My Weird Pants Habit

December 12, 2012

What’s your weirdest habit?

Mine is every time I leave the gym locker room, I immediately look down to make sure I put on my pants.

No, I’m not kidding.

I have no idea where my fear of unknowingly walking around pants-less comes from, but I apparently have a deep-seated fear of it happening in the gym after a workout.

I’ve never forgotten to put them on. But still, every single time, without fail, I double-check to make sure I have them on.

So weird.

Anyway, here’s a little recap of my workouts since Friday (all done with pants on, thankyouverymuch.)

Monday, my plan called for 3 miles. I took it nice and easy and finished in about 28:30.

Tuesday was Phase 1, Workout 1 of NROLFW. I was really tired, so I did pretty much the bare of bones. (Normally I mix in a few quick bursts of cardio to keep my heart rate up, but there was none of that.)

Today, my plan called for 45 minutes of running. It averaged out to about 4.75 miles.

In all honesty, I could have gone faster, but I wanted to try to keep my pace to what it will most likely be when I run the half marathon. I threw in a couple intervals at a quicker pace, but generally kept it pretty steady.

This was first time in a long time that I didn’t have to switch to walking/sprint intervals to combat treadmill boredom. Maybe it was because I was distracted by the idiocy that is Kathie Lee and Hoda on the gym’s main television?

If that’s the case, I’ll take it. Nothing like a few bimbos drinking wine on TV to pass the time.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got going on over here. We cut down our tree over the weekend and are decorating it tonight, so I’ll be sure to post a picture of the lil fella  when it’s done. (Seriously, he’s a lil fella. It was kind of slim pickins’ at the Christmas tree farm. But he’s cute anyway.)

Happy Wednesday! Make sure to keep your pants on, y’all!

I Just Want to See Argo

December 4, 2012

Hey guys…is Argo any good?

Because I wouldn’t know. We’ve tried to go see it 3…yes 3…times, and have failed at every attempt.

Our first attempt, we made the mistake of going to the movies the day after Thanksgiving without buying our tickets first.

Now, we rarely go to the movies (I’m talking once a year, twice a year if we’re feeling randy), but I kind of feel like we should have known the theater would be packed.

Oh, no. Not us. We went to that theater will full expectations of seeing Argo, because “I mean, it’s been out forever. I highly doubt a lot of people will be seeing it.” (me.)

“Agreed. If anything, Lincoln will be sold out.” (Joe.)

Ha! Hahahaha! We got to the theater and the ticket line was legitimately out the door. My feeble hope that maybe it was Life of Pi that was attracting the crowds was dashed when someone came out saying Argo was completely sold out.

After standing around awkwardly for a few minutes, we left to go see Lincoln at another theater because “I mean, it’s a small theater. Who even knows West Newton has a cinema?” (me)

Well, apparently a lot of people know West Newton has a cinema, because Lincoln was also completely sold out.

Attempt one — fail. We went out to dinner instead.

Our second attempt occurred last Thursday. The plan was I would meet Joe at his work, we’d leave right from there, grab dinner and catch the 7:45 showing.

Now, a series of unfortunate events happened that day that led to the ultimate demise of this carefully laid out plan.

Around noon, there was a Green line trolley crash at Boylston Station. That station lies directly between the station I get on, and the one I’d need to get to to switch lines to get to where to Joe works. You will need to remember this.

Around 4:45, the area of town Joe works in lost power. I had already left work, so I didn’t know this.

Around 5, I start my walk to the T. Normally, I would get on at the station down the street, but due to said trolley crash, there were delays getting to where I needed to go, so I decided to just walk to the station I needed to get to in order to switch T lines to get to Joe. (Did you follow that?) It’s only about a 20 minute walk, but it kind of sucks in the winter.

As soon as I got to the station, Joe called informing me of said power outage and telling me that area of town was completely backed up, the T was majorly delayed, and his car was stuck in the parking garage for an undetermined about of time (he was talking hours, not minutes.) Therefore, he told me to head home.

Annoyed, I turned back around and began my 20 minute walk back to my normal station to get the T going in the other direction to go home.

No sooner had I walked into the station that a train pulled up. Relieved I would finally be getting somewhere, I prepared to get on the trolley.

And, you guys, I’m not even kidding — the train caught on fire.

I’m talking billowing black smoke, horrible electric smell…the works. The station filled with smoke and they immediately told people to start evacuating.

At this point, I wasn’t even worried about my safety. I was just pissed, convinced that I was never, ever going to get home that day. My clothes smelled like smoke, my hair smelled even worse, and, like I said, the train on the platform was on fire.

The only happy person I saw in that station was a homeless man lighting up a cigarette because “Hell, the place is on fire. How will they know?”

Needless to say, we didn’t make it to the movies that night. I ended up in a bar drinking alone until Joe walked over the bridge into the city and I went to meet him and we proceeded to go out to dinner again.

Attempt two — um, major fail.

Attempt three was a little more tame. We were going to go last Friday, but we missed the early showing. I had an early 6 am wake up time on Saturday because I was heading down to NYC with friends to see a Broadway play, so the 9:45 showing was out.

