| | Current Music: | Boulevard of Broken Songs - Party Ben (And Aerosmith, Travis, Oasis, Greenday) | | Subject: | Duality. | | Time: | 05:28 pm | | Current Mood: | ![[mood icon]](http://myclevername.icons.ljtoys.org.uk/mi/dot.gif) contemplative |
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| I am very skilled in communication. I word things very well. Writing, speaking; largely these are things I find easy, so long as the subject matter is "safe."
I am finding it very difficult to express how I am feeling right now. There is a lot of death, a lot of negativity around me; simultaneously, there is hope. Love. Joy. It is a Pollock painting of negative and positive. Indescribably intricate, a web so tangled you cannot have one without the other. The good and the bad. You eliminate one, and the other dies.
Without the dark, there can be no light.
The surprising result of this is a sense of neutrality, equality, evenness and balance. I feel neither overwhelmingly positive or negative about anything. I feel sadness at the same time as I feel joy. Instead of swinging wildly from one extreme to another, I am walking a line between the two. A duality of emotional sensation. Hot water on one hand, ice in the other. Hard and soft. Smooth and rough. Pain and pleasure. A hot fudge sundae.
Indeed, a hot fudge sundae. That is exactly it. The cold, the hot, the fudge mixing with the ice cream. Impossible to separate, impossible to extricate one fully from the other. And why would you want to?
An inevitable ending, endless possibility. | * 7 Heathens * Pray to me *   |
| “The end is never as satisfying as the journey. To have achieved everything but to have done so without integrity and excitement is to have achieved nothing.”
I am so excited for life right now.
You know how sometimes it just hits you? Maybe there's a specific reason, maybe there isn't. The reason doesn't matter so much as the feeling that results. This is proof positive that the journey is the most important part.
Today is one of those days - and yesterday was also, for the most part - where everything is bright and shiny. I want to take on everyone and everything. Shower it all with positivity. I'm bouncing off the walls.
Sometimes I feel this way, but it is the feeling of: "I can't wait for _______________ to start." Life, training, work, a trip... Today, it has already started. Whatever I'm feeling, I'm in the thick of it. I don't live in the past, but sometimes I live in the future, and I'm living in the now right now.
It is an incredible feeling.
The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now. - Chinese Proverb | | * 2 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I really like to watch people. It goes a bit beyond watching them as they walk by on the streets, or as they shop in my store to see what they are looking for and moving towards. I actually have the makings of a first rate stalker, I think.
Uh... What?
I especially enjoy watching people as they stop in their cars at the intersection where I wait for my bus. It is a busy intersection, and there are always plenty of cars stopped along the road, no matter what time of day or night it is.
People driving in their cars sometimes - often - forget that they can be seen from the outside. I love to watch as cars full of teenager girls, music blaring, twisting around to talk to their friends in the backseat, wildly gesticulating to emphasize their Very Dramatic Story. Older men with their Bluetooth headsets glued firmly to their ear as they use the road as administrative task time. Every second person is singing or grooving to their radios.
Sometimes you get to spy a sweet private moment - lovers sharing a quick kiss before the light changes, a mother comforting a child, a second of closed eyed calm breathing.
Occasionally, and thankfully even more rarely, you watch people who are overt assholes. Idiots throwing trash out their car windows, dicks who stare at you lasciviously. More frequently, especially on passengers, you see on their faces this look of despair that you have no context for. Staring out the car window, desolate, pure misery on their faces.
I witnessed a fight today. Rage was on her face, resignation on his. It was such an ugly thing to see. I understand that people fight, and sometimes these fights take place in public - but it makes you feel so uncomfortable when you watch it. And not the good kind of uncomfortable, like when you have a crush, or you're about to do something that scares the crap right out of you. The bad kind of uncomfortable, like being broken up with, or witnessing a crime.
I've been thinking about it most of the day. The clench to his jaw. How her eyes flashed, her mouth moving so quickly - so ... words fail me to describe the moment I witnessed. Maybe I'm just lucky enough to have not been exposed to many situations like those. Maybe they're all that bad.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. | | * 8 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I've seen my father cry once. I've watched his eyes fill up with tears twice, but only once have I seen tears spill over, to course down his cheeks. Only one time.
He's not the easiest man in the world to know, to love, to understand. I love him, and I miss him, and there have been times where I have never wanted to see him or speak to him again. I would give anything to be sitting on the floor in his office, listening to him speak passionately about genetics, surgery, incompetence or politics. Or really anything he knows about. My father is a learner, as I am, and loves to know things - and loves to share those things with others. Not because he needs people to know about them, but because he wants to share knowledge. Period.
I decided to move back to Canada and leave Brazil I was 16. Leave my parents. The day before my flight left, my father and I were watching CNN together. All my things were packed, I was ready, and frightened, to go. I didn't know what I was capable of. If I was capable of being away from them. Of being the most independent I had ever been in my life.
We were both quiet. Neither of us had much to say. And suddenly, he said to me: "You know, Rebecca? You're going to fail. You'll move back to Brazil by Christmas. You are not strong, smart or capable enough to do this. You are going to run back home to us, because you can't do this alone."
That is the person I have know for most of my life. The hard man. The man who thinks the least of people. A man with cold eyes. Clenched fists. Someone who will pull erratically into traffic in a rage over a misunderstanding with a gas station attendant.
In 2001, Herbert Lemos de Sousa Vianna suffered a tragic accident. Herbert is a member of the Brazilian band Os Paralamos do Sucesso, one of Brazil's most famous bands from the '80s (considered on par with the Titãs). He was also a pilot - his pastime. On February 4, 2001, plane he was piloting crashed. While he survived, the crash killed his wife.
His rehab took place in the same hospital where my parents work.
My mother is in charge of the humanization project of the hospital. She ensures that patients are treated as humans. That is her job. They are people suffering from disease, not diseases. She makes absolutely certain that no doctor in the hospital would ever treat a patient as sub-human. As an organism who is a puzzle. Something to fix, instead of someone to help heal.
Part of this program is to bring "normal" entertainment to patients in the hospital. This can look like teaching patients how to play wheelchair basketball. Taking groups of patients to watch concerts, movies, comedians. Or bringing bands, comedians or movies to the hospital so that the sickest and most broken of her patients can see them as well.
One year, while I was home, my mom smuggled me into one of these concerts. I sat next to my father as Herbert, now a paraplegic, was wheeled onto the stage with a guitar, and he played for the patients. His contemporaries. People he went through rehab with. Brazilians.
He played music he had written with Os Paralamos do Sucesso. He wasn't as amazing as he was before the accident. And yet, he was even more amazing. Even though he no longer played the guitar with as much ease as he once did, even though his voice was no longer as smooth, as strong, he - a survivor - was on a stage, in front of his fans. His biggest fans. People who had more reason to want to see him succeed than any other fan. People who were going through what he went through, and more. People who only dreamed of being able to go back to the life they had before being a patient in a hospital.
He was proof that there was a future beyond the walls of a hospital.
As he played on stage, played the hits Os Paralamos do Sucesso were best known for, I looked to see my father, his fists squeezed tightly - white knuckled. His jaw was clenched. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, into his beard.
While the man I wrote of above is the man I know best, the man I love most is the man who let himself cry as he watched someone overcome all the odds and succeed.
My father is my hero. I am my daddy's little girl. And that memory will forever be my most cherished. | | * 9 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I take the bus to work for the most part. It is free time to play Sudoku on my phone, or listen to an audiobook. To text message wildly for twenty-five minutes before taking an eight hour break. I like taking the bus. I like being surrounded, mostly comfortably, with complete strangers. There is comfort in being surrounded by people, but not needing to talk to them or interact with them beyond a simple "excuse me" when you move to get off the bus. Sometimes, I even resent it when I see people I know. Suddenly my bubble of solitude with company is burst.
The way home, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. I loath the bus when I'm heading home. I've just spent the past eight hours or so interacting with complete strangers. Making connections with them, learning about their needs, their children, the problems going on in their lives. That one person is indulging in retail therapy because she had a stressful day at work, another because her friend committed suicide the day before. How one woman has recently undergone a mastectomy, and wants a sports bra that will fit her prosthesis. Grandparents looking around in abject terror because all their 12 year-old beloved granddaughter has told them she wants for her birthday or Christmas is "a pink lulu!"
I thrive on those conversations. I love learning about people. What makes them tick, what brings them into the store. To go from that environment to solitude with company is a really difficult shift for me.
In short, I hate taking the bus home.
Last night after work, my roommate dropped by the store to pick me up. It doesn't happen often - while we work in the same place, our shifts are generally different, she'll open, I'll close, etc.
Driving with a friend is my favorite way to decompress from "lululemon ohmigod crazy salad" to "slightly more mellow Rebecca Horan." Relaxed, easy connection with someone I already know.
While driving home, we both decided to get some groceries, and picked up one of those roasted chickens they sell in the deli section (oh, yeah, I'm still a vegetarian... except for when I'm not- one of my favorite photographers told me that about himself a while ago: "I'm vegan. Except for when I'm not." Then he took a giant bite of bison sausage). When got the groceries home, and we started putting them away, we suddenly descended upon the roasted chicken and started picking at it and devouring it.
