of herself. As if she alone has discovered the meaning of life and is here to bestow all of her wisdom upon us poor commoners. All hail to Oprah! Three particular instances of her super-sized ego jump out at me.

1. A few years back, she had her father on the show and was telling a story how she had gone to visit him one summer over father's day weekend. She explained that he made an off-handed comment about one day wanting to get a new Cadillac. Oprah said she would buy him one for father's day. He said that she couldn't because it was Sunday and the dealership was closed. She was all proud when she told her father that she was pretty sure they would open for her. So, she looked up the owner of the dealership and called him at home, on a Sunday, on father's day, to come to the dealership so she could buy her father a car. Now, I'm sure the dealer got lots of mileage out of the fact that he was able to sell a car to Oprah, but it still bugs me that this man had to leave his family on his day off and on father's day to go "serve" Oprah.
2. Similarly, there was a news story a few years ago about Oprah going to Harrods department store in London near closing time because she wanted to buy some gifts for people she was visiting in London. When the store personnel explained that they were closing and that she could return the following day, she pulled the "don't you know who I am?" card and further hinted that Harrods was racist! Really? How about maybe the people were tired from working all day and wanted to get home to their families? It's that sense of entitlement that got to me.
3. Finally, I really had it when she beat up on James Frey about some of the untruths in his memoir "A Million Little Pieces." I had stopped regularly watching her show by then, but happened to catch that particular episode. I was stunned. To me, her attitude was like, "How dare you misrepresent yourself to me and my kingdom. I am the supreme Oprah. Off with your head." Honestly, she was downright rude to that man. To his credit, he sat there and took the abuse. I think I would have had a different reaction. The lyrics to Cee Lo Green's hit song come to mind.... I'm not saying he was right for making some shit up and calling it non-fiction, but really, in the grand scheme of things, who cared?

The final show was all about Oprah thanking viewers for being there for her. Translation -- thanks for making me a bejillionaire!

Who is more powerful - Oprah or Mother Nature?? Well, clearly, I'm going with Mother Nature. Remember, you can't fool Mother Nature but evidently James Frey can fool Oprah. SNAP!!

Are You Swimsuit Ready?

The outdoor sign at the fitness club in my neighborhood asks this question...in big block letters. I see it every morning at 5:15 when I am walking Bailey. I see it again when I leave for work and again when I walk Bailey after work. After seeing this for several weeks, I'm still perplexed by what it means.

Is there really a certain standard one must attain before putting on a swimming suit? What is that? Does your body need to be firm and toned like Madonna? Do you need to be below the "overweight" or "obese" categories on the BMI chart? Does someone else just need to look you over and say, "Yup, you pass. Don swimsuit now."

I'm pretty sure that if I waited for someone to give my body a passing grade to wear a swimsuit, I would *never* have worn a swimsuit. Even back when I was a kid...my chubby thighs and muffin top would have kicked me out of contention.

Who makes these rules? A friend recently posted on Facebook some "rules" she read on More magazine's website. It listed the age at which women should stop wearing certain styles. Such as:

• Bikini, 47
• Miniskirt, 35
• Boob tube, 33
• Stilettos, 51
• Belly-button piercing, 35
• Knee-high boots, 47
• Sneakers, 44
• Leather trousers, 34
• Leggings, 45
• Ugg boots, 45
• Swimsuit, 61
• Tight vest, 44
• See-through chiffon blouse, 40
• Long hair, 53
• Ponytail, 51

Boob tube! God...I had forgotten about those. I remember desperately wanting to wear those in junior high/high school. Not on Pearl's watch. I'm OK, with about half the items on this list...because, quite frankly, they have never been a part of my wardrobe. But, rest assured, I will wear a swimsuit after 61 and a ponytail after 51..especially since I can keep my long hair until I'm 53.

It Gets Better...

I was lying on the couch, half asleep, watching American Idol when a commercial came on that really caught my attention. It was promoting the It Gets Better Project. It was the first time I had heard of it, so I went to the website to learn more.

The project was developed by author and columnist Dan Savage, who--after reading of yet another gay teenager who had committed suicide after being bullied--thought, "I wish I could have talked to that kid for 5 minutes before he killed himself to tell him that it gets better." The project was born. The site is filled with hundreds of videos submitted by celebrities, politicians, and ordinary people, both gay and straight, with a clear message that yes, it does get better. You should watch some of the videos, they are funny and compelling and heartbreaking.

I cannot begin to imagine the loneliness and feelings of despair that an LGBT teenager must feel that would lead him or her to take his or her life. I can minutely relate to that feeling of being on the outside that is so pervasive in high school. On a scale of 1 to 10, my high school years probably rank somewhere around a 5. There were moments of fun and, for the most part, I made it through unscathed. But, at times, my self esteem took a serious jolt. 

Most notably, there was the bully (AKA "The Phantom") who wrote rude and crude comments anonymously in our yearbooks. The gem he wrote in mine, "To Carol, the girl with the biggest ass and the biggest t*ts." OK, as if I was self-conscious enough about my weight in high school, that pretty much put me over the edge. Most of my high school friends were cute little size 5s or 7s. I'm not sure I ever wore those sizes. It seems like I went straight from girls size 14 to women's size 14 overnight. 

