Getting Over It

Today should have been a relatively happy day for me. I finished week five of the C25K program, which boils down to about two miles of running, with no walking breaks. I did it, I did it with Mia in the jogging stroller, and I did it without stopping.

It has come to my attention, and not in an easy way, that I have been partaking in that old pastime called "wallowing." It's ain't pretty, and it ain't good. There's a certain indelicateness about wallowing; it has implications that suggest unkemptness and self-indulgence. I promise that I have been bathing, brushing my teeth and combing my hair. Really.

It has come to my attention, however, that I have been spending my time waiting for something or other, and figuratively emotionally crouching, as though waiting for the blow to land. This is, more or less, stupid. This is not really living.

Despite all my running success, I feel full and slow, unable to really deal with certain issues that need to be addressed. Sorry for being vague; public forum and all. Tomorrow, I am going to take a few hours for myself, away from the kids and the husband and the house full of chores to be done, and I am going to get over it and move on.

FaceBook is Kinda Evil

So you want to know why I haven't been posting on a regular basis for the last two weeks? I have been systematically sucked into the void that is known as FaceBook.

It's addictive, like coffee or meth. If it weren't for my husband, who knows if I would have showered or fed the kids this week. That's how downright evil it is. And it goes way beyond finding old high school friends and catching up with them, although I have been spending an inordinate time friend requesting and being nosey. There are the applications, like Flair, which have millions of worthless fake buttons to search through and send to those high school friends you haven't seen in 15 years.

I sent a mullet (the "classic mullet") to people I haven't even had a phone conversation with. And I laughed about the thought of said people opening their FaceBook account to see said mullet starting them in the face. And somehow, the idea that I am in way having any sort of "real" relationship with all of my FB friends doesn't seem to bother me at all. Somehow this light and airy interaction is all I need to sustain my social needs.

And yet, it provides me immediate connection. I have only to look at the list of friends to see their statuses. I can tell who is merely bored and who is having a life-changing crisis. I can intercede in either case. offering a white trash icon to brighten a day or a lengthy note when the needs arises.

I don't think I will be writing off FaceBook any time soon. It is what is is, a social networking site that allows us a very personal glimpse into the live of good friends and old boyfriends. It's a time waster. And what is 90% of the Internet, if not just that.

Now, excuse me. I need to go and reach the next highest level in Mafia Wars. Care to join my family?

4th Annual Pat Tillman Run

I signed up for this run:

Pat's Run

I hate asking for money, but I would appreciate it if you could hep me raise $100 for the Pat Tillman Faoundation. Even if it's five bucks, I would really appreciate it. It's a 4.2 mile run, in honor of his number. He was also a Sun Devil, way before he was a Cardnial or an Army Ranger. Visit my fundraising page to donate.

www.active.com/donate/PatsRunTempe09/MStaehe

Thanks for your help! I know how tight money is right now, and I appreciate it.

Recent Sitings

One Day He'll Change His Mind

Connor has a friend staying the night. They are sitting on the couch in the family room playing "Leggos Batman" on the XBox 360. I was just passing through, and I overheard this:

Connor: You don't want to be Batman.

Friend: Why?

Connor: Because Cat Woman kisses him in the last part.

Pitfalls

I read somewhere that most people fall out of the C25K running program somewhere around the fourth or fifth week. I can understand why. The initial "this is exciting" feeling has worn off, I realize it's just another day of running, and there are a million other things to do today. It would have been easy enough to come up with excuses why I couldn't run today. But if I were being honest with myself, it would simply mean that I didn't want to do it.

I did it anyway. Week four, day one. At this stage, I am running more than I am briskly walking. I have a tendency to over think situations, and it's daunting to think about that. But I am reminded of some advice Eric gave me a while back: your mind will give out before your body does. It's true. When I am running during those five-minutes stretches, I have force my mind clear. If I think it's hard, then it will be. If I focus on other things, then those minutes fly by.

