This just came in the mail for Blair. Do you suppose THIS is my tiara??? Oh... the anticipation! Hurry home, Blair, hurry home.
UPDATE: It was not a tiara. Sheesh. What does a girl have to do?
Today we've had the pleasure of hosting dear, dear friends of ours who used to live in Greensboro but abandoned us over 13 years ago to live in Connecticut. They were in town for a wedding and came to spend the night with us. We've been eagerly anticipating their visit for a month and spent the better part of the weekend getting the house in order--cleaning, stocking the fridge with food and wine, admonishing the cats to be on their best behavior, etc.
They weren't arriving until this afternoon so I went to my morning workout class as usual. When I walked into the house, I froze. No. He didn't. He wouldn't have.
"Blair?" I called. I walked down the hall and found him sitting in our breakfast room, eating lunch. "What did you make? What is that smell?"
"Fishsticks," he said, munching on one while holding another out to me. "Want one?"
"The entire house smells like fish," I said.
"Mmmm," said Blair, cutting into another fishstick.
"Why not just fry up some bacon while you're at it?" I asked. "The house reeks."
"You exaggerate," said Blair.
"Walk out and walk back in and tell me I'm exaggerating--never mind," I said, as he started to get up from the table. "Just go grab the scented candles. All of them."
Fortunately, we were able to rid our home of the eau de fish smell well before our guests arrive.
Why? Why do they do that??
Cheers,
Dena
Heart With Joy on bookshelf - YEA!!This Friday we ignored the rain clouds gathering overhead and ventured up the road a ways to Mt. Airy, i.e., "Mayberry" and home of all things Andy Griffith. We didn't have any real plans for the day. Just thought we'd take a look around, eat lunch, see what there was to see and head home. Mt. Airy is less than an hour away from us, so it was a good, quick trip.
The first fun thing to happen is that we walked into Pages bookstore and I saw my friend Steve Cushman's book, Heart With Joy, on a shelf. Had to whip out the i-phone and send him a quick picture. The next fun thing is that I discovered that not only does Stephen King have a new book out, it's a new book in the Dark Towers series. Hel-loooo! How did I miss that? We bought the Steven King book, a book called Wild by Cheryl Straying that several people have recommended to me in the last week, and a cookbook by Olivia Newton John. (I am a SUCKER for cookbooks.)
I was talking to a friend the other day about living joyfully. Writing, relationships, exercise, chores... everything in life flows so much smoother on the days I approach life with a playful "let's just see what happens here" type of excited expectancy. I think the Universe works to bring us what we want when we don't spend so much time and energy fighting for what we think we need.
I was thinking about this on today's trail run. I've been doing a trail run once a week after I work out with a friend. We work upper body for about 45 minutes and then I run. Last week, I was miserable. My arms and shoulders hurt from the workout and I brought this into my run. My mantra that day was something along the lines of, "Ow, this hurts, this sucks, I'm not going to make it." Guess what? I had a crappy run, walking a good part of it.
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I want a cat.
There, I’ve said it. Proclaimed my intent to the Universe. Although I’m only willing to accept moderate blame when events transpire to actually bring a cat into my life.
I have no business getting a cat. A few strong reasons off the top of my head include:
And yet.
When I began sharing the news that I had taken a new job near Atlanta and was moving . . . spreading my wings. . . opening myself to new horizons. . . without fail the first comment from almost everyone was, “OMG. You know about the traffic there, right?”
Yes, I am aware of the traffic. Thank you for your loving concern and support.
So how bad is it really? Having lived here now for three months, I can tell you that the 12-mile drive to my office from home can take anywhere between. . .
One of the hardest decisions in moving to Atlanta was knowing I would be leaving behind my 25-year network of friends. These are friends that saw me through job changes (insurance adjuster, librarian, author, marketing maven), life changes (divorce, moves, dating), as well as were there for everything from my first published book to my first marathon to holding my hand when my cat died. A lot of years, a lot tears, much more laughter, and oodles and oodles of love.
In other words—not something easily replaced.
Of course, I’m not “leaving behind” friends but since the five-hour drive between Atlanta and Greensboro isn’t convenient for a quick movie or fro-yo meet-up, the burden is on me to make new friends.
The obvious place to make friends, for me, is the gym. I joined a big-ass Lifetime Fitness...
As most of you know, after 20+ years in NC, I’ve recently relocated to Georgia, about an hour outside of Atlanta. More updates on that later. Right now, I want to share with you the saga of the license plate. It’s a story that more or less sums up my life. What takes other people twenty minutes, takes me 9 weeks, 8 phone calls, 4 DMV visits and a two-week plan to evade the law.
It all started the week I moved to Georgia. I was checking things off my list right and left (pictures hung in new home - check. Food in fridge – check. Wall art for half-bath – check, check, check) and in an effort to be pro-active, toddled off to the DMV to get my GA driver’s license. I showed up prepared for anything – NC driver’s license, passport, pay stub, and invoices from gas, electric and trash removal verifying my new address. I approached the teller window.
Teller: “Social security card.”
Me: “I don’t have that, but here’s my passport.”
Teller: “I can’t issue you a license without a social security card.”
I get a lot of questions about the best ways to train. Which, considering I spent the earlier part of this year on crutches, unable to run for four months due to an overuse injury that could have been avoided, I find somewhat amusing. Then there’s the immediate back-pedalling that takes place, usually in the form of, “But I don’t want to run, or get up at 4 am, or do anything that’s hard.”
Gotcha. I can work with that.
Below are five training tips I try to follow. I say try because let’s be honest—we’re all human and some days will be better than others. But these are the big picture items that have kept me pushing for the last ten years, and they are things anyone can adopt into their lifestyle.
1. Pick Something You Love
I can’t count the number of times people say to me, “Ugh, I know I need to run but I hate it.” Um… why exactly do you need to run? I hate Pure Barre and even though my butt never looked better during the month I took classes, I’m not going back.
When I first signed up for this half Ironman, I knew my swim would be slow and my ride would be average, so the plan was to make-up some time on the run. The Universe had other plans though, and handed me the stress fracture in my hip. It was literally only days before the race when my chiropractor agreed that I could try a walk/run of the course, but only if I swore a blood oath that if it hurt, I would stop. And, in a cruel twist of fate, advised that my best strategy would be to run the uphills and walk the down. That goes against everything I hold dear in life, but okay. I figured I would run a mile/walk a mile throughout the race for as long as I could.
My strategy worked perfectly… for the first quarter mile.
(ICYMI: Part I: THE SWIM)
Let’s call it like it is. I crushed the ride on this race. 18.71 average speed. My normal pace with a group where I’m drafting is closer to 17.5, so I had aspirations of maybe holding a 17 mph average. Crushed. It.
What helped me is my Garmin died before the ride even started, so I had no idea for the entire 56 miles what my pace was. I just rode according to how I felt. The first 3-5 miles were shaky (I kept repeating, “You’re out of the water. You’re alive.”), but then we turned right onto the highway, I settled into my arrow bars and literally said out loud, “Let’s make some time.”
Fun fact: They mark your age in sharpie on your left calf in an Ironman race. Not sure why, but...
On Sunday, June 4, I completed my first (because there will be more) Half Ironman. 1.2 mile swim. 56 mile bike ride. 13.1 mile run.
Being my first IM, there’s a lot to process, especially as I didn’t think I’d be able to complete the race due to my hip injury. I am thrilled beyond all words that I finished and probably most proud of the fact that I have (as of yet) to get the IM tattoo splattered across, you know, my face.
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