Positives and Negatives

Yesterday was a very mixed day. Clothes, relationships, and the adventures inside my head.

I start off my day by waking up reasonably on time and trying to dress myself in something smart, flattering, comfortable and quick. I fall back on a thoughtless but well-put-together outfit I have worn several times before. No art, creativity or trying on required. It's like a microwave meal, only involving clothes.

With all the money I've spent on clothes and the good fashion sense I've been cursed with that encourages me to spend money on clothes, I have come to believe there is no reason or excuse on any given day for being schlumpy, half-put-together, dowdy, marmish or anything of the like. Not to say that it never happens. But I try to be cognizant and avoid it. It just doesn't feel good to be schlumpy. And when you have clothes that aren't, why would you wear the ones that are? It makes no sense.

My fashion sense has become much improved over the years. Even recently. I had a ghastly habit in my early, early 20's to dress more like I was in my 30's and 40's. This is because anything else cute and flattering was an article of clothing that either made me look like I should be working the corner near a nightclub or like I was 14 yrs old. I have since looked harder and found things more age appropriate and fashionable. I have also watched several episodes of What Not To Wear. Great tips there! But it's been a difficult quest. They don't make a lot of clothes for 20-something professionals. Add in the quest for modest clothes and..., well...., I imagine YOU shop too. If you're female or have shopped with a female, you know what I'm talking about and can sympathize.

Anyhow, I get ready quickly and go to work. During work, I off-handedly decide I need to take a lunch break (I don't usually take a lunch break). I leave and go to the clothing store where I work part-time, as they are having an employee sale that day. Clothes shopping -- one of my favorite past-times.

Except it hasn't been as of late. I still haven't lost the 5 extra pounds I gained from my marathon training. Body image has suffered, admittedly( but my bank account balance has benefited immensely.). I realize, logically, I'm still not overweight. So, it's not that bad and the pounds should not upset me as much as they do. I think to myself, "If I go try on clothes today, I might be more pleased with how they look than I think." I try on jeans, jeans, and more jeans ( I do believe our clothing store has the largest selection of jeans in the country.) I settle on a pair of very dark wash Genetic Denim, straight leg. They look cute, sophisticated, and almost formal. They fit surprisingly well, even around my middle where clothes tend to pinch me and give me a muffin top. And at seventy-five percent off, I am completely satisfied with the bargain. But I still don't feel cute.

Hmmm... oh well. Back to work. Work passes, blah, blah. Nothing very eventful. Ok, not true. A car DID crash into the window of one of the apartment buildings we own. That made things interesting. But that's neither here nor there. Back to my day.

At the end of my workday, I decide to go to the gym. It'll make me feel better for sure. Right? Maybe not. It's been my increase in exercise and training that's made me add the extra pounds. In that respect, the gym is like my nemesis. What to do? Alas, I love running too much. Off I go. At the end of my workout I'm gladder for it. Just as I suspected.

I go home and shower and think what to do next. I should eat. But at the moment I've decided food is my nemesis. It's the last thing I want to think about. Clean the house? Maybe. Do the dishes? I could.... Ooh, but wait! Even Better! I remember I still have my gift card for Nordtrom's I got off Ebay. Off to The Rack I go, for more clothes shopping. I can clean house after the stores close. That's much better time management. I'm so smart.

I start to think and realize my artless effort this morning has been a theme lately. I don't put any imagination into my wardrobe. I hate that. So maybe I need some new clothes....hmmm.... Yes, that's it. Of course, "need" is relative. My closet is absolutely not lacking in fullness. I could clothe an entire village in Ethiopia. But it's a new season and my closet is full of winter. It's SUMMER, for heaven sakes! I've already missed an entire season!

I am so good at justifying shopping. Too good. I go to The Rack and I try on a bunch of stuff. Ah! Detriment of all detriments -- I find several cute tops. Tops are exactly what I need. I don't seem to be at all in the mood for shoes, thankfully, so I don't bother perusing the shoe section. I grab a white handbag. That's light and springy. Check out. Done. The handbag's too expensive. I'd rather put the money towards a digital camera. I'll return it later. Maybe.