In the midst of our feast, she looked at me and said: "When I move to Vancouver who is going to pick at chicken with me?"
During my workout this morning, I started thinking about it. I know every friendship, every relationship, every connection, provides a person with a different "thing"... A thing like: "I want someone who will pick at chicken with me," or you "I just want someone to eat cheese with."
What's your thing? | | * 15 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Current Music: | Angel - MAssive Attack | | Subject: | Even so. | | Time: | 02:05 pm |
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| Wellness is something people under appreciate, I think. Recently, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) vandyke_brown asked when you know you're healthy (and rich and attractive). My response was primarily directed towards the health part of the questions. I don't think you ever know how healthy you are until you aren't anymore.
I remember when I was a little girl, I read a book about an adopted girl going through kidney failure. She was on dialysis, and struggled all the time with her health, with how she felt. I recall her musing about how frumpy and swollen she felt in her ballet class, so much so that she wore a tee-shirt over her body suit (or this may have been to cover up her dialysis tube). All because of how dialysis, while keeping her alive, was not allowing her to come anywhere close to being as well, as healthy as she'd been before.
There is nothing worse than the first week after you have been really ill. You come out of it feeling like you should be able to take on the world, as you are no longer as sick as you were. By comparison alone, your health is so improved, often people (erm, me) will just push through discomfort, and will kick themselves in the butts in the long run.
But when you are feeling well again- that moment where you can run forever again- those moments are the only ones where you know with crystal clarity how healthy you actually are. The memory will fade. You'll forget. Wellness will become common, boring, everyday and mundane.
I remember how sick I was last summer. I remember when I finally started feeling like myself again. But it was that false wellness. And the false wellness lasted for a long fucking time. Over a year after I got sick, I was still feeling unwell. I didn't recognize how unwell until I finally felt well again. One day. Out of no where. I went for a run, and felt like I could run for miles. And miles. And then, instead of being tired and sore, I felt revitalized. Full of life. Full of every chance, and possibility in the world.
Those moments are to be treasured. Even if they will be forgotten. | | * 16 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Current Music: | Adele - Hometown Glory | | Subject: | Oh, lord. | | Time: | 09:49 am | | Current Mood: | tired |
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| There is a lesson in this.
I managed to fall asleep around 2:30 or so. Supposed to be at the gym at 6. Alarm set for 5:30. Hoping for a minimum of 3 hours of sleep.
Wake to a text from Colby the trainer at 6:10.
Get up and get here.
I reply with gibberish (shti be threr aspa). Rush around the apartment looking for shoes, tanks, bras. Brush my teeth as quickly as possible. Eat a banana. Gag a little, because it is overripe. Rush back to my room, dig through the mountains of clean clothing I have in neat piles, waiting to be put away to try and find a tank top. Somehow put together an outfit that warrants an "You look so cute!" from the roommate.
GET UP.
Finally make it to the gym for 7. An hour late.
I'm given 2 minutes on the stepper as my "warm up" and proceed to go through one of the most challenging, difficult, gag-worthy workouts of my life.
It started with the tredsled. The hamstring curls. Then side-to-side box. Then single leg press. Then tredsled. Then 45 degree back extension with 25 pound weights. Then thrusters. Then split squats.
One minute for each. Four times through. On the whole body energy system components (tredsled, side-to-side box, thrusters), we had to sprint the last 10 seconds of the minute. On tredsled (a reverse treadmill, where YOU make the belt go around by running into a large, padded dummy at the end of the sled... generally used to train football players), drops of sweat would fall off my face, and I would have the pleasure of watching them go around again, and again, and again.
As it happens, Vlad the Russian was late, too.
There is a lesson in this.
The lesson? Be. On. Time. | | * 8 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| There is something on my mind, but I don't know what it is.
For a few weeks now, I haven't been sleeping well. Or I sleep far too well. One or the other. Both part of the same problem. Half my nights are sleepless, or fitful. Half my nights, I sleep like the dead.
Last night I awoke, and I was standing in the middle of my roommate's bedroom. And, since sleeping is a clothing optional sport for me, I was completely naked. I don't remember how I got there. I don't remember leaving my bedroom. Could this have been the first time I've ever sleep walked (slept walked? What is the proper grammatical past tense for the verb: to sleep walk?)?
This leads me to believe that I have something brewing upstairs. I'm thinking about stuff. I don't know what that stuff is. I've been feeling like I need to say something, but I don't know what the words are. Or what the message should be.
I'm a very strange open/closed person. In some areas of my life, I am an open book. In others, I am completely closed. I have, energetically speaking, an over-active thymus. The thymus is a small organ that lives on the heart and is where T cells mature. It is a key component in autoimmunity.
In energy healing and systems, the thymus is what keeps you cautious and careful in communication, love and relationships. Mine does its job very well. Too well. Back to the previous post regarding fear, my thymus is frightened.
My thymus, however, has been chilling out a little bit. I had a stern talking to it the other day, and again at a Body Talk session, and we came to the realization that it has been doing way too much work on protecting my heart, and maybe should take a bit of a vacation. Lovely little thing.
And since then, the cogs in my head have been going. I have no idea what is going to come out of this.
Tonight, however - I wear PJs. | | * 23 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Amazing things happen when you give up on guilt and fear.
Fear does serve a purpose. Fear can keep you alive. Adrenaline resulting from sudden fear is what jump starts the fight or flight instinct. It is all good.
Guilt is a useless emotion. As a recovering Catholic, I understand the power and sway guilt has over a person. I used to be so guilty. All the time. It would rule me. I would walk around feeling sick to my stomach I would feel so guilty about a situation.
I love watching House because whenever the doctors treat one symptom of the disease, another one pops up, and so on, and so on, until finally the root of the issue is found. Dr. House comes to the rescue with a diagnostic epiphany.
Emotions are similar. If you are ruled by guilt, and you release your guilt, something else pops up to fill that spot. In my case, it was fear. Is fear, I guess. I still struggle with it. Emotional fear, specifically. I am afraid that if I open myself up, share the person I really am with the world, I will get hurt. What was once a protective measure - fear's primary function - to keep me safe, turned into a suit of armour around my heart.
This had turned into an inability to speak my mind, to trust, to communicate. Recently someone told me: "Nodding isn't a feeling" after asking me "How are you doing?" The thoughts going through my head, the answer I really wanted to give, was buried deep inside me. So deeply that I knew I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what that something was. I knew the feeling, but the words, the communication, was intangible, elusive, out of my grasp. Like smelling someone's perfume, and knowing that you've smelled it before, but not being able to place the scent.
Being open to possibility, to potential, to opportunity. It is so scary and so awesome and so wonderful all at the same time. Scary. But not something to be feared. The things that happen when you let yourself life free of fear and guilt are powerful. Things you would otherwise be closed to become reality, and suddenly so much is available that your choices are limitless.
And you created it entirely on your own. | | * 25 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I am a member of two gyms. Sort of. They are one and the same, but one half is circuit training, bootcamps and cardio focused; the other is focused more on strength training. The dumbbells range from 5 pounds to over 300, the people who work out at McDole and PRo(Ag)gressive Fitness range across all forms of fitness and strength levels.
You can learn a lot of about determination and ego in a place like that. On the overhead dumbbell press, I am stronger than the Russian. On triceps pulldowns, I am weaker than almost everyone in the gym. I need to be lifted into a chin-up hold, but the amount of effort C. the trainer puts into lifting me up is becoming less and less.
It is always the exercises that look the easiest that are the most difficult. Today, wall slides nearly broke me. And, of course, I had to do three sets of twenty reps. This was the first part to my workout. Back pressing into the wall, from my shoulders to my hips, arms back, against the wall, the biceps inline with my shoulders, the forearms at a 90 degree angle from them. You then slide your arms up the wall, until your hands meet in the middle. Or as close as they can get.
I've watched people do this, and it never crossed my mind that it would be as difficult as it is. This morning, there was grunting, sweating, teeth grinding and cursing. At the end of each set, I would slide down the wall, rest my head between my knees, and pray the next set would be easier than the first.
FYI: It never is.
Following these were the ever demeaning chin-up holds. They aren't actually demeaning, because I'm at this gym to get stronger, to go faster, last longer. I've made improvements, and continue to make improvements. This is what matters. It is very easy to let your ego get in the way of your workouts, to want to just give up. It is too hard. I look stupid. Everyone is laughing at me. It is better to just give up.
Truth is, there is a bit of laughter. But it isn't really at my expense. We all struggle through some exercise or another. Joe the Intern, for instance, is a prime example of how we tease because we understand (Linked video contains swears, listen low or mute if you're at work).
This isn't the part where I start waxing about how you need to persevere (although you do). To just get through it, because it is worth it in the end (although it is). I've given up before. Today I didn't. | | * 13 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| As you go through the contents of bins and bags that haven't been touched or looked at in over 2 years, you discover quite a bit about yourself. How your tastes have changed. How styles have changed. For example, I never realized how much shorter shirts were two years ago; how long they've become.
