Running Around (Like an Idiot)

I am not a runner.

I mean, I guess I was as a kid. I enjoyed playing freeze tag, cops and robbers, pigpen, and games of that nature. But even those games had built-in breaks (frozenness, jail, the pen). As I got older, junior high introduced timed and graded runs, and I was the worst. I had no idea how to pace myself. I never hydrated properly. And I. Always. Gasped. For. Breath. In high school, I asked one of my gym teachers how much these graded runs were worth. The minute he told me they were worth only 10 percent of my grade was the minute I stopped caring. And running.

So of course my sister laughed at me when I told her I was going to start running -- Couch to 5K to be exact. Yes, it was the third or fourth time this year I swore I was going to use the app, but it real this time. A work friend wanted to start running and, eventually, 5K-ing with her husband, and I half told her I would do it/half invited myself along for the ride. I couldn't disappoint her; this friendship was too new! How would I survive if I lost one of my only friends in Arkansas? I wouldn't. So I had to run.

Sure you will, my sister scoffed.

Then we told my dad, who, in his infinite wisdom, drove me to the running shoe store, made me do the running shoe test, and bought me neon purple and yellow running shoes. That was it. I was indebted to my father yet again, so now I had to run.

One month later, and I haven't quit yet. I'm starting week four of Couch to 5K (sickness in July caused me to miss a week of running and blogging. Boo), and it's getting intense. I have to jog for five whole, uninterrupted minutes, multiple times, which I honest to god have not done in 10 years. The app also inserts random "jog for 20 minutes" workouts in the weeks ahead, and I absolutely cannot wait for those. Guh. Running.

I have, however, learned a great many facts about running and the running community in my short stint as a jog/walker. Some may bewilder you. Some may surprise you. And some may make me look like a noob. As always, you're welcome.

***

Fact: Running costs more than you think
I guess if you wanted to, you could run around in some old apparel, but if you're the average American consumer (me), you need running outfits, running shoes, a place to put your key, an armband for your phone, new headphones because the other ones keep falling out of your ears, new socks that help your feet breathe, an app to tell you when to run and walk, more outfits because it's now 90 degrees and capris won't cut it, more sports bras because you actually sweat and make them smell now, more body wash because you stink, music worth running to, extra food (we'll get to that), all sorts of water, water bottles because the always get lost, and maybe some Gatorade. I'm not even including the cost to participate in 5Ks, a heart monitor if you want one, reflecty lights if you run at night and all the other goofy fancy stuff that I don't have yet, but probably will get eventually. Running is no joke; running is capitalism.

Fact: Hydration is a thing, and it needs to happen
If you aren't well-versed in the summer climate of Arkansas, I can sum it up in one word: Sweltering. Apparently, this summer is mild, but I don't believe it. Not only do I have to wait to run when I come home, I also have to suck down water like a camel all freaking day or else I cramp. Bad. Like someone is stabbing me in the side "Et tu Brute?" bad. So I drink water stuff all day and pee constantly and still huff and puff and feel like death outside. My dad owns what I can only describe as a water utility belt. It is just like a carpenter's belt, but only hold water bottles. He says I need to invest in one. Just add it to my list.

Fact: All roads lead to my big ass hill
I live at the top of a steep hill. When I wasn't running, I didn't care. Now that I run, I hate it. I hate feeling like I'm going to fall on the way down. I hate luring myself into a false sense of security about the finality of a 30-minute jog/walk combo just to see the monster of a cul-de-sac mocking my cool down period. Oh, you wanted to slow your heart rate? Fat chance! I'm a huge butthole of a hill, and years of erosion hasn't made a difference. Suck it, human. And, begrudgingly, I do.

Fact: Music helps
My good friend Nora got into running some time ago, and she loves it. When I visited Illinois last month, she stopped by, and (among other things) told me that having the right music really helped her run. She listened to One Direction over and over again, and it pumped her up. I thought it was awesomely hilarious, so I said I would try it with some album. And here's where I have to thank A Great Big World's debut CD for being my running album of choice. It is so upbeat, so ridiculous, so well-thought-out that I couldn't imagine listening to anything else on shuffle or repeat. So thanks, guys. You rock.

Fact: Support systems make it easier, sometimes
Like I said, I started running the same program with my work friend. She does it, her man does it, and Jason does it (but tells me he hates it all the time). It's nice to run with people. It's nice to run with people who run at your speed. And it's okay to run with people who are a foot taller and have longer femurs and casually jog three houses ahead of you and stop because they can't hear your app anymore. And sometimes you have to run alone because the fast-femured one pisses you off and won't run when you want to run and you just want to listen to your music and not worry about regulating someone else's workout. I love you, honey. Really, I do.