What next? I think I'll call Male. I have been seeing Male almost every day lately. And I have been liking seeing Male that often. And I'm kinda worried because I am happier and happier about he and I. Do I want to be happy about he and I? What if we never break up?!?! We might get married..... AH! And to add to my distress, I'm starting to see all the reasons we fit together well rather than all the reasons we might not. I knew I should have broken up with him months ago. I can't very well do it now. I like him too much. Crap. Talk about problems.

I wonder if I shouldn't call Male. Maybe he'd like a night off from me. But I've noticed he typically is the one to call me when we get together. I'll call him just to mix it up a bit. If he doesn't want to do something that's ok. I call, but he's not there. I call again and leave a message. As I start to drive out of the parking lot, I am about to pass the dollar theaters in the strip mall. Hmm... that could be fun. Watch a movie or do dishes? Hmmm...

Hello movie! I was on a flight recently where they were showing Bridge to Terabithia. I had really wanted to see it. But the flight was only an hour long. They were just showing previews. Cruel of them, I think. But wadda ya know!?!? It's playing at the theater tonight, and the next showing starts in 20 minutes. Off to the movies I go. Yes, I realize it's uncool to go to movies by myself. And I hadn't bothered to put make-up on after I showered from the gym. I shouldn't be galavanting about in public. But, honestly, I don't really care.

I sit in the theater and wait for the show to start. The theater is relatively empty. No surprise there. I'm watching a PG movie at 9:30 on a Tuesday night. Who does that? Apparently I do. I keep my silenced phone around in case Male calls.

In my little chair, in the row I have all to myself, I think back to previous relationships. Things were so frustrating. Neither of us seemed to be in sync. I didn't feel at home in those relationships. I was out. He was in. Then I was in. Then he was out. I felt nervous, tense, guarded... even needy. I hated that. Feeling all that. Glad not to feel that right now.

I check my phone and to my delight, Male just called. I leave the theater quickly and call him back to invite him to the movie. The movie will be starting in a few minutes, it's very last minute and I know the chances of Male coming are very small, but it would be fun to have him there, so I ask anyway.

Male shows up just about 10 minutes after the movie starts. He sits down and I quickly (and quietly) recap what he's missed. I put my head on his shoulder, which makes me a million times more happy and comfortable, and revel in the fact he came so quickly to spend time with me and watch a movie he knew nothing about. I didn't think he'd come, so it makes it an added treat. That worked out so well. Amazing!

After the movie, I think about what to tell Male about my day. I think about telling him my trauma in dealing with my 5 residual pounds. Scratch that. Bad idea. He'll think I'm silly. And I know he doesn't care about the 5 pounds. Why do I care about them? I just need to think more positively and not beat myself up. But if I do that, then I won't get rid of the 5 pounds because I'll start to really think I don't need to lose them, when I'd really look better if I did. Wait a minute? Rewind. Am I actually afraid of too much positive thinking because then I might believe the positive thinking?

I am most definitely a warped individual. Yup. Very warped. In the future, I will contemplate the effects of potentially believing positive thinking that I currently think is hogwash (only most of the time. I have breaks of sanity on occasion) because of all my negative thinking. If contemplation leads me to believe I'd be better off believing positive rather than negative thinking, maybe, just maybe I'll endorse the positive thinking. But I'm not sure yet.... even though I think I'm a moron for believing my negative thoughts. Negative thoughts are like a parasite. They suck the sense out of you and you hate it, but you're still attached to them and the procedure of pulling them out could be quite painful. Surgery. Eugh. I'll brood over it. One can't be too cautious about endorsing positive thoughts. Kinda like being too hasty about a relationship that seems to be great. Instead, I prefer being very concerned and fearful said relationship might actually work out.

Man, I'm warped. It's really amusing. I'm totally entertained by it. But often quite puzzled. On a positive note, despite said warpedness of body image and my fear of commitment, overall, my relationship with Male seems to have avoided taking on this attribute. NOT warped. Life could be worse.