Yes. Today I started cleaning out my closet, going through my things.
Fact: I own way too much.
There is something that is very soothing about looking at something that was a part of your past that you've held onto for so long, and realizing you no longer need it. No longer want it. In my hall, there are now six packed garbage bags of clothing and shoes for the donation bin. Four bags of things that no one will want now lay in the bottom of the dumpster in the back alley.
Something liberating about throwing away things that remind you of the past. Something bitter sweet.
I threw away the last remnants of Lucie1 today. Fuck, that was nice. I found a bag stuffed with things from the time I went crazy. Into the dumpster it went, with a satisfying thud.
Parallels in my life. Freedom from the past. I don't mean cutting ties, or throwing things away. Rather, a deep realization that the past is the one thing in my life that I am completely and utterly unable to change. Isn't that a freeing concept? Look to your past and realize that it has no hold over you. I am living in the moment. In now. I can see parts of the path to my future, I can choose accordingly to get to where I want to be with more ease. I can act on now. I can act on tomorrow. Yesterday is the footnote. All I can do is learn from it, and move on.
Footnotes
1: We do not speak of the crazy alter ego I named to try and make it less scary. | | * 23 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I had sex with my friend's girlfriend. Nobody knows but us. Afterward, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted and now I can relate to her like a normal person and not have this "will we or won't we?" thing clouding everything up. That was the first and last time, I promise.
It is Confession Day.
Everyone thinks I'm a great teacher. I think I fake it well and have been waiting for years for someone to see it and call me out on it.
I'll tell you a secret: lately, the only time I make an effort to bring back Confession Day is when I am writing essays. Since thesis has officially been kicked into gear, expect Confession Day to Actually come back. This time, with FEELING.
I feel extremely guilty whenever I eat. Doesn't matter if it's healthy or not. This is horrible, I shouldn't be upset when I've had over 1000 calories at the end of the day...
Post anything you want in a comment to this post. Anything that has been weighing you down, anything you want to have shared.
So it took me 17 years to directly fess up to her that yes, I've been crazy about her all this time. In asking her when-about she started to suspect or know without her telling me, it turns out to have been about 16-17 years ago (with us going to concerts, going on road-trips, et cetera during that time).
I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing, yet.
All confessions posted are screened, IP logging off, anonymous comments are welcome.
I know it's probably going to terrify him how much I love him.
But I'm going to let him know any way.
Then we'll both be terrified together.
If you would like to share your confession in the following Confession Day post, place an asterisk somewhere in the comment.
I'm the epitome of a 'good girl'. Why is the guy I love most an alcoholic pothead? And what can I do to help him?! I'm scared.
If there is no asterisk, the confession will not be shared. Your secret will be safe.
She's everything I've ever wanted.
Now confess!
I only drink coffee because it makes me poo. | | * Pray to me * |
| My protective hackles have risen significantly, when a girl I work with was sexually harassed by some dirtbag who rubbed his semi-erect dick on her leg yesterday. I'm disgusted. I wish a pox on his penis. I wish I had of seen it so that I could have kicked said semi-erect dick with my slightly withered, yet still stronger than your average girl's, legs.
I am also fairly certain that due to this incident yesterday, I've become moderately more suspicious than normal. Maybe more sensitive is actually a better description. In any event, an older gentleman came into the store. I recognized him from other times he's come in, but today was the first time I've approached him. After I asked him how he was doing, and walked over to him, he leaned in, stared directly at my boobs, responded that he was fine, the left the store. After asking around, it turns out he comes in almost every day, has been doing so for about a month, and last summer he would do the same thing. One of the girls who works at the store grew up in his neighborhood, and he does have a developmental disability. She suspects he is harmless, but she gets extremely creeped out by him. It got to the point last summer that some girls feel so uncomfortable by his presence, that they have to leave the floor rather than speak with him.
I once had my crotch grabbed by a panhandler in Ottawa, and I didn't feel this creeped out. I don't know. I'm likely overreacting, but I decided to speak with the mall security, and they gave me the low-down. Apparently, feeling creeped out is enough to get him barred from the mall. We just need to point him out to a security guard, and they'll take him down to the security office, and bar him. If he comes back after that, he would be legally trespassing, and could be arrested.
It is kind of strange. I'm wearing a tanktop that I don't wear very often. It is one of my lowest cut tanks, and puts my cleavage on display. As I was walking out of the mall, I noticed a few boob glances. Right now, I feel like I never want to wear this tanktop again. I've never felt a desire to hide my boobs away before- I like my boobs. I think tits are lovely. I like the look of cleavage on display. Even if it is excessive cleavage. Fuck, people who knew me in Ottawa know how often my tops are cleavage baring. I like it.
I do not like this feeling.
I think I'm just being overly histrionic, and I don't care.
Harumph. | | * 18 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Current Music: | In The Sun- Coldplay, feat. Micheal Stipe | | Current Location: | home | | Subject: | Old School Fitness, Day I | | Time: | 07:35 am | | Current Mood: | entertained |
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| You know those musical fitness movie montages? The ones where the protagonist sweats, bleeds, cries and often vomits through some fitness routine to the point of breaking? Then, over the swell of triumphant music, said protagonist can suddenly do everything they've been struggling with, better even than their instructor.
I am eagerly awaiting this moment.
I decided to not run for the rest of the season. Maybe a few short 'n' easy runs here and there, but I'm going to focus on yoga and healthfulness for the rest of the summer. I'd completely forgotten that I signed up for a fitness bootcamp before I left for Brazil, and this morning I went to my first.
It is only an hour in the morning, three times a week, so really, fairly minimal punishment when you think about it, but not only am I not conditioned from running 4-5 times a week, I've not been going to the gym and doing my weight circuits in a good long time.
I'm getting healthy again, but I've lost so much of my level of fitness- and I'll get it back again, but right now I'm finding it a bit difficult to deal with.
My Greek God came into the store last night, looking for me. I wasn't there. Maybe the date didn't go as poorly on his end as I thought it had. Maybe my hedonistic ways were far too much for him to resist.
It is a mystery! | | * 15 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I went on a date last week that didn't go particularly well. It was actually fairly amusing- it isn't every day that a girl goes on a date and is cajoled into playing "How Many of the Ten Commandments Do You Know?" Nice guy, sure, but I'm pretty positive a dude who spends his Christmases in Bethlehem isn't looking for a girl like me.
Secretly, I was disappointed. He is Greek, and comes from a very Greek family. The stories he told about his childhood were vaguely reminiscent of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. After entertaining the idea of fending off his crazy Windex-wielding father and overbearing mother, I was momentarily saddened at the possibility I was missing out on. Oh, the stories I could tell to laughing girlfriends over cocktails! They'd shriek: "She did not say that!" and "He didn't walk in! NO!" and I would sit back, satisfied in my role as purveyor of funny stories about my Greek boyfriend's parents.
No secret my imagination has been doing well lately.
Late last week, I was struck by the damned flu of the stomach area. Woke up at 3, wondered about what had woken me, and suddenly realized, as the content of my stomach decided to make an appearance, that Ralph on the Big White Telephone was calling- we'd not spoken in a long time. I had so much to catch him up on, after all, the last time we spoke, I was in Ottawa, and I had to be really quiet to not wake up my sister. Mr Fly III was already awake, so I didn't have to keep my voice down for his benefit. Ralph and I had a nice long chat.
After the fact, I stumbled back to bed, and decided to take my temperature. I was a bit startled when I saw that it was 103oF. Thus began my quest to find an angel to take my shift.
Rarely does working retail really fucking suck.
Thankfully, thirty minutes before my shift was due to start, I found someone to take my shift, and continued sleeping. Until the next morning. Whereupon I got to go to work.
Don't get me wrong, I really do love my job. I love the people I work with, and I love the company I work for. I just don't love not being able to take sick days. I'm not sick often (OK, mono not included), but I was so ineffective that day that they might as well have not bothered paying me.
In any event. The contents of my stomach have done a very good job of staying where they belong until the eventually leave through the proper exit, and Ralph hasn't called back. | | * 21 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Current Music: | Homeless (With Ladysmith Black Mambazo) - Sarah McLachlan | | Current Location: | Home | | Subject: | Post-mono Winnipeg | | Time: | 10:03 pm | | Current Mood: | good |
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| I'm currently watching my absolutely hilarious kitten experience what I am told are completely normal late night crazies. I'm terribly entertained, and can't help but laugh at every vertical spastic jump and surprisingly loud sprint (THUMP THUMP THUMP, but really fast) from kitchen to bedroom and back again.
Two weeks ago, I was walking by a pet store, and decided to pop in and check out the tarantulas. I'm scared of spiders, but figured it was time for me to get over my fear by buying a pet tarantula.
I didn't quite make it past the kittens, and walked out having paid in full, for the mackerel male tabby with grey eyes and orange collar sleeping on top of his brother and sister. Less than a week later, he's been fixed, and I brought him home.
