Move Over Rocky!

It's always easy to commit to a race, whether for the philanthropic afterglow or sheer evocation of awe in others. Regardless, I have committed to the first 10K in probably six years and first race since having Gavin. (Hell, make that Baeleigh.) You see, my intentions are always in the right place when I commit but something always ends up screwing up those plans and I have to back out at the last minute. Now, I can't take blame for 2007's Governor's Bay Bridge Run disaster. I was on the bus, dammit, ready to run that bridge (or walk whichever got me across the finish line). Ironically, the wind kept me from participating in that over-achieving, ill-trained-for venture. But this time will be different. ("That's what she said." - Note "The Office" reference irony in this statement.)

So, here I am, with about three months to train for a 10K in Annapolis - the Zooma 10K race to be "the" event. Sounds fun - I mean there is food, alcohol, and spa treatments that await me at the finish line, what could be better?! And, I'm paired up with my friend, Corita, who has also been trying to do a race (and has ended up in my same situation). Unmotivated and just plain tired from this dreary, cold weather, I hope to find the fire in myself tonight as I mount the dreaded treadmill. And, what is my goal, you ask? Let's see, last time I made it a whole 1/2 mile before I was nearly hyperventilating and thinking that my legs would fall off. I blame that partly on not being able to focus from my annoying earplugs that tease me through my whole run by slowing working themselves out of my ears. Will they or won't they fall out? So, I cram them back into my ears hoping that they might - this time - get wedged into my brain, stuck on some ear wax or something to keep them in. This process repeats about every 2 minutes or so. Very, very annoying. But will I go buy another pair of ear buds? No. Instead, I torture myself about 2-3 times a week. Maybe tomorrow I'll buy a pair. But I've been down this road (no pun intended), thinking this WILL BE the pair, lifting my eyes up to the heavens. Looking at the box in the store with a stupid grin on my face, dreaming of that great, long run I will accomplish. And, then I go to the gym and yeah....not so much. Do I have big ear holes? What is the freakin' problem. Anyway, I digress.

I WILL run again tonight. My goal? 3/4 of a mile. I aim high, don't I? Well, you gotta start somewhere. And, hopefully it'll be warm in the next two weeks and I can finally go outside, where I don't have a pedometer to stare at every 15 seconds but just the beat of my iPod. Pray for me.

A.D.D.

Not sure if it's a by-product of my job or if I'm just exasperated by current events, but I seem to have the attention span of a fly lately. Whether a briefing by a co-worker or Tommy just simply telling me a quick update on his race car, ...get to the point. When did my life turn into the equivalent of sound bites and bullets? Hmmm. And, I was thinking that I'd give up the F word for Lent. Maybe I need to re-think that selection - though still a good one I think - and go with "Slow the eff down and smell the effing roses!"

So What?! I'm Still a Rockstar

On the way to grandmother's yesterday, my daughter busts outs in perfect duet with Pink on the radio, "So, what? I'm still a rock star and I don't need you. And, guess what, I'm having more fun and I'll show you. Tonight. I'm alright. I'm just fine". Ok, note to self: maybe it's about time that mommy started listening to more (ok, make that only) NPR or 103.5FM.

She "sings" along to practically anything on the radio nowadays. It's not unlikely to hear her chant "Womanizer" when that comes on either. Luckily, most of this, at this point, comes out as more of mumbles. Nor does she understand most of what's she's actually singing. But, let me just tell you how many times she's indicated, "Mommy that's my favorite song" to Flo Rida. Yikes. Shes loves the "low, low, low" part.

Bad mommy. Bad mommy.

Stop, Or He'll Pop

After feeding Gavin sweet potatoes (it was either that or peas or green beans)Saturday morning, I decided to have a little conversation with my mother-in-law, G, about feeding Gavin only fruits for dinner. Why my mother-in-law, G, finds it weird that I request that Gavin eat a veggie for dinner is beyond me. Don't you eat veggies for dinner?

I broached the subject Monday night, along with he can eat a whole jar if he wants too. Or a half jar of veggie and half a jar of fruit. Mix in a little cereal to fill him up. That does add up to one whole jar, right? Where the disconnect was in that conversation, I'm not sure, but I do know that I was informed by Tommy this morning that he had one heck of a poo. Come to think of it (Tommy said), he was damn near roly-poly last night when he went to bed. Poor kid. Wanna make a bet that poor child, not knowing his own limits, gobbled down a whole jar and a bowl full of cereal. Wouldn't surprise me. And, on top of that, Tommy's feeding him his bedtime bottle two hours later. I'm surprised he didn't pop.