I need a new activity

I have too much pent-up energy, and I miss competition and camaraderie...I need a new sport/activity to participate in. I've been researching rugby and roller derby, but as aggressive as I can be, these sports seem a little too violent, even for me. Now I'm thinking maybe I'll look into rock climbing or crew. All I know is that I need something new and challenging and athletic, and then I think I'll feel better.

My next frivolous purchase

I just found out that the animated Wizard of Oz Saturday morning cartoon series from 1990 is available on DVD. When I was a kid I used to love this show-- in fact, I used to love Saturday morning cartoons in general. I remember purposely waking up early on Saturdays just to watch TV. Now that's devotion.

I DID IT!!!

Last Sunday I ran the Kirkland Half-Marathon. The night before the race, I went to bed at 9:30 to ensure that I'd get my full eight hours of sleep (I really can't function with anything less than eight hours, especially if I'm running 13.1 miles the next day). I woke up the next morning well-rested but nervous. Anyway, I'll cut to the good stuff. My first goal was just to finish the rest without dying. My second goal was to finish the rest and run the whole time. My third goal was to finish the race in 2 hr 11 min, which averages out to 10-minute splits. I am happy and proud to say that I accomplished all three of my goals. I won't say what my time was, not because I'm not proud of it, but because for me, this race wasn't about speed-- it was about distance and stamina, and seeing what my body was capable of (now that I know what it's capable of, I should probably start holding myself to higher athletic standards...maybe a marathon is in my future after all).

Here's a play-by-play of how the whole thing went down, including the good (the downhill leg), the bad (the hills of horror), and the ugly (the salt deposits plastered to my face after the race from dried sweat):

The first couple miles were a piece of cake. They went by really fast, and I took a nice, slow pace. Around mile 3, there was gigantic, terrifying hill that seemed to go on forever. I tried to take my dad's advice to not lean forward as I ran up the hill (apparently most runners have an inclination to do that, at the sacrifice of good form and speed). After successfully conquering the hill, the course flattened out and I was able to speed up. As I approached mile 6, I heard the sound of music wafting through the air in the distance. Just as I recognized "Chariots of Fire," I caught sight of a guy with an electric guitar, an amp, and a giant speaker standing on the corner of the street, rocking out for all of us runners. It was awesome. The next two or three miles were all downhill, so I got a little excited and sped up. I was still feeling pretty good around mile 9, until I realized that I still was over a 5K away from finishing. By this point the ground leveled out again and the surface was flat. Soon, however, I encountered more hills (whoever planned this course was positively diabolical), and I had to use every last ounce of willpower and endurance I had to plod my way up the hills of hell. After successfully conquering one hill around mile 11, I was positive there couldn't possibly be any more-- but I was wrong. Around mile 12 there was another hill, and by the time I reached the top, there was some guy cheering for me who called out my bib number and told me to keep going. Naturally, not wanting to disappoint the one anonymous fan that I had, I kept running (if not also because that was what I'd been doing the past nearly two hours). The rest of the course was flat, and I briefly considered stopping at mile 13 when there was only one-tenth of a mile to go and calling it good. But of course I didn't. So I finished the race. I still don't have any plans of running a marathon in the near future, but I could definitely see myself doing a half again. It was fun. And even though I was completely starving by the time the race was over and my legs felt like Jell-O and I was soaked in sweat and there were blisters on my toes, it was worth it.

Race photos. (Keep in mind these were taken with about .2 miles left to go in the race...)

Doom's day

Tomorrow is the Half-Marathon (cue dramatic/scary/celebratory music). I can't believe it's almost here. The race starts at 7:30am, so I'm going to have to wake up around 6, which kind of sucks (correction: which really sucks). I could barely sleep last night I was so nervous, and I've felt on the verge of puking the whole morning. Why, you may wonder, am I so anxious for a race that I chose to participate in and that holds no repercussions whatsoever whether I win, lose, fail, or succeed? The answer to that, my friends, is simple: it's what I do best-- not running, mind you, but being nervous/anxious/nauseous (what can I say, it runs in the family). So there. I am an anticipatory ball of nerves and anxiety. On the bright side, though, if I can channel this anticipation into adrenaline, then I may still have a chance at success.

On a completely unrelated note, why are the Mariners so awful?