We've had a few mishaps (notably, buying the wrong litter and having the poor cat take a shit on my floor... note to self, kittens are less adorable when pooping on your floor). We've gotten over that small bump in the road, and are now battling over the goat skin carpet gifted to my parents by my dad's parents and subsequently gifted to me (I'm not overly fond of having a fur carpet, but since it was a gift, etc, I'm not complaining... And it is very soft). Mr. Fly likes to rip out the fur on the edge of the rug. I'll likely have to put it away until he is a bit less insane.
It appears, however, that I have purchased a cat that embodies clumsy_me. He falls over. And runs into things. A. Lot. He also loses his meow fairly often.
In any event. I have a kitten. He is cute. Eventually pictures will follow.
The rest of my trip was interesting. I was pretty sick. The parentals were staying awake with me in shifts, and only partly because I was often unable to sleep due to the extreme pain in my tonsils.
Life post-mono has been equally interesting, and very humbling. Having a restorative yoga class tire me out was a shock. I'm finally starting to feel like myself again, and have been given the OK to go for a run on Wednesday. I've accepted that it will be a short, slow run that will likely tire me out for the rest of the day, but I've come to terms with it and am just so bloody excited to be able to run again that pace and distance don't matter all that much to me.
The marathon was a dark day, though. I volunteered at a water station, handed out Gatorade to the people I felt as though I should have been running with. By the end of the day, I felt pretty good about having volunteered, and received a good many thanks from runners puffing by. The tips of my fingers had also turned orange- so much so it looked as though I'd been eating CheetosTM for a few hours.
Not that I would, as I've taken yet another step towards hippie-eating, and given up white flour and sugar. It hasn't been the easiest thing (mostly finding things to eat when I go out is the challenge), but largely it was the right decision for me right now. I'm reading the Thrive Diet by Brendan Brazier, the creator of the VEGA protein products, and I've found it immeasurably helpful in discovering what it is that I need to eat to maintain my health and to be a healthier athlete.
Understandably, I'm a bit obsessed with staying healthy right now. I went for 2 months without being able to exercise, and it has been driving me slightly mad. And now, I'm two days away from finally being able to start building up my fitness level again, and I'm so excited for the challenge.
Anyways. Quinoa is good. Dinosaur Kale is good. Avocado is really good. Dates are my newest obsession. I can't get through the day without eating mango. Pistachios are a little green gift from the Universe.
And no, I'm not vegan. I still occasionally eat eggs, and can't really survive without lattes sweetened with honey. I'll also partake in cheese if offered.
The biggest shock of the year so far was deciding to grow my own herbs, and having them sprout successfully. I've got baby oregano, parsley and chives in my window sill. Mr. Fly hasn't noticed them yet- I'm hoping that this continues. | | * 13 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I am unable to see "Cockburn"- as in Bruce or the street, and NOT hear it phonetically. The best moment of 2008 was hearing the bus driver announce the upcoming stop phonetically, and not how it is actually pronounced (CO-burn, if you didn't know already).
I think life would be happier if Cockburn were, in fact, pronounced COCK-burn.
What other words are like that? | | * 40 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| First essay in almost a year just kicked my butt.
Today, I decided to make it official. If you've seen my facebook status update, this will not be a surprise. Not that it would be a surprise.
Anyways, I've given up meat. Of the cow and pig and chicken and fish variety. Lacto-ovo vegetarian, I believe is the official term. Anyways, I haven't had terrestrial meat in a while, my big struggle was agreeing (in my head) to give up the raw fishies on gorgeous beds of rice. Anyways.
Yeah. That essay kicked my butt. only 9 pages, too. That's depressing. I remember the days when pulling a 20 pager out of my ass was a breeze.
Also, marathon training starts tomorrow! Whee! | | * 37 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Last year on this day, I thought there was no possible way that I would STILL be single on Valentine's Day. But I am.
This time I'm not bothered by it, though. I think I might be growing up.
It's Confession Day.
She moved here because of me, now that she's here we're not sure we want each other now.I refuse to give up even though every sign points to us walking away from each other... and if we do, I'll also learn that I made a very big mistake of throwing away someone who did love me, for someone who was learning to love me.
Confess anything you would like in a comment to this post.
Every time you roll a joint or take a sip of your drink I respect you less. Your addictions make you ugly.
All comments are screened, IP logging turned off, anonymous comments welcome.
I miss the way we used to be.
If you would like to share your confession in next week's confession post, please put an asterisk in the subject line of the comment.
My secret is that even though I tell everyone we're "just friends" and that "I don't care" and I'm "not going to get hurt"- my guilty pleasure is watching his old MADTV sketches- especially the ones where he doesn't have a shirt on- and secretly a little bit of me wishes that deep down somewhere that hot TV boy wanted me just a LITTLE more than just as his buddy.
If there is no asterisk or permission of some kind in the confession, I will not post it- your secrets are safe here.
Coffee keeps me regular. When I gave it up because I wanted to see what life was like without caffeine, I didn't shit for days.
And now ... CONFESS!
Watching TV makes me feel guilty. | | * Pray to me * |
| I wish you were more concerned with bring me to orgasm instead of leaving me to my own devices after sex.
It's Confession Day (and Valentine's Day... And MDK and Miss Blue's birthdays... And HAIRCUT day... And FRIENDINTINE'S Day... Goodness, what a day full of stuff).
I fucking hate going to work. H-A-T-E it. The job's fine, the money's great, I just hate working. Only 35 more years until retirement...
Confess anything you would like in a comment to this post.
When I can't have sex, I want it all the time. When I can have sex anytime, I don't even think about it. What the hell is wrong with me!?
All comments are screened (really this time, thanks Devin To The Max for catching my mistake last week), IP logging turned off, anonymous comments welcome.
In response to this:
"I had sex for the first time while in my twenties with someone I loved and felt really comfortable with. Now after a few years with him, I'm dating again, and all of this beginning stuff makes me so nervous. I met a guy I really like but I'm not looking forward to sleeping with him because I still feel like I don't know what I'm doing."
I'm a guy and I've been with people who'd been abused in their past and/or not had sex until in their 20's - they had similar feelings as you. If this guy cares about you, you're already a huge turn on for him... you don't need to be "good" at sex for him to enjoy himself. Relax and focus on YOU enjoying yourself. ;)
If you would like to share your confession in next week's confession post, please put an asterisk in the subject line of the comment.
She sat across from me at Starbucks with a horrified expression. "What if I'd gotten pregnant?!?!" she said. I stared back with similiar eyes. Weeks later it hit me. What would HE have done if she HAD gotten pregnant? My father bailed on us. Now I'm terrified that the most extraordinary man I know is just as deplorable as the least extraordinary man I've never met.
Nothing would be more tragic than that.
If there is no asterisk or permission of some kind in the confession, I will not post it- your secrets are safe here.
I found your myspace. I read the back and forth between you and your ex girlfriend. It seems like you were a completley different person back then. My heart filled with sadness and ache for you. Maybe I *do* love you as much as my friends think I do. Shit.
And now ... CONFESS!
I resisited the urge to write you a Facebook message about how your ex girlfriend and I spent last night talking about how much we missed you. Well, how much SHE misses you- but I miss you too. Just get a new laptop, jackass. Please? | | * Pray to me * |
| I've had one of those days today.
It started when I left the house to go to school, stopped by the juice bar to pick up a Liver Cleanse, and K., one of the owners, took her SWEET time in making my juice. This resulted in my missing the bus. Thus, resulting in my missing my connection.
By the time I made it to the connection, I would have been an hour late for class.
No, that's OK.
So, I skipped school, studied at Starbucks, and went to the gym.
After I worked out, I had to go to work for a conference call at 5. This conference call was canceled on Thursday, and canceled on Friday (when I went in to work even though I wasn't working specifically to be there for the conference call). Obviously, it was also canceled today.
When I discovered the cancellation, I decided to go and get some foodstuff to get me through my shift. So I went to a fastfood purveyor that offers fairly healthy sandwiches and salads. I, along with two other people, stood at the counter for approximately 5 minutes, while three people stood behind the counter and ignored us, two of them actually walked away while we were standing there, completely disregarding our presence.
I was already on edge, so I walked over to the entrance to the kitchen, and called out "EXCUSE ME!"
One young girl came out of the kitchen and walked over to me. "What can I get you?"
"I just wanted to let you know that this is the third time in two weeks that I have come here with the intention of buying food from you, and have been completely ignored after standing at the counter for a not insignificant period of time, when there are plenty of people working, and either no one else, or one or two other people- ALSO being ignored- waiting. I wanted to make sure that you knew what horrible customer service you have, and how disappointed I am in this establishment. This is the third time that I will be walking away without buying anything because poor customer service outweighs good food."
She rolled her fucking eyes at me. "Well, can I help you now?"
"No, you can't."
And I walked away- seething. I returned to work, with 15 minutes to go before my shift started, and started looking for the parent company, the manager's name, anything that I could use to give some very strongly worded feedback about that particular spot.