I've worn glasses since the 3rd grade and am pretty darn blind without them. Picture the big glasses of 70s and 80s (a la Liz Claiborne) -- with a thick prescription -- it was a recipe for disaster. And, don't even get me started on my red hair that always garnered unwanted attention. I was called "Carrot Top Four Eyes" relentlessly by a particularly unpleasant boy through most of junior high. While at my Grandma's cottage in the summer as a child, the drunken guy next door always called me "Big Red."

I feel like I wasted a whole lot of time as a teenager or in my early twenties thinking I wasn't skinny enough, pretty enough, or dressed "cute" enough to attract anyone. 

Thankfully, age is the equalizer. I have my suspicions on who "the Phantom" from high school was. At our 30-year reunion last summer, he was fat and bald like many of the other men. The women in my class -- we all looked pretty damn good -- and exuded way more confidence than most of the men. Oh, and how I wish now that I was as "fat" as I was in high school. That is but a pipe dream to return to that form! I've embraced my red hair and my curves and I learned that those "big t*ts" really have been more of an asset than a negative!! :-)

So, yes, it does get better. In high school you are thrown together with people strictly based on geography. If you are lucky, you might end up with one or two people who remain your friends. As you grow, through college and your career, you form friendships with people based on shared interests and goals, and hopefully, you come to respect people from all walks of life. 

[Sidebar: Many years ago, an African-American with whom I remain friends told me that he didn't like diversity programs that tried to promote tolerance because he didn't want to just be tolerated, he wanted to be respected. I've carried that thought with me throughout my adult life.]

Kudos to Dan Savage for starting this amazing project. It makes me a little sad that we even have to have such a site, but I'm quite certain that somewhere in the world the messages shared on this site are giving hope to people who have not yet found their way.

I'm reminded of the following quote:

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.

I'm Ready Now...

One obvious sign of my aging over the past years occurs every summer when I make that first foray into the river to see if I can still water ski. I think I was 11 or 12 when I first learned to ski. Back then, I popped right up and could ski for miles without getting tired. Now, I recognize that things were a little different for me 38 years ago...(Christ, just writing that makes me feel like I just aged another 5 years). Specifically, I 

• was 12! My stamina was way better than it is now.
• probably weighed about 75 pounds less than I do now. (And, 75 is probably on the low side!)
• used two skis back then...way less torque needed to pull yourself out of the water.
• had the luxury of being able to ski behind a fast boat (back then, we had a CorrectCraft inboard...great for skiing, but not very roomy on the inside!).
• didn't have to worry about the touch of arthritis I think I'm beginning to get in just about every joint of my body.

With aging and, yes, weight gain and my progression to slaloming, my days of "popping right out" are long gone. In fact, in the last couple of years, by the time I would finally break through the water and plane out...I was already exhausted. I thought it was just me. After a little searching on the web, I find this is common for us middle-agers.

Then, there is the equipment. Tim's and Ryan's boats aren't as fast as a CorrectCraft, but, they are great boats for a leisurely day on the river. Besides, CorrectCrafts aren't very practical for the Mississippi. In addition, I felt nostalgic skiing on Janis' wooden Connelly ski, circa about 1983. It's a classic, right? Well, evidently, wooden skis have gone the way of wooden golf clubs! (It's still a really cool looking ski, I don't care what anyone says.) I started doing some research about my dilemma of pulling my fat butt out of the water in a more expeditious manner. The solution -- the Pilot!

They do make skis for old fat people! I was sold when I read the description: 

The Pilot lets everyone enjoy a day at the lake, no matter what his or her skill level - beginner to intermediate. Wide tip and tail and enhanced Connelly Tracking System make deep-water starts a breeze. Super sidecut design makes turns easy while skiing at 29 mph or less.

Deep water starts a breeze???? Sign me up. I researched a little further for some actual customer testimonials. 

Good ride for me, I am able to stand right up and ride without getting tired, but I'm 50!

This ski allows you to come out of the water very easy in both deep and shallow water starts. It is very easy to ski on and doesn't tire you out. Probably doesn't cut as well as the narrow competition skis, but is adequate and the ease of use far outweighs. I would recommend this ski to anyone having trouble getting out on one.

The pilot ski helps me pop up and gives me an easier ride than my old ski.

This ski is a breeze to get up on, fun to ride, and not at all tiring. I haven't skied so far so easily on a slalom in years.

Evidently, there must be a correlation to the width of your ass and the width of the ski! Check out this width of this baby:

The ski was on sale at Overton's and Scheel's in Coralville price matched the sale price. This is my early 50th birthday present to myself, and I'm seriously hoping I'll be able to write my own testimonial when I hit the water in June. Something like:

This ski is a dream come true for overweight out-of-shape women approaching a mid-life crisis and trying to relive the glory days! I popped right up and was able to ski the entire length of Deadman's Slough without passing out.

Stayed tuned!!