Apparently there’s free wireless in the airport today (YES) so I thought I’d share this creepy picture I just took of myself. I think I really captured the fear I feel right now. You can see it deep in my eyes.
…because even though I’m going to be on the road for a while, I’ve got some pretty flippin’ sweet stuff in store for you. Here’s a sneak peek:
See, I get really nervous when I know that I’m going to have a hard time keeping up with the blog. I fear that you guys are going to desert me if I don’t post as frequently. The truth is that since I’ll be travelling for the next 10 days or so, The Beholder will probably bit a bit more random (yeah, like that’s possible). But consider these teaser pictures a plea, straight from Wiggs to you, to bear with me! You readers (even the lurkers) make my day, every day. And I’m not ashamed to say it.
So, uh, don’t cry for me Argentina. Or whatever. And get ready to see some Vegas-style half-marathon training, followed by the same in Utah and then Seattle. WILD, I say. Wild.
If you’re a man, especially one related to me, you might not want to read this post. I’m about to embark upon some major girl-talk, including a reworked Beyonce song. To scare you away, men, here’s a picture of Dave’s and my first son, Little Ongina:
So today was my 7-mile run (it would have been 8 miles if I hadn’t decided to do extra distance on Saturday). People, I started crying from the pain around mile 4, and didn’t stop until I was home and curled into the fetal position in my bathtub. Turns out that my moodiness and generally horrible-feeling body have been warning signs of impending doom: the worst monthy visit I’ve ever had. Ever.
Seriously, men? It’s time to stop reading.
…Sorry, peeps, I spent all morning running, then curled in a little ball (more on that to come), then packing, then taking wayyyyy too many pictures of makeup for you people, then running around like a complete FREAK, and now I’m off to run some last-minute errands before I’ll have a chance to sit down and tell you aaaaaaaaaaaaaall about my workout today. And some other things, too.
So, you know how I’ve been pretty upbeat lately? And I’ve been doing all of this extra-credit running, and I’ve been so jazzed?
Yeah. Today was the exact opposite of that. I’m one of those people who tends to get a little paralyzed by stress – as soon as I start feeling overwhelmed by, say, all of the shizz I have to do in the next 48 hours, I get all lame and unmotivated. Which is perhaps the exact opposite of the way you’d want to react when your to-do list is longer than Ron Jeremy’s…uh…hair?
All of this is to say that when I finally got off of my buns, I was feeling lethargic and dry-mouthed with stress. For some reason I decided I should work out on the treadmill upstairs, so, you know, bad idea #47 of the day. Then, for #48, I decided to listen to a This American Life about death instead of watching an entertaining t.v. show such as 24 or Everyday Italian (both of which were available to me – I really should have chosen Giada’s tatas over Ira Glass reading a poem about dying).
The next 45 minutes were hell. I never managed to make it more than a 5-minute stretch before needing a walking break. But worse than that, I was having WWIII in my head the whole friggin’ time. I kept bargaining with myself – I’d think, “Okay Wiggs, just go for three more minutes and then you can walk.” I’d close my eyes for what felt like 3ish minutes, and open them to discover it had only been like 45 seconds.
It went like that the whole time until I got disgusted with myself and stopped. In the end, I completed 4.25 miles, which is .25 miles less than I was supposed to do. It was a blow to the ol’ self-esteem, because I’ve been pretty proud of myself for all of the good running I’ve been doing lately. But I didn’t want to push myself and end up feeling bad for my long run tomorrow.
So, there you have it. Running isn’t fun, after all. I didn’t even feel good afterward – Dave came home and found me in a ball in the shower, rocking back and forth and whimpering to myself. I was being verrrry mature and cool-headed. I continued the grownup parade by breaking down in tears that didn’t stop until Dave told me I’m pretty and smart and have good breath.
Here’s hoping tomorrow goes better than today, because ho-lee shizz, that sucked.
How do you react to stress? Does exercise usually help you, or does it tend to make things worse?