And found nothing. If anyone knows of a person or place I can call to complain about Cultures (apparently owned by Koya, but I couldn't find anything for them, either), I'd be very grateful.
Thankfully, the evening went fairly well.
Then I get home, and check my mailbox. The asshat, dickhead letter carrier fucking bent an envelope that CLEARLY STATES RIGHT NEXT TO MY ADDRESS:
DO NOT BEND
Normally I might be a bit miffed, but not really care all that much. Three things made me lose it, though. The first was all the other irritating little things of the day. The second was that Canada Post is a shitty fucking company and I've had so many other problems with them in the past (including losing my passport, among many other things). The third was that it was my fucking New York Marathon finisher's certificate. Embossed and suitable for framing. The fold goes right down the middle of the certificate, the paper it is printed on isn't just bent, but wrinkled and ... broken, kind of? You know, how cardboard breaks? Well, like that. Unfixable. Ugly. I am still going to frame it, because obviously the sentimental value is more than the aesthetic value, but still.
So I wrote them a complaint.
( Find within my letter of complaint to Canada Post, entitled: 'You suck.' ) | | * 10 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| There is something oddly satisfying about looking at the clock, realizing you've been awake for about 4 hours, and have already done more than quite a few people will get done throughout the whole day. And the day is just beginning. Gracious, I haven't had a day-time schedule quite this packed in a while.
Works for me, though.
The big news is that I am meeting with a financial advisor this afternoon. The idea of giving someone all my financial information- knowing the extent of my credit card debt, knowing that the only other people who have that information are the nameless, faceless bank people, etc- is kind of daunting. Nerve wracking, especially since it is my choice. No one pushed me to do it. I decided to do it.
It is no secret to the people who know me that I am money-stupid. I'm fairly intelligent when it comes to most things, but the whole money thing... I don't get it. Logically I know why I live paycheck to paycheck, but at the same time I know it in a kind of non-applicable to real life sort of way. Kind of like the first few weeks of physics for me. I understand the formula, I know how to get the answer, but I just don't understand how those values and letters equal real forces in the real world.
I also have a terribly exciting conference call regarding my trip out West. End of March I will be in Vancouver for the Landmark Forum. This is my first work related trip ever. I'm excited. Makes me feel all grown up and professional and such.
Went to Kundalini last night. Kundalini is rapidly becoming one of my favorite styles of yoga. It is a good thing that I have lots of room in my heart for "favorite styles of yoga." In terms of yoga, I am definitely not a committed person. I cheat all the time. There are just so many wonderful things about all the different styles that I've tried so far... Somewhat desperately, I need to get myself to a Bikram class and to a Vinyasa flow class. For all of Bikram's faults, it really is the best cardio-vascular workout you could hope for. I need to get all the hot yoga in that I possibly can before it comes time for me to get life insurance... I'm blown away that now in Canada, hot yoga is considered to be the same risk-factor as smoking. What the fuck. | | * 15 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Confession day is back? It's about bloody time.
Hey, it's confession day.
For the first time in Confession Day history, I have nothing to complain about in my life at all.
You know the drill, I'm sure.
I had sex for the first time while in my twenties with someone I loved and felt really comfortable with. Now after a few years with him, I'm dating again, and all of this beginning stuff makes me so nervous. I met a guy I really like but I'm not looking forward to sleeping with him because I still feel like I don't know what I'm doing.
Confession day is an opportunity for you to confess anything you want in a comment to this post.
I really can't stand my mother.
All comments to this post are screened, anonymous comments welcome, IP logging is off.
If she decided to drop all of her restrictions and we had sex, I'd be quite happy to go as far as marry her. She is however, catholic, and we've never dated due to differences like that (there are more, that's just a good example, in fact that'd probably make me accept all the rest if she did that).
If you would like to share your confession in next week's post, please place an asterisk in the subject line, or somewhere in the comment. Just let me know you want it shared, because otherwise, how can I possibly know?
All the sex related confessions made me realize I've not had sex in over 6 months. *cries*
If there is no permission to share the confession, I will not do so- your secrets are safe with me.
Sometimes I think I'd like to sit you down and tell you all the things you've done that have hurt me. But nothing can change the past, and also, I don't think you'd really care. Whenever I express my feelings to you about something you've done that bothers me, you make me feel so guilty about it.
I guess we're not really friends anymore.
And now ...
Four years wasted with dating the wrong person. Surely they are my best friend and constant companion, but I'm starting to love myself less being with them.
I don't know what to do, help me?
CONFESS!
I didn't just cut you out of my life because you hurt me by fucking her, I got rid of you because the thought of you mounting that... creature would make most people throw up. Oh, and I already found out about the pictures of the two of you posing with our old bedroom "toys." That was really classy. | | * Pray to me * |
| At first it seemed like th internet failed- it wasn't providing me with NEARLY enough distraction. NOTHING was keeping me from dishes.
And then I remembered. Confession day AND a poll I thought I desperately had to make as I was drifting off to sleep. THE INTERNET WINS AGAIN! DISHES LOSE! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!
Poll #1134660
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 33How do you eat your pink grapefruit? | | * 3 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Don't worry- the orgasms you give aren't that hot either.
I'm bringin' confessions back. Oh.
I wonder if she still reads my blog and I make her jealous.
This is the post where you can tell any and all secrets you want. Confess anything in a comment to this post.
Everytime we don't have sex for a week or more I begin thinking about all the awesome sex I had with a buddy before you. You are not my best sex partner, but you are my best life partner and for that reason I will keep my ex-sex thoughts to myself and just keep it as thoughts.
All comments are screened- both anonymous comments and non-anonymous (nymous?) comments. IP logging is off, and all comments are welcome.
I've spent the better part of last month not wanting to die, but not really wanting to live either.
If you want me to share your confession in next week's confession post, please place an asterisk in the subject line.
I've convinced my parents and friends that my joining the army is strictly a way to jumpstart my career. What I've failed to mention is that my chosen profession's page on the army web site clearly states "Foreign deployment is to be expected." hehehe...oops
And now: CONFESS!
I'm having the best sex of my life. I've never been with a woman that can cum as much and for as long as she can. Every one before has always gotten to that "it's too sensitive, you have to stop" stage but not with her. We spend hours having the most delightful fun.... | | * Pray to me * |
| Recently, in response to my last post, thatthingido accused me of being an inspiration- yet again. I'm thanking her publicly for the comment, since it really means a lot to hear it from friends. I never really know how to respond to that, but it fills me up, in a way that is both good and kind of uncomfortable. I never thought anyone would ever look at me and see any kind of inspiration, to be perfectly honest.
After I ran the marathon, I found out about the last person to cross the finish line. She did the entire race, the whole course, on crutches. I am still stupidly proud of myself for running that marathon, and that feeling is going to stick with me for the rest of my life, but that woman is so inspirational to think about her is so emotional, it almost hurts.
Yesterday, I was talking to a guest in the store who was talking about how Moksha yoga has revitalized her life. How she, her daughter and her best friend go three times a week. How much they love it. How, after living with MS for most of her life, she feels as though she is reclaiming her body- what had once been foreign territory was becoming familiar. Her daughter came out of the fitting room to show her mother an outfit she had tried on, frowned at me slightly. I was really familiar to her, but she couldn't quite figure out where she knew me from.
The mother and I chatted for a little while longer- about how she can do about 60% of the poses fully now, and she modifies the rest. How she does down dog on her knees because she can't yet do it on hands and feet. And then SHE gave that exact same frown. And then her face lit up.
"My daughter and I tried Moksha because someone gave us free passes to the studio- she told me that even though I have limitations in my body, that yoga would be available to me. You were that person. You changed my life."
Tonight, I went to a Kundalini yoga class. It was a karma class, raising funds for a charity in Cambodia that keeps children out of dumpsters. Liane, the owner of the studio, had committed herself to a 40 day Sadhana- a practice with intention. Her husband, Dillon (who is my Reiki master and favorite yoga instructor), led us through the Kundalini practice. Oh, fuck, it was hard. Really hard. One of the hardest yoga classes I've ever been to. At the height of the hardest series of poses- jumping your whole body off the ground from being on your hands and feet for 6 1/2 minutes- Dillon called out that we couldn't give up. We had to keep on going. The gym rats, the marathon runners, the athletes, they were the ones who were flagging in their strength, but the ones who had the most heart in their practice were the ones who were flying off the floor, then slamming back into the ground, pounding their fists and hands on the ground, screaming passionately, lending their energy to the rest of the class. And then he reminded us that Liane had been doing this exact series for forty days.
I'm feeling very emotional tonight. I am lucky that I had an hour long chat with my sister. She helped to ground me. I feel, aside from sore and tired, as though someone who loves me very much has made me a cup of my favorite tea, and wrapped me up in a thick warm comforter, and wrapped their arms around me. I feel very loved, very cherished, very full. | | * 29 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I really like practicing yoga at home. I also really enjoy practicing in a studio, but there's something nice about the freedom of practicing at home- if I don't want to do Utkatasana, ha, guess what, I don't have to do Utkatasana. Normally, I'll practice for about 30 minutes, which is typically how long my creativity in making up flow sequences will last.