Lost 2.5 pounds this week. Am now down to 153.6 Woot! I am seeing better muscle definition in my legs, too.

Cool Babies Wear Cloth

I get a little lonely on nights when Eric works. The house seems big and quiet, and too dark. When Mia falls asleep, I sneak into her room over and over just to stroke her head and listen to her sigh in her sleep. I have to resist the urge to bring her to bed with me. She's getting so big. Where did my little baby go?

Some Professional Pics

My Dog is a Pre-Vert

I think it would be safe to say that everyone has a few quirks. Eric likes to dice his meal into thousands of bite-sized morsels before he eats. Everything he eats. He claims it's a reaction to the MRE's he was forced to eat in the Marines. I tend to get a little "passionate" about things -- movies, books, new hobbies like running. I call it "being driven," Eric calls it obsession. PO-TAY-TOH PO-TAH-TOH.

We have are owned by three large and quirky dogs. On most days, they blend into our household like furniture in a pile of dog hair. We have three dogs because neither of us can simply say no to a sad, needy face. It's like a home for wayward dogs here, except the inmates are running things. We have agreed, on many occasions, that three dogs is just too much. But we're not about to tell them that. They outnumber us.

Our boy Baron likes shoes. When he was much younger, he used to chew them to pieces. I still remember that fantastic pair of black mules I bought and he ate before I could even wear them (lesson learned). It was the last time I ever spent more than $30 on a pair of shoes without laces. Now, however, he is simply satisfied with cozying up with a shoe while he sleeps. My shoes, to be exact. To Baron, nothing compares to a mary jane in the "woobie" category. As long as there are no tell-tale tooth marks, and I don't have to hunt to hard for my zappatos, then I am happy to oblige his strange quirk. No so much with my underwear. I believe we finally came to an understanding about that.


One day late last fall, I stumbled out to the kitchen after a night of feeding the baby every two hours. I hadn't had a cup of java yet, so my mind was not working at its prime. You can imagine my alarm, then, when I looked out my kitchen window and saw this:


Stalkerish, no? We moved our pool table out to the patio earlier that year, and Baron found his way on top of it.


Say what you will about pit bulls. But I know their dirty little secret; they are bordering on the edge of a full-blown Lifetime movie plot. At least our boy is.

I Found Nirvana

I bought new running shoes yesterday. I went to a specialty store called Roadrunner Sports, which has one of its two state stores conveniently near my house. Let me just say this, I will never buy another pair of shoes (or at least running shoes) until I try them out on a treadmill first. I ended up with Aisics Cumulus 10.

First I have to say how much I loved this store. I want to move INTO the store, that is how much I love the store. The people who work there, especially the woman who helped me through the Shoe Dog experiment and the subsequent trying on of five pars of shoes. I felt like a little girl, and I wanted to run around and touch everything. I also wanted to talk to everyone and exchange digits and promises to get together to train.

I took them out for a run today, and they were good. It seems I have freakishly narrow heels, but the rest of my feet are normal. So, to sum up, it's very difficult finding shoes that won't cut of the circulation in my mid-foot while my heel sloshes around in the back.

Bless poor Eric. He contended with the fussy baby while I got each pair tied "just right" and took each for a spin on the treadmill.

I took my Biology exam today. The two multiple choice portions were graded immediately. I scored 90% (exactly) on both of them. I have a 90% in the course up to now. So here's hoping I didn't totally fail the essay portion of the test. I should know by next Tuesday. Wouldn't it be a real "hoot" if I actually got on A in this class?

I will resist the urge to throw my scale in the oven

Beginning weight: 154.6
Last week: 155.4
This week: 156.4

That's a net gain of 1.8 pounds in two weeks. So. not. good.