Fact: You get to experience cool nature things
Once, Jason and I were out running and we saw a hawk sitting on a fence no more than 10 feet away. Some sparrow was antagonizing the hawk, and it was hilarious. And if you know me, you know that I am obsessed with birds of prey. So that was cool. Also on that run, Jason and I were jogging back to the house, and he shouted "snake," so I casually trotted around the snake. He was skinny and brown. I wanted to investigate him further, but I didn't. Fast forward to this morning: I was cooling down and saw the severed half of what I believe to be the snake from that run. I investigate the remaining tail portion of the deceased reptile, and there was clearly a rattle attached to the end of it. So now I like to think I avoided certain death by listening to my boyfriend. I'm sure he's proud.

Fact: The route possibilities are endless
Right now, my primary route consists of a little culs-de-sac-filled side street that is relatively flat compared to the rest of my neighborhood. I sprinkle in a few downtown runs here and there, but I mostly just love to fantasize about the day I get brave enough to take on a busier street or the neighborhood next door. Basically, my running life is a real-time version of "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" I just haven't gotten much of anywhere yet. One day I will. You'll see.

(One-Person) Costume Party

Growing up, I was quite the theatre kid.

Mmm...I'm not sure if that's the best way to put it. I didn't slide out of the womb (which, as we already know, was a long and laborious *PUN* process) screaming a Shakespearean soliloquy, nor did I particularly care to perform on a stage. (Three fantastic examples back this up. 1. I got in trouble with my parents for not practicing my part as an angel in the Sunday school nativity. 2. Video footage of piano recitals. 3. I attempted to cast myself as the a) writer b) stage manager and c) sound effect coordinator in elementary school skits.) Rather, what started as a slightly unorthodox way of continuing my education with my 5th grade teacher blossomed into a 10-year creative outlet, one that shaped my life in more ways than I ever thought imaginable.

There were also theatre boys. Many theatre boys. I'm fairly certain that my 13-year-old self liked all of them at one point or another. Because boys. Anyway...

One of my favorite parts of the rehearsal process was the costume hunt. As a community theatre running through the local park district, there was a limited supply of pieces in our closet, and when it came to buying new clothes, cheaper was always better. Usually, this meant thrift store shopping. In my case, it meant, "Mom, I need a costume for my play!" Mom would make said costume, and it was grand, even if I had to "help" her. (Mom eventually did stop making me costumes, and thrifting became another fun thing, but that story doesn't go with the pictures, so...)

My mother left me a bag of costumes when she came to visit. One night, I decided to relive my glory days and do this:

Heyyyyyyy

COSTUME PARTY!

So without further ado, a look back at stunning fashion pieces created circa 2002. I know, I know. You're welcome.

1. Elizabeth Proctor (wearing Purple Puritan by Moms Who Sew)

With such an on-trend outfit, I cannot see why John Proctor ever slept with Abigail.

So I guess this is what a farmer's wife would look like during the time of the Salem with trials, which is when Arthur Miller's "The Crucible" took place. My mother actually did research for this project, and she learned that because Elizabeth was not a lady of the town (aka she was busy getting shit done on a farm), she would not be dressed in the typical black and white garb of the townswomen. As a teenage girl, I was pretty pumped that I got to wear a less ugly costume. And my mom made it, so they really couldn't say no.

This is what Elizabeth Proctor would look like dancing. Too bad dancing was a sin. Or witchcraft.

Good ol' Puritans liked everything covered, so a high neckline and long sleeves were just about right for the summer.

The apron is awesome. I have considered using it while cooking dinner. But that's probably because I cook in bare feet and shorts. I am the poster child for kitchen safety.

Put that apron back on! This is too revealing!

The cut on this dress is really weird, but historically accurate? Hell if I know. It's not quite empire, but it's not really much of anything else. Also, I couldn't zip it up all the way in the back because SURPRISE! I put on a few pounds since I last wore this 12 years ago. OR I got boobs. Your call.

2. Beth March (wearing Feverish Floral by Moms Who Sew)

I'd like to think that if Beth didn't die of Scarlet Fever, she would've been a hot school marm.

Let me be the first to tell you that I look way better in this now than I ever did when I was 11-12 years old. The girls are attempting to bust out, to no avail.

Fun fact: I styled my hair to match how I wore it during the performances. I remember weird things.

Here's the full outfit. Beth got a matching vest to make her look more like a Civil War era kid, and I wore the slip to my mother's wedding dress to make the skirt really puffy. AND I got to play a song on the piano in the middle of the performance. But really, my crowning achievement was dying onstage from Scarlet Fever, an illness that I've had three times in real life. I was made for this role.