Without an instructor to prompt you, or tell you what to do next, it is hard to keep the motivation going.
Last summer, I bought an audiobook called Yoga Sanctuary, by Shiva Rae, and last night was the first time that I used it. I decided to turn my apartment as yoga studio-y as possible, and lit a ton of candles, burned incense, turned out the lights. It was really nice. I practiced for an hour, and when I was done with the Yoga Sanctuary, I decided to do all of my favorite poses.
My headstand is improving. I don't have to use a wall anymore, and I don't have to kick my legs up to gather the momentum to get myself vertical and upside-down, I can slowly lift my legs up, one at a time, to get into the pose.
Fuck, though, am I sore this morning. All the connective tissues in my ribcage are angry and sore, and let me know it pretty much every time I move, the buggers. | | * 27 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I gasp.
"Oh no!"
Everyone in the 7-11 turns and stares at me.
"Cadbury Cream Eggs are out already? I so screwed!"
Cue laughter. | | * 21 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Poll #1119292 Confession day...
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 48Do you miss confession day? Would you like me to bring Confession Day back? | | * 11 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| My most brilliant moment of 2007.
Drank a liver cleanse juice, with beet and grapefruit and cayenne pepper. Got some cayenne pepper on my hands.
Promptly forgot about it. Didn't wash my hands well enough before trying to put in my contact lenses.
Cue the screaming.
Ow. | | * 16 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Time: | 09:44 pm | | Current Mood: | blank |
|
| Dear world,
Is this a good enough reason to start taking alternative forms of energy seriously? Maybe this? How about this?
Also, Terry Pratchett, an amazing author, has been diagnosed with a rare form of Alzheimer's. His press release regarding his illness is praiseworthy. | | * 6 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Tonight, I went for a run. A 30 minute, non-stop run. The first one in a month. The second run since the marathon, but I don't count the first, since I walked for the bulk of it.
It was sheer, fucking bliss. I'd forgotten what true, running bliss was like, being all yoga-blissed lately. I promise you, if you're a running junkie, there is nothing that compares.
You feel like you're flying, the feet just touch the ground to push yourself further almost effortlessly. Your breath is rhythmic, your heart beats quickly, and you have a sheen of sweat that covers your face, neck and arms.
Of course, the run was followed by my first personal trainer-set circuit. It was ... less euphoric, shall we say? My quads hurt, as do my glutes. Also, my hamstrings. | | * 5 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| 
DONE. Also ... just ... DONE.
Fuck, it is GORGEOUS outside right now. I love snow, I love the holiday season. This is my all time favorite time of the year.
As I believe I have mentioned, I am not heading home to Brazil for Christmas. I am actually not too bothered by the decision. Certainly not as bothered as I thought I was going to be. I'll be seeing mom and dad again in April, I'll be there for my father's birthday, I'll stay for three weeks, and it will be fantastic.
This would be my friend Paula and I sitting on Carrie Bradshaw's stoop.
Holiday shopping has begun. This madness includes frantic, frustrated guests, each and every one of them wanting the PERFECT gift, the NEWEST patterned hoodie and your complete and utter attention. It is kind of cool. I have never worked retail over the holidays, and I am finding that I enjoy it. Although, the constant holiday tunes can occasionally grate upon the nerves. The busy mall has really started to peeve me, mostly when I run out to grab a coffee and everyone is moving so fucking slowly that it is like playing some frustrating game of frogger- dodge the holiday shopper, struggle down the escalators (in case you were wondering, you should stand on the right of the escalator if you plan on just riding it, and walk down the left side if you plan on walking down it- please, please, please don't stand in the middle). I will take my picture with Santa shortly for the parental units. I've a feeling they'll get a kick out of it, as will both my dear, doddering grannies.
These marked the marathon route.
I am planning upon having a holiday festive event in my fabulous apartment. As I will be purchasing a white tree and decorating it in pink and red ornaments, I think the theme of said festive event will be red and pink. Perhaps I'll even call it "The Red and Pink don't Stink Festive Event." Hmmm. Anyways, I've wanted to have a semi-formal cocktail party for a while, and this is as good a time as any. I am taking suggestions of your favorite red and pink cocktails- obviously there will be red wine, and potentially cosmos.
Obviously I had to have a cosmo- I was totally entertained by the fact that I was completely tipsy after the one, relatively small, beverage. This was in the bar that Aidan and Steve (in Sex and the City) opened together.
My personal 30-day challenge is going very well. I am one class ahead of the number of days that I've been in the challenge. I went to two classes this morning. Would have stuck it out for three, but the Moksha class made me a bit dizzy and woozy, so I decided to take the rest of the day off. Off to do what, you ask? LAUNDRY! CLEANING! HUZZAH!
So far in cleaning, though, I've managed to do all of two things. Granted, I did finish my laundry, so the day hasn't been completely lost.
My darlings and I at prodjsteve's celebratory wedding event!
One thing that has struck me over the past few days is how fast the days are flying by right now. The next thing you know, it's going to be 2008, resolutions will be flying, people will be nursing hangovers, waking up from regrettable one-night stands, and wishing they hadn't eaten all the holiday treats when suddenly their pants are a little bit tighter than they were the last time they were worn (but it is always the fault of the dryer, yes?). I can't quite comprehend that it is December 2nd already. In 15 days, my sister will be 25 years old. Anya just turned 30 (happy birthday, sweet thing!). Time is fucking flying. Fucked. Up.
 | | * 10 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| lululemon has given all the employees of the company unlimited yoga for the holiday season. I decided to take full advantage of this, and have committed myself to a 30 day challenge: 30 classes in 30 days. No one specific studio or style, although I have been going to a 6:30-8:00 am "Rise and Shine" yoga every Tuesday and Thursday, and will continue to do so until that morning bootcamp ends.
I thought that maybe I'd take a bit of a break from running, and spend all my time in yoga, and just enjoy the feeling of my hamstrings getting looser and my hips opening. Last night in one of my classes, the teacher complimented me on my Dancer and floor bow. The only reason I got as deeply into the pose as I did was because my hips and hamstrings are significantly more open then they have been.
I am mucho satisfied.
Then last night, I received an email from The Coach, who has decided that no, I will not be taking the holidays off running. Rather I will be building up strength during the holidays and will take a break during the coldest months of the year before starting up training again for the Manitoba Marathon. Somehow I have to fit a 45 minute run in between the three yoga classes I have planned for today.
I am also making some changes. Good changes. I'll update more upon this once I've got it all figured out- but it's very exciting for me. | | * 21 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Subject: | Musication | | Time: | 01:56 pm | | Current Mood: | entertained |
|
| Scene: Rebecca and Brother on phone.
Him: blah blah blah cooking blah blah blah rosemary blah blah blah parsley blah blah blah
Me: [singing] Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Him [moment of shocked silence] ... I educated you better in music than I thought.
Me: No, I learned that from a Harry Potter fan fiction a few years ago.
Him: I'm so ashamed of myself. | | * 14 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Subject: | CAW. | | Time: | 08:41 am |
|
| I went to yoga this morning for the first time in almost a month. I felt sluggish, clumsy and off. It was amazing. Just being in the room with all the bendy people, moving together, even though I fell over once or twice, was fantastic. I even noticed some strength progression, as well as letting go of fear, in two poses I've never let myself go in before.
The full expression of both Crow and Twisted Crow involves lifting your feet off the ground while balancing on your forearms. I got my feet off the ground and found balance for a fraction of a second. It was pretty amazing.
Now I can go on with my day, all yoga and blissed out and such. | | * 11 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I'm a marathoner.
It is kind of fucked up, really.
I finished in 5 hours and 7 seconds, slower than my goal time, but I am so stupidly proud of myself the time doesn't matter to me.
It was the hardest thing I've ever done, as well as maybe the most amazing.
I woke up at 3 in the morning, and took the train to Manhattan, hopped a cab to the Staten Island Ferry, and played the tourist while scoping out Lady Liberty in the dark. Runners from around the globe, drunk chicks and construction workers piled off the ferry, and we runners got into the shuttle busses. By the time we arrived at the starting "area" by the foot of the Verrazano bridge, the sun was up, and it was 7 am. I made friends with this awesome woman from Colorado, and we hung out in the early morning cold while more and more runners showed up.
Runners are divided into three groups for the 10:10 a.m. start, blue, orange and green. I was in the Orange group (as was, it turns out, Katie Holmes), in the 5-hour predicted finish group (I sure called that one). Mrs. Colorado and I huddled together to try and keep warm, finally getting up to hold cups of hot water to try and keep ourselves warm. We chatted with other runners, meandered around, and basically froze to death. It was so cold.
I checked my bag, but had purchased a cheap jacket the day before that I snuggled in until just before the start line. Mrs. Colorado and I split up (she was going for a Boston Qualifying time) as the loud speakers announced that it was time for us to line up with our pace groups. I can't even come close to putting into words the feelings running through me, the electric feel of the crowd. We were all cheering, smiling, wishing complete strangers good luck. It was so amazing to be part of something so fucking huge. I run alone at home, but I was part of a group of over 39,000 people who were all going to run together.