Here's an equation for you: cost of living in Seattle + my income= :(

Now don't get me wrong: I love Seattle. I love it so much that in fact I am often times blind to its flaws. For example, the fact that Seattle is apparently so cool, it's virtually not affordable to live here. Unless you work for Microsoft. Or Google. Which I don't.

Anyway, I'm planning on moving out of my current abode this summer, and will be looking for a new apartamento for just me. But living alone is not an easy thing to do in this city. I've been obsessively hunting for apartments for months, primarily just to see what's out there and to give myself some assurance that I won't be homeless. But I have to be perfectly honest-- it might be time for me to start getting acquainted with cardboard boxes and the amiable hobo who waves to me off of the 65th Steet exit. Hector used to be a stray cat, so maybe he can show me the ropes of life on the street. At any rate, here's case-in-point for why I may soon be homeless: back in the day when I was still in baccalaureate bliss, I lived alone. Some of you may remember my apartment as that quaint yet surprisingly pleasant little abode nestled in the drug and prostitution district of Seattle (in all fairness, I only got solicited once for sex, and that was by a female hooker). That former home, my friends, is now renting for $925 a month-- a staggering increase of nearly $200 in less than three years! And I don't have the feeling that that complex has undergone any significant renovations since I've lived there to adequately account for the steep increase...

On the flip side, my life of leisure may soon be drawing to a close (or an almost-close), which means more moolah. And I definitely need more moolah, because I am waist-deep in student loans. Funny how I have an advanced degree now but chose the least lucrative career path possible with a Master's. Essentially if I worked for one year straight, and spent absolutely zero dollars, I could re-pay all my loans. But alas...

Compliment, insult, or moderately offensive pick-up line? You decide.

One of the things I hate most on this earth is grocery shopping. Which is completely counterintuitive because I love to eat. I absolutely can't stand, however, the process of picking out food (how am I supposed to know what I'm going to want for dinner five days from now?), carrying my groceries up to my apartment (the circulation on my wrists has been cut off countless times as a result of the plastic bags cutting into my flesh), and putting everything away (there's never enough space in our freezer). What does this all mean? That I only make it to the grocery store on average every two weeks, and when I do go, I look like I'm buying enough food to feed a small army.

Case in point: I was making my bi-weekly grocery shopping trip to Safeway two days ago, and when I got to the checkout, the cashier who was ringing me up had this smirk on his face. My first thought was, crap, did I buy Care Bears fruit snacks again and get laughed at? (Believe me, I've done it. And believe me, I've been laughed at-- albeit in a good-natured manner, but still...) Finally the cashier looked at me and said, "Someone has a healthy appetite." And he didn't mean "healthy" in the traditional sense. To his credit, though, he didn't say it in a mean or judgmental tone, but how was I supposed to respond? I just said, "Yup, I like to eat and I hate grocery shopping." The good thing is, I'm not offended by people commenting on my appetite. The other good thing is that that guy will probably forget who I am by the time I'm back at Safeway again (in about another two weeks or so...)

Happy anniversary, Hectorini!

I am a softy when it comes to my cat. I don't mean to be, but I can't help it. He's just too darn cute. Cute, but destructive. My couch is clawed up. My desk chair is virtually destroyed (not to mention covered in a bed of cat hair that seems to be permanently ingrained in the upholstery).

Those things are bad, but manageable, considering my couch is a worthless piece of crap from Ikea (home of the official post-baccalaureate "rite of passage" cheap furniture and kitchen essentials). What really sucks is that Hector has clawed up some of the carpet in my apartment...which is not as easily replaceable, considering I don't own my apartment.

Anyway, Hector and I recently celebrated our two-year anniversary. We hung out and watched TV together, like we usually do every night. There were a few extra snuggles, but that was pretty much it. While I was debating what to get Hector for our special day, my thoughts settled on an idea that I'd researched a few months ago: Soft Paws. They're these little plastic nail caps that you glue onto your kitty's nails, so when they scratch they don't harm your furniture, carpet, etc. I figured I have nothing to lose (except my $300 security deposit for my apartment), so I ordered them online. They have yet to arrive, but I'm pretty excited to try them out. I have no idea how the heck I'm going to hold Hector down long enough to give him his "manicure," but I'll figure it out. Soft Paws could indeed be my savior...or a waste of 20 bucks. Either way, like I said before, I have nothing to lose...except $320.

