Subtle as a Train Wreck

One morning last week I told Bear we were going to the park as soon as I got my shoes on. Then I went upstairs to get my shoes, and took an extra minute to apply some sunscreen.

This was waiting for me when I came back down.


He managed to extract this stroller - which weighs as much as he does - from its entanglement with the other stroller in the foyer, drag it all the way across the house, partially unfold it and get it wedged in the sliding glass door. Which he opened.

Let's hope when he grows up he will use his powers for good.

Because He Wasn't in the Mood for a Nap

Calorie Nazi Status Report

I officially reached a new loss level today - that's 55 pounds, baby!

I haven't been this weight since the mid 1990s. As this last few pounds came off I've noticed a difference in my face that makes me happy when I look in the mirror. That last extra chin is practically gone!

Technically I did get down 10 pounds lower than this - to 207 - while I was pregnant. But I think it doesn't count when weight loss is due to possession by an alien pod person who makes you puke your way down the scale.

All in all, I'm a happy camper. I got past the endlessly frustrating plateau that was spring 2009 and calmly accepted I won't be making it down to 190 this year. But if I keep working at this very manageable pace I could still see 210, or maybe even 205.

I know that's ridiculously slow to some, but between work and Baby Bear and life in general it's what I can manage right now. It's still progress. The numbers on the scale - and in my closet - are still getting smaller. And my paces on the workouts I can squeeze in are still getting bigger.

I'm the tortoise, not the hare. And that's all kinds of fine with me.

I Run on Tuesdays

Between the car accident and a two day migraine, I've been feeling less than stellar since Sunday. This morning I was feeling dazed and befuddled and sliding towards depressed.

This morning it hit me that I was supposed to do a triathlon this weekend, but I'm not. And not just because I haven't worked out once since the race in June.

It's not that I don't want to train and certainly not that I don't want to race. I miss it terribly. I just don't know where the time goes any more.

Work has dried up like it always does in the summer. So this morning - after oversleeping and making the Bear late for his ride to school - I found myself with zero motivation and a mile long To Do list.

Then I remembered it's Tuesday. And I run on Tuesdays. At least, I used to.

So I blew off my list and geared up. Almost made it out the door. Remembered my foot. I never know if it will let me run 5 minutes or 5 miles, and I've got no exit strategy if I run outside. You could see the disappointment on Kona's face when he realized we weren't going out. So he did the next best thing - he sat on the treadmill waiting for me to start his workout. I seriously love my dog, even when I have to fight him for a turn on the treadmill. Especially then.

I plugged in an interval session and went to town with my Oldies playlist blaring. Still mopey, still depressed, still not wanting to do it. But it's Tuesday. And if I want to stop feeling like this that has to mean something again.

I leaned on Bill Withers. I Do Run Runned with the Ronnettes. I got me some Respect from Aretha. And by the time the Five Stairsteps sang things are gonna get easier, I believed them.

I went aggressive, pushing myself with a 4.5 mph (13:20) pace on the run intervals. Not long ago 4.3 mph felt really hard, so imagine my delight when I was able to bump up and hold a 4.7 mph (12:45) pace for the last 3 intervals.

Then Kona got his turn running while I stretched.

It's Tuesday. And I ran. So that's something.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I've recently become a big fan of freecycle because I'm all about keeping things from being unnecessarily landfilled and finding homes for items that still have life in them.

So I posted my retired vacuum and someone wanted it. She had no transportation and requested I deliver it. This is not cool. But it was on the way to somewhere I was headed anyway and I really wanted to get the vacuum out of the house, so I reluctantly agreed to drop it off.

We take the damn thing over and drop it off at this person's apartment. Because I figure if someone is in such a bad financial way they need to ask a stranger to bring them a free vacuum, it's the least I can do. I get that my life is blessed and I try to never take that for granted.

As we're leaving the parking lot, we got hit by someone who didn't bother to look behind her while backing out of a parking space.

A non English speaking, unlicensed, uninsured someone. Who - through a young boy who got dragged into the conversation to translate - kept trying to talk us out of calling in the accident while telling us she had a friend who could fix it cheap and that she could get us the money 'manana.' (No, I can't find the fucking tilda right now, I know it's not right, I don't care.)

The passenger side of my van is all smashed in. The side, incidentally, with Baby Bear. I'm not sure I'll ever forget how helpless I felt as I watched that car back into the exact spot my baby was sitting.

Wonderful Husband and I had just spent the morning going over our less than fabulous finances and planning to look into a refi to see if that would make things a little less tight. Now we're on the hook for the $500 deductible and a rental car while the van gets fixed.

Oh, and the officer told us if this had happened on the road she'd have been ticketed and arrested. But because it happened on private property he can't touch her. Bottom line - the chica at fault walks away scott free.

I don't want anyone arrested over a repairable incident with no injuries and I'd have been mortified it that had happened to her. But I'm furious to the point of tears that she can't even be issued a ticket and we're stuck paying for the whole goddamn thing.

I am making no judgments about this young girl's situation. I'm just sayin' if you're illegal, unlicensed and uninsured, please look the fuck behind you when you're backing out of a goddamn parking space.