Amazing.
The gun went off, and everyone started cheering. I was still quite a distance from the start line, but chip time is what matters. We finally started running, and crossed the mats, and I just had this incredible feeling of jubilation overcome me. I looked to my left, and saw the Statue of Liberty in the distance and it hit me.
Holy fucking shit, I'm running the New York City Marathon.
That was the first time I cried, but no where near the last.
The first mile was over the bridge, and there was no one but runners. Because of this, there was no cheering, but runners were jumping up onto the dividers of the bridge, taking pictures, talking on their cell phones, calling out to countrymen and women.
When we finally came off the bridge, and entered Brooklyn, the crowds were overwhelming. There were thousands of people lining the streets. The noise of the cheers was deafening. There were bands on every city block, people with ghettoblasters playing music, drum circles, little kids holding up signs that read: "Good luck, DADDY!" or "We love you MOMMY!" I took my earbuds out and turned my iPod off, and just drank it in.
At around mile 3, or maybe 4, the road took a general downward trend. This was the first time that I saw the people stretching out in front of me. It blew my mind. There were so many runners. This massive, bobbing, moving line of people, stretching out into the distance. One woman in front of me was wearing a shirt that read: "74 and still running." Two women were wearing shirts that read: "Running with my mom," and "Running with my daughter." One gentleman had a shirt that read: "17th NYC Marathon in a ROW."
People had their names or countries written on their shirts, and the crowd would call out their names and cheer them on. I wish I'd thought to have done that, but know I know for next time- and I will run this marathon again.
I started noticing two things at mile 12. The first thing was the hills. Winnipeg is extremely flat. Actually, the Manitoba Marathon advertises itself as being one of the most, if not the most, flat marathons in the world. To train for the hills, I would go for 50-75 minute runs on Garbage hill in Winnipeg.
It doesn't quite compare. There wasn't really anywhere along the entire marathon route where I felt as though the road was flat. It was either up or down - and neither is easier than flat.
The second thing I noticed at mile 12 was pain, between my right big toe and second toe. It was at mile 12 where my consistent 9:40 minute mile pace started to fall off.
It didn't get better, that's for sure. I kept getting slower, needed to take a few walk breaks here and there, but always kept running. By the time we crossed the 49th street bridge into Manhattan, I was done. I was tired, and hurting, and basically done.
The crowds got me through. This city is amazing. I can't even tell you how amazing. Coming off that bridge, there was a sign that read:
"If easier means only 10 miles left... Welcome to easier."
And then there was this HUGE crowd. Bigger than the crowd in Brooklyn. This giant MASS of people, all cheering.
All along 1st Ave, there were people giving out GU, bananas, orange wedges, candy, bottle water, gatorade, in case you needed it before you hit a water station. It was incredible.
Harlem was a painful, painful blur. My hip flexors were screaming at me by this point, my right foot was this point of white hot pain. At mile 18, we were given gels to help fight off the dreaded wall that hits marathoners at mile 20 when our glycogen stores are used up.
Before I crossed the bridge into the Bronx, the bridge that marks Mile 20, I stopped and briefly stretched out, trying to relieve some of the pain in my hips. I then ran across the bridge and promptly burst into tears.
I had a breakdown. Tears falling, face all screwed up, sobs - the whole nine yards. We were in the Bronx for less than a mile, but it is a mile I'll never forget. The Bronx will forever go down in memory for me. Again, it is all about the crowds. By this point, it was almost 4 hours since the start of the marathon. Crowds were starting to die down. But the Bronx was full of energy, full of people telling you that "The Fucking Wall DOESN'T EXIST IN THE BRONX, GOT IT?"
It was amazing. Completely and totally amazing.
And that's good, because the last 5 some odd miles were kind of hellish. The mile markers were coming more slowly than before. After mile 22, I thought to myself: "4.2 miles is a walk in the park, Rebecca. 4.2 miles is an easy run for you. You can pound 4.2 miles out in under 40 minutes! What's WRONG with YOU?" I was running - slowly - waiting for the mile 23 marker to come. And it wasn't coming, it wasn't coming. I was convinced I would NEVER reach mile 24. Ever. I got so discouraged, I almost decided to drop out and not finish.
Obviously that didn't happen, but that was the most difficult part of the whole marathon for me. I almost gave in.
Then, I saw the mile 23 marker, and realized I'd fucking come this far, and that I wasn't going to give up. At this point, I was 10 minutes away from my goal time, and I knew that there was no was I could run 3.2 miles in 10 minutes. Instead it took me 40, but whatever. It was at that point that I had the realization that my time didn't matter, 26.2 miles is still 26.2 miles, it doesn't matter how long it takes me to finish it. This was my first of what will be many marathons, I have time to improve my time, to get better.
It was at that point that I became so fucking proud of myself for running the marathon that I smiled the whole rest of the way. Maybe not on my face, but definitely inside.
While I was still hurting, almost desperately so, I kept going. I had to walk a few times, but again, that's fine. I was still moving. The crowds started getting more intense, the cheering started getting louder. Central Park was to my right. I had only a little bit to go.
Running through the park was really neat. There were a lot of changes in elevation, and I was really hungry. All I could think about was pizza. A nice, cheesy pizza. I saw a lot of people that I started the marathon with, and it was nice to finish with people that I started with. I had a bit of a second wind and had a bit of a sprint when I had about a kilometer to go. Then it became a struggle to just run. I was determined to run the last kilometer.
I did, but it was really hard.
Actually crossing the finish line was very fuzzy and hazy. There were signs, telling us we had only 800 yards, 600 yards, 400 yards, 200 yards, 100 yards to go. And then, there is was. The finish line, the stands. Uphill. And then there I was, at the finish line, throwing my arms out in some strange, alien victory fist pump, tears streaming down my face for the umpteenth time, head thrown back.
I've never really felt that way before. After crossing the finish line, it was very confusing. But I was given my medal, wrapped in a Mylar blanket, given a bagel that I ripped into right away. Someone took my picture, and we were directed to the UPS trucks where our gear was checked, and given bags of food. Gatorade, water, and apple, another bagel and a muscle repair bar.
Waiting to get to the UPS trucks was shitty. We shuffled along, each and every one of us in pain, there were people barfing everywhere, shivering and pale all around. I started to feel pretty unwell myself. I felt like I was at the absolute height of a really bad flu. Really sore, cold, sweaty and a bit nauseated.
Finally, I got to the truck with my bag in it, and I got my stuff. I wasted to time finding a place to sit, and pulling off my wet running clothing and pulling on my warm dry stuff. Then I called my brother, and basked in the glory of being a marathoner. A slow marathoner, but a marathoner none the less. | | * 69 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Time: | 05:47 pm | | Current Mood: | nostalgic |
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| I battle pre-marathon jitters with retail therapy.
Retail therapy: not just for break-ups anymore.
Here's the deal with the interweb situation. I can't respond to anything, but thank you so much for the comments. There is a way in which you can track my progress online on the NYC Marathon website. My number is 40006.
Anyways. Time for me to cabo-load my little soul. MmmmMmmm, good.
K.
I'mnotnervousimnotnervousimnotnervous.... | | * 11 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| My internet connection is super sketchy (I didn't know that dial-up was still an option), so I am having problems accessing emails and such, but I'm crazy jazzed I can get onto LJ.
Holy SHIT I love New York.
My flight arrived around noon yesterday, and I wimped out and took a cab instead of trying to figure out the subway system. Got to my friend's place, got settled, spoke with sam_hill_, who coached me on how to get to the marathon expo on the subway, and took off, proverbially, running. I was really excited that not only did I manage to handle the subway system (easy peasy, I don't really know why I was nervous about it), but I managed to find the Jacob Javitz Convention Center. And, when I arrived, and picked up my kit, I realized that I am in the "orange" starting corral, rather than the green corral. I gather that the orange corral is for women, and leaves before the green corral (I'd anticipated being in the back of the green corral).
I've grown to love my bib number: 40006. If you are so inclined, there is a way in which you can follow my progress on the ING NYC Marathon Website. I don't know HOW, I just know that there is. I thought that I could choose people, and input their email addresses, and the website would send out notification of my splits, but it limited it to 5 email addresses, and those were quickly taken up by family, and sam_hill_, who will be using it as a tool to try and see me more than once on the route.
After running around, finding Macy's, going NUTS with excitement over finding Macy's, and then successfully navigating my way back to Brooklyn, I took my friend's dogs for a walk, checked out the uber trendy neighborhood he lives in ("Hipster" neighborhood, Williamsburg, apparently). When Joe got home, we went out for dinner, and then he took me on a tour of Mahattan.
Seriously, best way to see Manhattan is at night, on the back of a motorcycle. Totally amazing. We stopped in Central Park, and he showed me where the finish line is, and I freaked out a little bit.