Civil War era apron, or straightjacket?

I'm not sure if I ever wore this on stage. Maybe I should wear it to cook dinner in; get some use out of it, you know?

Little birds in their nests agree!

And here's what Beth would've looked like if she lived to see the age of selfies. But she didn't. She died.

3. ...uh...what is this?

I'm a little hippie, short and pink.

My mother is convinced this was a costume in a show, and I can guarantee you it's not. I've never seen this before in my life. But what the hell, I'll try it on.

It fit remarkably well but was super see-through. Like, these are the only two pictures that didn't reveal my underwear see-through. But look at that detail in the sleeves! And what a cute neckline. I could've rocked this, provided I was cast in the right show...as the lead hippie.

Things My Mother Brought Me

Note: I wrote this post at the end of May. Then the photo thing wasn't working. Then I forgot about it. Whatever. Better late than never.

So my mother came to town around Easter to see my new place and the natural state that is Arkansas. (Technically, we met her in Branson, and technically, she fell off of curb while looking at a liquor store and fractured her ankle and passed out and seized on me, but those are just minor details.) Anyway, when she visited, she dropped off a bunch of stuff that is mine/she kept for me/she thought I'd find funny/interesting/wonderful. Also, she brought me games. And we all know how I feel about games.

Nearly a month later (aka today), I began looking through it all. And man, there are some real gems. So gem-like that I MUST devote my next post (I promise not to wait two months to blog again. I think.) to an interesting bag of goodies. An interesting bag that my cats, of course, peed on, but I digress.

This post features some items from my early years. I like them. I think most of them are funny. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do. (Note: Not everything is from this trip, but everything was given to me by my mother at some point during this move. I say this mostly to appease Caroline, who spent at least an hour giving me crap and laughing hysterically at some old writings/drawings.)

Without further ado...


1. Baby things!

Aww, look! My little feet! And my wrists were so little! And look at my cute nursery card! But seriously, thank god I don't have any photos of my actual babiness to share. Because I was fugly. I was bruised. I was crying. My mom had a perm and '90s glasses. It was not a pretty sight.

I took my time coming into this world. 17 hours, actually. I was upside down and backward, and the doctors tried everything, including sucking (?) me out. My mother once told me that the doctors were concerned that there would be brain damage, but I turned all right. ...right?

2. '90s Office Posters!

Computers, man. I assume theses were posted somewhere at my father's work. My guess is that my parents never made it to that party because I was about a week and a half early. Apparently my fetus self made a decision and immediately changed her mind; don't worry, nothing's changed in 24 years.

3. My Quiet Book!

I loved this thing as a toddler and young child. I loved playing with those balloons and unzipping the lady bug. What a sweet gift from my grandma. But wait! What's that stitched on the inside cover? Oh, the nicest way of saying "STFU, kid," in the history of the world.

4. Random Ballet Photo!

I apparently appeared in a park district catalog around '93 or so. That's cute. Fun fact: I hated ballet.

5. My...teeth?

Gross, mom. You really kept all of my baby teeth and sent them to me 18ish years later? Why didn't you just mail them to Ke$ha?

6. A Book of Nursery Rhymes!

My favorite page is "This is the Way the Farmer Rides" because I used to sing this to my sister all the freaking time. I sat on the piano bench, and she (likely) crawled into my lap. The "rides" are supposed to get more rigorous until the baby rides, and then all hell brakes loose, culminating with me opening in my legs (not like that) and letting my sister FALL TO HER DEATH. Actually, I caught her. Every time. Because I'm that nice.

7. My pre-Communion Workbook!

For those of you who don't know, second-graders (7- or 8-year-olds) in the Catholic church receive First Communion (Jesus' body and blood, aka a delicious wafer and wine) for the first time. I guess it's considered a milestone; the kids dress up in suits and white dresses, and there's a lot of "growing up" talk. All I remember is the party and the cake -- those were my priorities at 8 years old. (Fun fact: My sister actually freaked out and declined the wine at her First Communion, which was WAY COOLER than mine. Also, she refused to wear my dress because it was ugly. That girl is particular.) The year leading up to that, in religious education class, I filled out this book. Each chapter has a religious theme, but the drawings and fill-in-the-blanks are what makes this book pure gold. I apparently hated my sister then because she rarely appears. And when she does, her 4-year-old self is wearing some serious heels.

8. My Smock!

Isn't this precious? I painted in this thing! Not well, but whatever.

9. This Darling Kindergarten Picture!

And finally, my last year of cuteness. You should see first grade's photo. Actually, don't. I'm not even looking at the camera and I'm wearing what seems to be a clown costume dress. It's a hot mess.