Why I Don't Spend Money on Pedicures

The end to a training season has finally come. Saturday was my long-anticipated 1/2 marathon. This season had been riddled with little hang-ups for me. I am happy to report, despite the hangups and at the end of it all, it has been a strengthening, motivating, inspiring and overall very good experience. Yeah for accomplishing goals! Yeah for 1/2 marathons! My feet definitely got the short end of the stick this year. I don't think they're saying, "Yeah!" I think they're saying, "Did you have to do this to us right at the start of sandal season? I really liked having a full set of toenails. We're so embarassed to be seen." But that's the way it goes. They always fair poorly. They are forced to make a noble sacrifice for the greater good of the rest of me.

When not in training season, I still exercise. It has so many good effects. It's like a fountain of youth, health, energy and loads of other things. But this year, early on in my training, I realized that along with all of exercise's usual splendid benefits, my training was having additional side effects. In particular, It was causing me to gain weight.

GAIN?!?! What?!?! This is not an effect that I consider desirable. Admittedly, I am very anal about my weight and I watch my numbers like a hawk. I don't diet. Ever. But I do monitor.

I've heard that numbers don't matter. And while those words are perfectly audible and straightforward in definition, they really make no sense to me. No matter how low my numbers on the scale, I can't ever recall thinking they were too low. And no matter what numbers they have risen to, I can't ever recall feeling glad about it. And then my clothes were fitting tighter this season. Mmmm hmmm. Don't try to tell me I'm looking leaner. I am well aware muscle takes up room. Room I have not made accomodations for in my jeans. The sad truth is that I am a very typical, pathetic, superficial girl. I am small. And I like being small. And I do not desire that there should ever be MORE of me.

Training continued anyway. And I would look at the scale, week after week of training, and see that the numbers were consistently staying up. "No matter," I would tell myself. "It's muscle. At least most of it is. It is muscle, isn't it? How can I be sure? Does my waist look bigger to you?"

I didn't own a submerssive tank of water where I could dunk myself and accurately test the exact composition changes in my body each week. I hear they're expensive. I soothed myself, unable to test the actual changes in my body makeup, with the idea that it was only temporary and the glory and accomplishment of running the race would make it all worth it. Such a small sacrifice for the cause. I could be little again later. I'd be glad.

Then you add scheduling problems. I was working about 60 hrs/wk most weeks this training season. You add in making time for dates, commuting, and life as it comes, --- it does not make for an easy and consistent training schedule. I tried to schedule a couple sessions with a trainer. Ha! That was a laugh. I met with him once. And then, the next 7am appt. was thwarted by a change in work schedule, having to go to work early and off-site. It seemed to be a good indicator that I really just didn't have time for that. I got to the gym 3 x's/wk, on average. That was my goal.

But then there were a few weeks I missed my goal. And a few weeks when the long run I had planned just didn't fit in. Argggghh. Why does everyone marry in the spring? Don't people know there are races to train for? But it wasn't so bad. Since I had run 1/2 marathons before, I had the confidence and experience I needed in order to know what I could do. And I was able to train just enough to be able to do it.

And then there are all my injuries. I'm always injured. Call it Fibromyalgia. Call it a need for new shoes. Doesn't matter what you call it. It still hurts like hell. But after all that training, and ESPECIALLY after having already sacrificed my tight leash on the numbers of the scale, no ache or pain could keep me from my goal. I would run the race, I would finish, and I would finish respectably. I had an ankle ailment that was plagueing me for probably a good 1/2 of my training. But I was able to run on it anyway. After about 2 months and, coincidentally, about a week before the race, the ankle ailment moved and became a hip ailment. Gotta love Fibromyalgia. The hip ailment was a sharper pain, and seemed much more alarming and threatening to me. So, while I knew I was cardiovascularly ready and capable in strength, this new development caused me to worry thatI might be in for a disappointing finish.