This afternoon, I'm meeting sam_hill_ for lunch, and then going to meander about until 3:00, when I will be going on the Sex and the City tour. I am incredibly excited.
Must fly, much to do, so little time. Tomorrow is going to suck a little, because I have to spare my legs, so I need to find a list of activities that I can do that don't require much movement. I'm thinking that sitting might be high on my list of exiting touristy things. So long as I am in New York, I'm doing something touristy. This blog entry - I'm blogging in New York. How touristy is that? | | * 16 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I love that it cost me CAD$489.00 to buy USD$500.00.
Right on!
Also, it was snowing while I went for my run this morning. You know it's Hallowe'en in Winnipeg when it snows. Something of a tradition, really. Reminds me of my childhood.
I leave for New York tomorrow morning. Tips on what to do while in the city, and requests for post cards may go in this post. If it's an address you're leaving, make sure to screen or delete your comment after you post it. It'll be sent to my inbox regardless, so I'll have it on hand.
Happy Hallowe'en. | | * 26 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| My brother has what I like to call the patented "bark laugh." I've partly inherited that laugh, and I generally reserve it for moments when I read funny things on the internet. A quick, dog-like "HA!" allows me to vocalize my amusement without getting odd looks from other people if I let myself delve into Pigeon LaughTM.
coo coo coo coo coo coo coo coo coo coo coo coo cooOOOooooo coo
Over the past few days I've had reason to bark at the internet.
Emmy got fugged. I love Go Fug Yourself. It is likely my all time favorite blog. Recently the girls at GFY fugged Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes (who is running the marathon, apparently. I let my ego get the better of me, and I was feeling very competitive with Mrs. Alien-In-My-Husband's-Soul-slash-Attractive-Robot-For-A-Daughter. Even though I'm over it, I still really want to run faster than her, mostly because I never liked Pacey and Joey together on Dawson's Creek, and he deserved so much BETTER than Joey Potter, and I'm going to beat her and Pacey is going to fall in love with me, and that is what is going to happen).
"I’ve never missed a Wake Up Woody in my whole life." Context makes babies cry. Well, not really. I'm rather upset about the death of Woody the Talking Christmas Tree. I remember Woody from when I was a young girl. I have more memories of having a conversation with Woody about what I wanted for Christmas than any discussion I ever had with Santa. Waking up Woody was part of the Christmas tradition in the Halifax Regional Municipality.
I am tres bummed.
Also of note, Dane Cook. The other night, I was unable to sleep. I watched a lot of Dane Cook on YouTube. He's not funny, and yet, he is. It's all very complicated and confusing, and as I barked at the various parts of his Vicious Circle show, I wondered why the idea of Halle Berry having a painful shit despite being an Oscar winner was funny. Because it isn't. | | * 7 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I haven't had anything to say lately.
I have a burning ball of stress living in my belly. My belly isn't too fond of that, but c'est la vie, yes?
It is fascinating the things you find when you start to really clean an apartment. | | * 13 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Two things of moderate interest.
One: My apartment is officially incandescent light bulb free.
Two: I've slept funny two nights in a row and can no longer turn my head in either direction without pain. Yes, I had a massage yesterday, but the massage was for my legs and glutes, and nothing above.
Also: French fries are delicious. It's cold outside. I really love running in hills, and I'm not sure why, because my favorite kind of running is distance and endurance running, not difficult workouts like hills, sprints, progression runs or circuits. Apparently, running along undulating terrain is my cup of tea.
Who knew?
Also, also, there is a cat outside my backdoor, begging to be let in. I want to let said cat in- I love cats, it is cold outside, and the cat is asking to come into my door (including scratching the metal storm door in a nails-on-chalkboard like fashion). However, what if the cat belongs to somebody else, and I fall in love with the cat? What if the cat has fleas? What if the cat is actually a demon in disguise? On the other hand, it is a black cat, and black cats are increasingly at risk come Hallowe'en. On the OTHER hand, I don't have permission to have a pet yet (this is why Mr. Fly II couldn't come home).
On the other hand, this is an old building, and winter is coming, and there is work being done in the basement, and the basement doors are often left open for long periods of time. Cats eat and kill mice. A cat would be nice.
But, I don't own a litter box or food.
ARG.
Edit: Moral dilemma has been solved. Kitty is owned by downstairs neighbors. Now that I know who the cat belongs to, the next time kitty comes a'knocking, I'll let kitty in, and then let kitty out at the end of business hours, which appears to be the time that Kitty's Owner comes home. | | * 21 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| | Current Music: | Plaint White Tees: Hey There Delilah | | Time: | 08:24 am |
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| I've officially been 26 for a week. Thank you to everyone for all the kind birthday wishes. They were the direct cause of smiles and such.
After my birthday hill run, I went to work, and the girls at work bought me a giant cake. I proceeded to stuff my face with refined sugar throughout the day, and was generally pleased. While listening to the radio in the morning, I was fairly amused to discover that apparently everyone in Winnipeg is born on October 03rd. They were wishing Gwen Stefani a joyous birthday, and the entire city called in to let them know they too were celebrating a birthday.
I headed home, and dressed myself for sushi and the Tegan and Sara concert. Both the sushi and the concert were fantastic.
In keeping with my narcissistic tendencies birthday tradition, I will now post the FGA birthday picture!
On Saturday, I went for my first "holy shit, that's really far" long run. The marathon is pretty much constantly on my mind (speaking of, I need to go for today's run). In three and a half weeks, I will be in New York, I will be running the New York City Marathon. Shortly thereafter, I will be a marathoner.
Saturday, I ran for three hours. This Saturday, I will run for three hours and twenty minutes. After that, my taper starts, and things will get "easier," where really it will be harder, since I will want to run long, hard and often.
Yesterday, I went for my first therapeutic massage, and it was pretty flipping amazing.
In moderately more exciting news, I am now twice an aunt. Beatrice Anne was born on the morning of Margaret Agnes's birthday. She was ten days early, and I've been emotional and happy since I found out. | | * 18 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Good morning world. Why am I awake at 4:30 in the morning? An extra special 60 minute hill run.
Training waits for no one's birthday! | | * 22 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| I- oh man. Three hour run. A three hour run. I can do it, but, holy shit. A three hour run is next week's long run. Three hours.
Man. | | * 14 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| 
Check it, I got a haircut. It isn't very different from before, but there was cutting that took place.
I also finally found a laughing Buddha. I want another one, but this precious little guy was too cute to leave in the store!
I'd like for you to meet Kyle. Kyle is a Monsternaut. A robot. He has remarkable computational abilities, and is a bit of a hypochondriac.
 | | * 39 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| Monday was a fantastic example of why I need to get my runs in when I'm supposed to, instead of doubling up workouts. I went for most of my long run before the lulu run club, and then finished it off afterwards. By the time I got back to work (where I had left all my things before going out for the run), my lips were turning blue. The weather was unpleasant, to put it mildly.
In any event, I got my long run in, and that is the most important thing.
This morning, when I woke up, I realized that I haven't been taking my pulse when I wake up in the morning. If you monitor your heart rate, you can tell when you're over training. This is something I want to be aware of. I laughed out loud when I check my pulse this morning, though. 48. I've never had a pulse of 48 before. I've always been somewhere between 55 and 65. It could have been a blip, I'll have to check tomorrow.
I am fighting the war against fruit flies, but I've been given a few tactics the battle them that I have implemented today. We'll see what happens. I think I found the source of the fruit flies, and dispatched it immediately. There seem to be fewer this morning than there were last night.
We'll see.
In other news, my microwave is extremely clean- actually, my whole kitchen is extremely clean. Also, I have a kitchen table, thanks to the generous icedkarma. Sitting at a table, in the kitchen, and eating breakfast on it was a novel experience. I have the vague feeling that considering eating at a table to be novel is extremely lame. | | * 5 Heathens * Pray to me * |
| This time was mad good times. Last time was good times, but it was monotonous. This time, the instructor, Robyn, mixed things up. We did some A, some B, Dancing Warrior 1 through 3, and all the mandalas. When Robyn announced we'd reached 72, the whole class was blown away. I laughed out loud.
One of the women started crying when we finished. It was a crazy intense and difficult experience, as it was last time. This time I didn't have to take child's pose during any of the sun salutations, although I did take a few during the moments of rest she gave us, rather than down dog.
I sweat like nobody's business, though. Looked like I had just climbed out of a pool. My hair was soaked through- it wasn't unlike my first Bikram class. Probably sweatier, truth be told. Since I wasn't the only one suffering from stuck pig syndrome, it didn't bother me as much as it might have. Down dog is challenging when your mat and hands are sweaty, though.
Rather than the 2 hours and 15 minutes it took for us to finish the 108 in Halifax, we were done in an hour and 40- no wonder we were sweatier.
In any event, I just got home, and took a look at myself in the mirror and I am shocked at how friggin' curly my hair is right now. Obscenely so, in my humble opinion.
Must shower and then head to 108 minutes of yoga trance and kirtan dance now! I love Global Mala.
| | * 11 Heathens * Pray to me * |
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