Lance Armstrong congratulated me

Yesterday I ran 9 miles. It was my longest run in my career of being a runner. And when I was done, Lance Armstrong congratulated me on my Nike+ iPod. He said (and this is a direct quote), "Congratulations. That was your longest workout yet."

I know I've said this before but I'll say it again: I think I'm a better distance runner. It seems like most of the time the first 3 or 4 miles are the hardest, and then after that, I'm in the zone. Of course, this does not necessarily mean that I'll be running and/or winning marathons any time soon, but just that I'm a little more Energizer Bunny than speedy hare (although I guess she did lose to the tortoise, but that's another story). After this week, I only have three weeks of training left, and then it's the HALF-MARATHON! Crazy. I hope I can do it. And I hope the hills don't kill me. I just want to finish, and say that I ran the whole time...and then collapse at the end of the race and take a month off from running. And eat a gianormous breakfast to celebrate.

Half-Marathon Training Update

I'm officially registered for the half-marathon, so there's no turning back now! I've still been training, but last week I got kind of sidetracked because I was in LA for a few days-- sunny, beautiful, eternally summer LA. Fear not, because my time spent in SoCal was equally productive--I spent an ample amount of time brawling, Smash-style. So while I wasn't able to complete my 7-mile speedwork run, I was able to put my chef hat on and fry up a few friends in a giant cauldron. But anyway, I'm up to 8 miles, and my training plan has me only running up to 10 miles (apparently my adrenaline will lead me the last 3.1 miles of the race). Five more weeks and counting!

A first... (plus running)

Today, as I was stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-5, I officially made myself car sick for the first time. The sun was hitting me at precise the right nausea-inducing angle, and I kept braking too fast. Needless to say my tummy was not happy...

In lighter news, my half-marathon training is going pretty well. I'm almost finished with week four of my customized Runner's World training plan, and it's been pretty good. Last weekend I ran 7 miles, which is the furthest (farthest? I have an English degree but still don't know) distance I have run. I'm actually pretty excited for next week, when I will get to experience the joy (and probably pain, too) of running 8 miles. I have seven weeks and counting till the Half-Marathon.

Now I'm off to go get my hair cut short. Then I'm going to dye it darker. I probably should just shave my head, because 75% of the time I'm just really annoyed with having hair on my head, and I'm not particularly attached to it, anyway. If I don't like it, it'll grow back, and I've become increasingly fond of hats, so whatever. We'll see.

Week One

I (more or less) successfully completed week one of my half-marathon training.
2/25: easy 2-mile run at 10:00 min pace
2/28: 5-mile tempo run; I was supposed to do a one-mile warm-up and cool-down with the middle 3 miles run at a 9:03 pace, but I think I started off a little too fast-- lost steam in the second and third mile and had to slow down a little; finished in just under 48 min.
3/1: 6-mile easy run; according to my training plan, I was supposed to run this at a 10:38 pace, but I felt really, really good, so I ended up running it a little faster, at about a 9:47 pace

Total distance: 13 mi
Total time: 126 min

Run, run, run, as far as you can!

Last week, my dad and I saw Spirit of the Marathon, an incredible documentary chronicling various runners training for the Chicago marathon. Needless to say, I felt very inspired after watching the film, and it got me thinking...how far can I run? I've been doing 5K (3.1 miles) races for a couple years now, and last October I branched out and ran a 10K. Anyway, I've come to the decision that I need to take advantage of my life of poverty and leisure (which may not be so leisurely very much longer since I really am becoming quite poor). So therefore I have decided to train for a half-marathon (13.1 miles). The weather has been beautiful in Seattle the past couple weeks, and with Daylight Saving Time and spring just around the corner, it's the perfect time to train. I have 11 weeks to whip my butt into shape for the race-- wish me luck!

In between your lettuce leaf lunch and celery stick dinner...

So I just saw a commercial advertising gum as a "5 calorie snack." I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Since when...

...did Dante's Peak become an American Movie Classic?

Life in the fast lane

I came to a realization about myself today: I like moving fast. And I totally don't mean this in a creepy or sexual way. I think it has to do with efficiency. And competition. I like finding the quickest way to get places and I'm obsessed with "expediting the process"-- the process of what, you may ask? To which I reply, the process of anything-- making dinner, returning Netflix movies, writing notes for work-- whatever it is, I want to get it done fast. But my need for speed doesn't stop there-- it continues with my love for moving fast. I mean, we're talking raw, kinetic energy. I like to run fast. I like to walk fast. Sometimes I like to drive fast. But when I was sitting in orchestra today, playing my violin, I realized that I love sixteenth notes, and I love (attempting) to play them as fast as I can. Which leads me to two possible conclusions: I'm either ridiculously efficient, or insanely competitive. You decide.