The week before the race I did nothing. I was ready enough and there seemed no good reason to aggravate my ailments before race day. My weight had loomed up to it's highest during this week of inactivity. This is mostly because, in an effort to make sure I had enough energy, I made sure I ate more than enough all week long. Not completely logical, as I was just creating more of myself to cart around on the run. But from personal experience, I would say that it's the lesser of two evils. It really sucks to run a race when you're low on fuel. You feel weak, you don't perform well, and, basically, it completely destroys any training you've done. You might as well not train at all. So, despite myself, I ate. Lots. "It's all temporary," I kept telling myself.

Race day came. I didn't sleep very well the night before. I was TOTALLY anxious. Who sleeps well the night before the race? The guy I met the morning of the race does, apparently. His name is Bilal. He flew in for the race from LA. As luck would have it, however, his good night's sleep was thwarted by a crying baby a few hotel rooms away. Tough break.

Bilal happened to be running the marathon, but both races started together. So he and I, since we had struck up a conversation, started running together. He happened to be my exact pace. That was great. We clipped along with great conversation. We discussed different races. We talked about college. We talked about positive energy. He said I had great positive energy. I think he was hitting on me. And as we continued to chat, I mused about how funny it would be if I ever ended up dating a Lebanese accountant from LA who I met at a marathon. We ran together for the first 4 miles until our race courses diverged. Then I was on my own.

My hip had started to notify me that it wasn't feeling the best at mile 3. At mile 4, it notified me a little more loudly. At mile 6.5, it had stopped notifying me. Instead, it started to boycott. I was struggling to keep a smooth stride. The pain in my hip began to make me flinch with the impact of each step on that leg. As I continued to disregard it, the sharp, shooting pains persisted and the flinching became worse. I assessed things in my head and realized I had about 1/2 the race to go. And with a flinching right side, the miles ahead suddenly stretched before me, covering an expanse that was very long, grueling and quite painful. Before, those miles had seemed challenging, fun and surpassable. The reality of my situation was sinking in.

I stopped running and I began to walk. I walked for about a quarter mile. And I thought. I wasn't quite sure what to do at that point. I could walk the 7 remaining miles. It's long. But I'd finish. Eventually.... Some time... In a few hours. I was so disappointed. All the glory and accomplishment I had hoped for seemed unattainable-- keeping my 9 min pace, finishing under 2 hrs, improving -- all I had trained for. And I know I already mentioned this, but I was so disappointed. I think Bilal would have been disappointed too, if he knew. All that work for this? A bum hip and a long walk. Most irksome of all, my muscles weren't even tired yet. It felt like I hadn't worked at all.

Finally, I thought, "Screw the hip. I'm running anyway." I AM aware this makes me sound like I'm as bright as a caveman and quite juvenile. I don't deny either completely. We all have our moments. But logically, the worst prospect was that maybe I wouldn't run for a while. Who cares? My race is today. Not tomorrow. So, I ran. I ran lower to the ground. I ran my toes into the front of my shoes. And I ran more slowly. But soon I ran more confidently. And with a very sharp learning curve, I figured out how to maneuver so that I would cause my hip as little pain as possible. And I ran for the rest of the race. I even was able to put up a bit of a sprint at the end! I ran till I wasn't sure what hurt more: my muscles, my hip or any number of other joints from my waist down. And I finished my race w/ 1:57:38, an 8:59 min mile pace. Booyah!

Two days after the race, I am delighted to report that I have VERY VERY VERY SORE muscles. And I think I avoided permanent damage (The beauty of Fibromyalgia is that, though you may FEEL very wholly and truly injured, you're really not. You just feel that way.). Most happily, I walk ever so gingerly. I proudly hobble down stairs. I joyously (and more ably than going down) ascend stares with a huge lack of grace. And I am quite sure I will lose 3 toenails. I wore sandals to church yesterday and I am wearing sandals to work today, which I never do. But I can't put anything else on my feet at the moment. And I don't care. And next year, I will try to knock my time down to be somewhere below 1:50. Maybe. I think that's doable. We'll see. That'd be sooo cool. Someday I may have feet that will stay nice enough to make a pedicure worthwhile. That day is not today. Can't say I'm too choked up about that.