So instead, we stayed home, ate spaghetti squash, and rented Safety Not Guaranteed, which was actually a surprisingly good movie.

Attempt 3 — yep, you guessed it Fail. Not as devastating as attempt two though.

So what do you guys think? Should we try one more time, or just accept that fact that maybe we aren’t meant to see this movie?

PS– I’ll get back to my regularly scheduled running posts tomorrow. But just an FYI, I did 3.5 miles Friday, 4 miles yesterday, and am going to lift (nooooooooo) today.

Note To Self

June 7, 2012

When all you’re craving is this:

Do not eat this:

 

I’ve learned my lesson.

I’ve also agreed to a weight loss competition with an identity-should-remain-a-secret person. It starts next week.

So, Monday, I eat this:

Today, I eat this:

PS- Somebody finally discovered paint! Somebody also doesn’t know how to make the text look bigger, so hooray for you guys– you get to look at giant pictures of my food!

I wrote my last rent check for my place last week.

Signed, stamped, and in the mail.

Can somebody please tell me what the f*ck I was doing the past 10 months? Because I could swear I was just moving in yesterday.

Although the past year has positively flown by, there have been a few life lessons that I’ve learned during my year of solitary living. Some important, some funny, and some just downright embarassing. But all worthy of noting.

1.) You will get bored. Sometimes you’ll get so bored, you decide you should take up meditation as an in-home hobby. You soon realize this is just as boring, just in a much more uncomfortable position.

2.) Consider yourself lucky if you have a pet to talk to. Because if you don’t, it’s just you and mirror. And don’t think you won’t go there. You will.

3.) It is possible to eat an entire bag of chocolate chips during one episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Even if you only meant to eat one. Or two.

4.) There is no need to cook an entire batch of tacos on a random Wednesday night. Nobody is going to “pop in” for dinner. And taco meat gets really old after eating it for four days straight.

5.) Walking around naked isn’t nearly as fun as television makes you think. I tried it once and got embarrassed.

6.) You can eat ice cream any time you want. Nobody will know. Nobody. Well, except your doctor when your yearly physical reveals you’ve gained 10 pounds.

7.) You’ll get really good at practicing your facial expressions in your bathroom mirror. I’ve got “surprised” and “concerned” down pat.

8.) Sometimes you’ll lie and say you went to the gym, when really all you did all day was sit in your 10 year old sweatpants eating saltines and switching back and forth between Mrs. Eastwood and Company and Bethenney Ever After.

9.) You will get lonely. Sometimes you’ll call a friend for a drink. Sometimes you’ll pick up the phone and have an hour long conversation with your mom. And sometimes you’ll just indulge yourself in a self-induced pity party. (Tears optional.)

10.) If you’re a girl, you’ll still change your sheets. If you’re a guy– probably not.

11.) You’ll get sad when you don’t get mail. Really– don’t people believe in writing letters anymore?

12.) Prospective tenants coming to look at your apartment don’t count as company. There is no need to bake cookies.

13.) There is nothing better than coming home to your very own space after a long day at work or a night out with friends. Nothing.

14.) You’ll get angry when your friends take longer than an hour to play Words with Friends. Constantly refreshing your phone will not speed them up. Trust me.

15.) You’ll know you’ve gone too long without talking to anybody when you’re own boyfriend texts you with “Are you alive?”

16.) It is possible to read Twilight in a week. No, not the first book. The entire series.

17.) Facebook stalking does not count as human interaction.

18.) It’s the only time in your life when you can be completely anal about the way your place looks. So if you can’t fall asleep unless all your throw pillows are in place on your couch, get it out of your system now.

19.) Screaming and jumping on your counter is a completely rational response to seeing a mouse. So is calling your boyfriend and making him come pick you up at 10pm on a Tuesday because you’re convinced the mouse is definitely in your bed. Like, under the covers. (Note: no, it isn’t.)

20.) Get to know your maintenance man. He’ll be a life saver when you have a gas leak. Or your hot water heater goes. Or when your kitchen light has been stuck on for a week and you don’t know why.

21.) And finally,it might take you 10 months, but you’ll realize that so far, it’s been the best year of your life. Everybody should live alone at least once.

I’ll definitely be sad when my lease is up July 31st, but I’ve also got a lot to look forward too. Now excuse me, I’m off to watch a marathon of New Girl. (Probably the least embarrassing show that I currently watch.)

What I should be doing:

What I’m actually doing:

Photo hunt! Where’s Lindsay?

I’m obviously going to get a ton of work done today.

Plantar Fasciitis

November 16, 2011

Hi everyone. Long time no talk.

I’m not even going to try to make excuses.

I’ve been slacking.

I’ve gotten so lazy I haven’t even made a real dinner in the last three days. I’ve been eating frozen chicken nuggets.

But that’s neither here nor there. I’m actually here to talk about my feet.

Oh yeah.

Remember a few months ago when I went on a rampage about “how this is it! I’m going to run race! A really long race! Rah rah rah rah, I’m going to read running books! And buy finger shoes! And run like a man doing Tai Chi! WEE!”