If I say I want to cry about it, I would be understating how I feel. I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight at five months with Connor. Mia is six months old, and I am still 26 pounds up. To add insult to injury, it's pretty hot here lately, and I went to put on a pair of shorts. I accidentally grabbed a pair that I wore pre-pregnancy, and the wouldn't even button. My middle is decidedly poochy, and my butt is huge.

I have been trying to eat better, I really have. I have a feeling I may not be eating enough. Breastfeeding and all. And those Girl Scout cookies aren't helping, either. I need to sit myself down and have a heart to heart about my diet. The fact that my diet sucks, for example.

So what do I need to do about it? I'm too stressed out, and I eat in my moments of anxiety. I am down to the last week of my Biology class, and I am cramming for my final, which I need to take Friday. The first time I went through college, I took mostly English lit and humanities classes. They were, for all intents, easy for me. Biology is like a foreign language, and even though I have a 91% in the class right now, I have had to work very, VERY hard to keep it. I have spent countless hours each week reading, outlining notes, writing essays, and doing at-home labs. I'd guess about 20 hours per week, which is a lot. It's like a part-time job, but I am not getting paid for it. It also means I spent a lot of time on my aforementioned large butt. I don't like it, but there's not much I can do about it.

I plan on taking a few weeks off before starting my next class. In case you're wondering, I take online classes. I need to get organized. This means getting the house in order, doing wiser grocery shopping, and cooking for myself more. As it is, with Eric being gone four nights a week, I tend not to cook for myself.

It is also possible that I might not lose weight until I stop breastfeeding. I am almost 35, and I've noticed that the weight comes on faster than it used to and comes off harder. I lost 25 pounds prior to having Mia, so I know that I can do it.

I have been doing well with the Couch to 5k program, and I even signed up for a 5k at the end of April. I have been take Mia with me, in our Jeep jogging stroller. It's good for both of us; she gets a nap in, and I get my exercise. It has a hookup for my iPod, so I can listen to my podcasts over the stroller's speakers instead of earbuds that I am constantly adjusting as I run. I completed week three, day one today. I'm about a quarter of the way there!

Perhaps She'll Ride Horses

Her Royal Highness had her sixth month checkup today. (This is the part with obligatory baby stats, so skip ahead if they make you yawn.) Our little peanut is weighing in a 14 pounds, 7 ounces, and she is 25 inches long. Not destined for life as a basketball player or a sumo wrestler, I am afraid. I hope she she has other career plans in mind. Like, say, jockey.

I realized today that I haven't watched one single television show or DVD without a persistent whine, cry, fuss, babble, or chime of some ungodly loud toy for the last sixth months. I wonder what I have been missing.

Three days old.

Self Sabatoge and the Lost Art of Feeling Sorry for Oneself

I.am. so. tired.

Ah, the collective whiny cry from moms of babies all over the world. (Except they probably say it in Mandarin or Sanskrit.) Yup. she's got a severe case of Icantbeawayfrommommyitis, which is kind of sucky. She's good for about five hours -- from 7 to midnight, but then it's up anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours, bt mostly in the 90-minute range.

It's her sixth-month birthday today or anniversay or halfaversary or whatever you want to call it. I think it's time we had the talk. you know, the one where I tell her that it's not totally unreasonable for me to expect her to only wake once or twice a night, instead of four or five. Maybe if I took the bull by the proverbial horns and let her cry it out a little, things might improve. Still, Connor needs to be up early for school and it's so much easier to just nurse her back to sleep than fight it.

*Sigh*

It's more than just the baby, however. My diet has been horrible. Too much caffeine, not enough water, too much sugar and carbs, not enough of the healthy stuff. And although I feel great keeping up with the C25K program, eating is just as important. I need fuel for my body, and downing a handful of mini-Hershey bars is not going to do it.

So, to sum up: Excersize, good. Diet: bad. Sleep: nil. Self-respect: dwindling.

Time to regroup.

I have my Bio final this week. I should be studying, and I am doing anything but. It's amazing what you can find on the internet when you should be outlining notes.