I have to confess something to you – yesterday afternoon, when Dave came home, we went for a 3-mile run. So that means that I ran like 8.3 miles or something yesterday, which sort of worries me because I don’t want to injure myself. I just couldn’t resist a chance to trot around with my man one last time before I leave for the summer. I’m feeling pretty good today, so I’m going to stick with my 4.5-miler this afternoon. I wish I’d gotten going sooner today, but DUDE, I have so much shizz to take care of before I take off.
Before I jump into this post, I have a thought that’s been nagging me all day. So, you know how all of our computers have these little lenses built into them so we can do video chatting? Well, if you’re like me, you think video chatting is weird and refuse to participate. However. I’m all nervous that my computer is watching me (and maybe sending videos of me to other people on the Internet). Right? I definitely think this is one of those technologies that could suddenly develop intelligence and then use the videos of us picking our noses and checking email in our ‘derwear to bring about the downfall of our civilization. I’m just saying. Think twice next time you sniff your earwax or let a huge fart rip while you’re using your laptop (it has a microphone, too!).
Anyway. Yesterday was cross-training for me, but again I pretended that all of the heavy-lifting and scuttling about my condo counted as exercise. (To clarify, since I’ve been getting loads of questions about this, we’re renting the condo out this summer while we go to Seattle to get married and work. But we’re back in Chicago in August. And none of this will affect the blog other than providing a much-needed change of scenery.)
So, okay. This week I’m going to – God help me – Las Vegas for the bachelorette party of one of my most gorgeous friends. She’s, like, model gorgeous. Actually, all of my close girlfriends are, which is awesome for me because when we’re in a group together their hotness rubs off on me, to which I give a hearty BOOYA. But because of this awesome trip, I’m having to rearrange my training schedule for the week.
Sorry for the lack of posting today, people. I’ve been working my tail off (I WISH my tail would fall off) getting our condo ready for the lovely couple who’s going to live here this summer. I’m getting really nervous that they won’t know how to be as freakishly clean as I am…because I’m really, really, abnormally clean. Like, today I emptied my closet and there wasn’t a single dust-bunny to be found.
My uniform for this day of extreme packing and organization has been a new swim suit that I plan on wearing for my first swim workout in over three years. I’m hoping to get the seams stretched out a bit before I start, you know, moving my arms and stuff. The only issue is that it’s white. Any seasoned swimmer knows that white training suits are a no-no. If they’re not see-through when you first put them on, they will be within a month. Sadly, it was the only one in my size at the sports store. (AND, for you swimmers out there, it’s a TYR suit and I HATE TYR suits.) But whatever, I’m going to be in Vegas so it’s not like I’ll be showing the hotel guests anything they haven’t seen before. Have you ever heard the term “smuggling raisins”? Indeed.
You like that chunk of arm fat right there in my armgina? That’s why I need to start swimming again. Anyway. Enough crazed rambling. I’ll resume normal posting tomorrow. (Oh, and today’s half-marathon training was cross-training…more on that next time, though.)
***UPDATE*** Nice one, Wiggs. I forgot to tell you guys about how Mara at What’s For Dinner originally put this soup on her totally flippin’ sweet blog – that was when the seed of awesomeness was planted. So, yes. If you people take nothing else from this post, just bookmark What’s for Dinner and Cinnamon Quill and roll your eyes a time or two in my direction.
I was going to wait for another food post to tell you guys about this, but I couldn’t keep my trap shut. The lovely Jenn, mastermind behind Cinnamon Quill, made my Chicken, Avocado, and Lime soup. Except it’s vegetarian. And amazing. And wayyyy better than mine.
In case you were wondering how they compare, here’s the one I made. You can tell it’s not nearly as good.
Now, I know a bunch of you are veggies, so if you don’t make Jenn’s verision of the soup for dinner within the next three days, I may or may not lose all of my respect for you. And guess what?!?!? Her concoction ended up on TasteSpotting.com (warning: don’t visit that site unless you’re ready to have the biggest hunger pang you’ve ever felt).
So, not only do I feel famous, but I am also humbled by Jenn’s mastery of deliciosity. You must add her to your list of amazing blogs – she features gluten-free foods with an emphasis on vegetarian dishes. And she’s great. And I may or may not have a blog crush.