Ok, weelll– I started to do all of that. I did.

I began by reading Born to Run.

If you haven’t read it yet, you have to.

It basically made me wish I was an African bushman, living in a village and hunting antelope with my bare hands.

I was all like “Screw work! I’m moving! I’m quitting my job to live the life of a running vagabond, with nothing but the shoes on my feet and the fanny pack around my waist! Lindsay Gump!”

Thankfully, I came out of whatever dream world I was living in and came back to Earth when I finished the book.

(I mean, c’mon. We all know I wouldn’t actually wear a fanny pack. Africa, yes. Fanny pack, no.)

However, the book did inspire me to run again. (That was the point, right?)

So, I started in on my half marathon training program.

I even switched shoes. Goodbye over-cushioned Saucony’s– helloooo 5 year old Puma’s with the flat sole that I’ve had forever.

And let me tell you, I felt great.

I was running like the wind! I was passing people on the streets!

When I got tired, I simply did as one tribe in Born to Run did.

I would find a runner in front of me, pretend they were an antelope, and chase them.

Except the people on the book were chasing real antelope.

So they could eat. And, you know. Survive.

Me? I was just some creep running the streets of Boston, sneaking up on people, and doing a little dance when I came up on their heels in silent victory.

In my head I’d be like, “Ha! If you were an antelope, you’d be dead! Sucker!

In real life, if they turned around, I’d stop and pretend to tie my shoe.

This strategy was going great.

And then–disaster.

One day at the gym, I had forgotten my new trusty Puma’s, so I had to wear my old, over-cushioned, soul-crushing Saucony’s.

I sanely and rationally talked myself through it.

“Just one run won’t kill me. I wanted to do 5 miles, so that’s what I’m going to do. 5 miles. No less.”

So, I got on the treadmill and started happily running, pony tail bouncing, feet feeling over-burdened and claustrophobic, but essentially ok.

One mile down. Two miles down.

Three miles down.

Ow, my heel kind of hurts.

3.5 miles down.

Why does my heel feel like it’s cracking in half?

4 miles down.

Good God I think I shattered my foot but I’m finishing these 5 miles if it f*cking kills me.

5 miles later, I was literally whimpering like a wounded kitten abandoned on the side of the road.

I limped home, iced it, put my feet up, and assumed I’d feel better in the morning.

The next morning I woke up, stretched, and swung my legs out of bed, stood up…

…and promptly almost fell over.

The only way to describe the pain is– it felt like someone had shattered my heel with a hammer and then lit it on fire.

As it progressively got worse throughout the day, it became clear that walking ever again was out of the question. I had resigned to live the life of a person who never stood up.

I would simply be known as Sitting Lindsay.

A little research later, it was obvious I was suffering from the bane of every runner’s existence.

Plantar Fasciitis.

Bascially, it’s a horrible foot condition, typical in runner’s, that has no cure and has been known to last for up to two years.

Two years.

Never mind all that though. I was all hung up on the fact that one of the causes was “sudden weight gain.”

Not “overtraining” or “bad running form”.

Nope. Sudden weight gain.

No longer was I a stealth Bushman hunting unsuspecting antelope on the African plains.

I was reduced to a chubby, red-headed faux runner who thought running another half marathon was easily within my grasp, until I was stricken with an incurable foot condition.

Wah.

So in summary– my foot hurts.

Real bad.

I guess I could have just said that from the start.

I Lied About My Age

October 26, 2011

You guys, it’s happened.

It happened before I even hit 30.

I can now say that yes, I have reached the stage in my life where I’ve…

(shudder)

Lied about my age.

(insert horrified look here.)

It’s so shameful.

Before you judge, let me explain.

I’ve got a list of 3 or 4 blogs that I have bookmarked on my computer that I read when I need to take a little break from work.

Most people do, right?

Not weird.

However, while I think it’s 100% ok to be a blog lurker (Love Letters anyone?), I am not one to comment on random blogs.

What can I say? I’m shy.

(Sorry.)

But the other day, one of the blogs that I follow had a post up a swimming.

See, this particular blogger has just gotten back into swimming after a hiatus and is realizing how much fun it can be.

And fun fact– I just happened to be a swimmer all through high school and college.

So what did I do?

I commented.

I decided I needed to tell her that after swimming for over 8 years, I was so burnt out, I doubted I would ever get in the pool again.

And then, I went to say that it still wasn’t fun, even after being out of college for…

…4…wait no…5…sii-iix?…(panicky feeling starts)

….over 7 years.

Over 7 years?

Oh he-llll no! There was no way I was going to admit that.

So, what did I do?

Instead of just abandoning my grand debut into the world of blog comments, I instead committed the creepiest crime on the Internet.

I lied about my age. To a bunch of strangers. On the web.

That pret-ty much puts me in the same category as someone who trolls dating websites by posting a picture of themselves from 20 years ago in an effort to get a random girl’s number so they can sext them while sitting in the comfort of their basement apartment in Queens.

Ew.

Never. Again.

Oh, and in case anyone is wondering, I told them I’ve been out of college for 4 years.

So, if anyone asks? I’m 25.