I think this blog is jinxed. First I write about my corporate pumping shower curtain, and it fails and breaks the next day. Then I post about forgetting to get the baby sitter's cell phone number, and my cell phone is on the fritz again. I have twice replaced the battery on this P.O.S. (sorry for the vulgarity, but technology brings out the worst in me), but it has, of late, been suffering from extended episodes of narcolepsy with fits of Tourette's syndrome. If it isn't turning off when I set it down on any surface, it is making strange electronic tics. This weekend the Motorolla's health declined precipitously, with yesterday almost resulting in me admitting the phone to ICU. Luckily, my 2-year contract is up and I am due a new phone. The question is, what kind of phone? I really dislike the flip phone, as I have had nothing but trouble with that feature, but I truly don't need a camera, Vcast (what is that anyway?), mobile web, juke box, blood glucose monitoring, or whatever else these crazy devices can do for you. Yet, the most attractive (and free) option is the, gulp, blackberry. I may just opt for the blackberry but not have it set up for Internet access. Stay tuned. (For those who want to reach me, call Eric's phone.)
This weekend marked my leap back into legitimate running. My long run was, well, long. Long for someone who hasn't run for an hour in just about a year. As I started the run, I visualized the cob webs sticking to the inner crevices of my patellas shaking loose and the rust in my hip sockets getting scraped off. I also visualized Schlotty as I knew she had just completed her FIFTH marathon that morning. (And I just found out she nailed a Boston marathon qualifying time again!) The girl is not only a natural talent, but a venerable domestic goddess who must hold the key to finding an extra 8 hours in every day to sew, renovate a house, run, read libraries of novels, keep abreast of all things celebrity, cook, and work a full time job. I bet you when a little nugget comes her way, she'll strap him/her on her back with a sling she just made with a book in one hand, spatula in the other while training for a half marathon.
When I am running, I always use visual techniques to keep my legs moving. I try focus on what it looks like when other women run. Deena Kastor looks too much like an alien to me (same with Flannigan), and Paula Radcliff has awfully awkward form. I usually think about Sara Hall, but she is still so inaccessible in terms of talent. Slightly more accessible (but not much), is Schlotty. So, I tried to imagine the strength and endurance in her legs as my weak and slightly unshaven (let's be honest, moms don't shave every day) chicken legs attempted to battle hilly terrain. Thanksgiving may seem like a long time away for you, but my training for the Thanksgiving half marathon is quickly dwindling. Sub 1:37 for the half is not even within the realm of possibility anymore, nor is running anything close to the other half times I have posted in the past 3 years. The goal at this point is to run the whole distance.
This was also the first run I have done without the company of Eric and Miles. Part of me felt like I was escaping, and part of me felt like I was clearing out my mind so that upon my return, I would be even more present and engaged with the family. I kept remembering how it felt to have Miles with me 24/7 while pregnant--on the commute to work, trips to the grocery store (when I could handle the stench), walks through Morningside--and now I was alone. I look at my stomach a lot, amazed that Miles ever held up residence there for 34 weeks. With the linea negra gone, and my body pretty much back to where it used to be, there really isn't much in the way of a visual archive, or pregnancy signature that can remind me of carrying a baby. It kind of makes me sad.
Green-atude: October 5
Eat a meal made with 100% local foods. (Eric and I dropped the ball here. But Miles is another story; breast milk is 100% local!)
Try living one day with using as little plastic as possible