Miss America

When I was a kid, I used to love watching beauty pageants with my mom and sisters. It was always a big event, and we loved "oohing" and "ahhing" over the evening gowns and analyzing the judges' scoring. Miss America was always my favorite because it's the only pageant that has a talent competition. But let's be honest, here: over the past several years, beauty pageants have gone waaaay down-- in nearly every aspect. I watched the 2008 Miss America pageant Saturday night, and I couldn't believe the crappy production value. First of all, the pageant was on TLC: The Learning Channel. Why the hell was a beauty pageant on The Learning Channel? Secondly, it was hosted by a pudgy Tom Cruise look-alike, who had about the same amount of charisma as the real Cruise. There was sub-par choreography (which actually is pretty typical of pageants), at least three less than beautiful women with disturbingly wide-set eyes, and about five pregnancy test commercials narrated by an ominous man's voice talking about a different experience with "peeing on a stick." The whole thing was creepy, crappy, and unsettling. What happened to the good ol' days of Tony Danza-caliber hosts and real talent, not just a thin, wispy rendition of "Over the Rainbow" that would make Judy Garland turn over in her grave? Frankly, I'm offended.

Free stuff

Last night I was reading Cosmopolitan, and I saw an ad for a free sample of Dove shampoo and conditioner. Never one to turn down a free thing, I hopped online and filled out a form to get my free sample. Naturally, that got me wondering...what other free stuff could I find on the Internet? I found a blog that gave me a couple leads to more promotional offers, and before I know it I should have not only shampoo and conditioner arriving in 4-8 weeks, but also samples of Gwen Stefani's new perfume, Aquafresh toothpaste, Maybelline foundation, Aquaphor lotion, and a Schick razor. My goal was to see if I could go a month without buying any toiletries-- I'm still looking for free soap and deodorant samples...

2008 Resolutions

Well, this marks my first official post of the New Year. I finally got around to writing my resolutions. I'm pretty pleased with my goals for 2008. I don't know when I started formally writing resolutions, but it seems like over the years I've become more and more goal-oriented and focused on self-improvement (probably because there's a lot about myself I could improve-- starting with my neurotic personality). I also think it's because I'm competitive. And a perfectionist. But I guess that pretty much describes everyone in my family (and many of my friends, too). Anyway, I feel like I've done a better job of making resolutions that encompass more areas of my life. For example, one of my resolutions is to recycle more...I discovered that for some reason, I actually really care about the environment. I hate being wasteful, so I'm trying to make a concerted effort to stop being lazy about rinsing out containers and other things that could easily be recycled. I also try to stay away from quantifying my goals too much. I like leaving a certain degree of open-endedness on some of them-- like another of my resolutions, which is to go on an independent adventure. Of course, what I define as an "adventure" is completely up to me. I'm also really hoping that my writing becomes more of a priority this year, and that I really buckle down and work hard.

I'm a klutz

On Friday I sprained my ankle at work. I was demonstrating a gymnastics station for the kids, and I was climbing up this mat when I lost my balance and began to fall. I landed on uneven footing below, and I felt a snap in my ankle as soon as my foot hit the ground and rolled outward. I wanted to swear or start crying, but of course I couldn't, since I was surrounded my kids. Over the years I've had several work-related injuries: burned fingers, stitches, and now a twisted ankle (hey, at least I've got variety, right?). I know you're supposed to fill out paperwork and tell your boss when you get hurt on-site, but I've felt like such an idiot about each of these instances that I've always had somewhat of a pride issue when it comes to admitting that I was clumsy and reckless enough to sustain "fill-in-the-blank" injury. Anyway, I think my ankle is OK, it's just a little swollen. I'm mostly mad because I can't run. I think I'll try tomorrow despite my better judgment, just to see if it hurts. My motto has always been "Sickness is a state-of-mind," and I've successfully ignored several occasions where I have been injured or ill, only to find that my symptoms have indeed miraculously "disappeared." After all, no pain, no gain, right?

Apparently I'm awesome

Two days ago I parallel-parked my car...on the left side of a one-way street. I'm that good.