Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Soccer Mom

A Soccer Mom, as defined by Wikipedia, is "a middle-class suburban woman who spends a significant amount of her time transporting her school-age children to activities such as soccer practice and music lessons." Well folks, I'm there. Eva is not yet 20 months old, and already she could be considered by some to be an overscheduled little tot.

This week started her gymnastics and swimming lessons at the YMCA. 4 DAYS A WEEK. The closest YMCA is a good 25 minutes away - therefore, I think I fit the bill of being someone whoe spends a significant amount of my time transporting my child to activities. Except she's not school-age. Not even CLOSE. And these lessons were all my doing.

But guess what? She loves it. Today was the second day of gymnastics, and after dropping Leighton off at the daycare (I feel like I am gipping him of his infanthood - I NEVER left Eva as a baby) and arriving at the door of the awesome gym, she yelled, "YAY!!!" And started jumping up and down and clapping.

Tangent: She jumps ALL the time. And she is way stinking good at it. She says, "Dump! Dump! Dump!" as she jumps, and she gets some pretty good air. As we walked in the gym today on the bouncy floor, Eva was just jumping all over the place. The teacher called her a little hippity-hoppity. A very appropriate nickname, to be sure. Most of her time in gymnastics is spent jumping on the trampoline. Maybe this is a sign of her future career as a trampolinist. Or a high jumper? Not quite as cool. Tangent over.

She loves gymnastics. Swimming...I'm sure she'll get there. She has never been a fan of the water - she won't lay on her back or kick her feet or jump in to me or blow bubbles. She's not really a risk-taker...although that argument doesn't really work for blowing bubles. What risk is there in blowing bubbles? But she obviously perceives one, because she won't go anywhere close to putting her mouth in the pool. We'll see how tomorrow goes.

So how pathetic is it that I already spend 45 minutes driving to and from her lessons each day? In my defense: the lessons are free, I'm with her the whole time, and...I secretly love it.

P.S. They unfortunately don't allow photography in the classes, or else I would take some cute pictures. You'll just have to imagine.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

My friendly neighborhood bullfrog

I have a frog that lives in my yard. I have never seen him. But he sits out there - it sounds like he is right at my front door - and ribbits the hours away.
At first I thought, "Wow, Eva is hiccuping REALLY loud." Then I turned the sound on my Christmas music off and realized that it is, indeed, a frog. I went outside once to try to see him, but he stopped croaking and then I couldn't find him. It's a little annoying, but kind of cool in a way.
What can I say - wildlife and humans alike just flock to me. I'm like Snow White. Actually, that's a total lie. The frog is probably here because he sees my lack of human interaction today and noticed that I didn't even bother to do my hair and look presentable before heading out to run errands in public. So the frog is probably ribbiting his pity for me. What a sweet little frog.

P.S. Thank you all for your words of encouragement. You inspire me to push through my pain and keep working. So I'm going to get on my treadmill and watch Biggest Loser. At least I have comfort that I don't have half as far to go as those people do. Okay, maybe half as far. And I am definitely getting new shoes.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Losing the battle against my body

My body is seriously fighting my decision to be a runner. I want a new body.

On Saturday, after 2 weeks of pain, I talked to my sister Kim, runner extraordinaire, and concluded that I have shin splints. Awesome. She gave me some good solutions. I decided to run as much as I could stand and just speed-walk the rest of the time.

Today, my body decided that walking was a challenge. The trillion times I went up and down the stairs were excruciating. My feet and ankles joined in the chorus of pain, right along with my shins and hips. And I even took the day off yesterday. But I thought, "I'll just get on the treadmill after I put the kids down and walk to loosen myself up." Despite the fact that I haven't lost a single pound or fat roll anywhere and my morale is low, I don't want to quit.

But it seems I have no choice. Since Monday is the day I wash the sheets, I was putting Eva's bed back together before putting her down. As I stepped over to reach the far corner of the mattress, I kicked the corner of her dresser REALLY hard with my left foot. It hurt so bad that I instantly started crying without even thinking about it. Eva ran over and stared at me and said, "Mommy owie!" I prayed my pinkie toe wasn't broken. I still don't know if it is. It's been about an hour, and putting on my shoes to walk on my beloved treadmill is out of the question. My pinkie toe is fat and swollen and I'm limping even more than earlier today.

Maybe I should have picked an easier, low-impact sport. Like air hockey.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

My Buster Boonies is 4 months old!

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My favorite people in the Northwest...and possibly all of America

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Introducing solids, and Eva's penmanship sounds so pleasant. Not in Leighton's estimation. He hates you can tell from the pictures. "What the heck is this nasty stuff? Are you seriously expecting me to swallow this crap??"

Posted by PicasaIf you look in the above picture, you will notice how Eva holds her pen. I don't know how she figured this out already, but every time she picks up a pen, she carefully places her fingers as you see them there. And, unlike other children who draw big, scribbling circles all over, she draws tiny little marks that almost look like hieroglyphics. That recipe card she's drawing on is my favorite piece of art in our home - I think I'll save it forever.

Trimming the tree, so to speak

We didn't techincally "trim" it since it's made of plastic and has psychadelic disco lights built in...but we did put our Christmas tree up yesterday. I made some delicious ginger spice cookies (unfortunately I forgot about Andrew's aversion to all things ginger...more for me) and we put up the ornaments while listening to Christmas music. Oh, and since we're not putting lights up outside this year, we had more for inside. All on the mantle, the entertainment center, and on top of the kitchen cabinets. I can't help but get shivers every time we turn the lights off and those little white lights just sparkle like Christmas spirit itself. It makes me feel like a little girl again and I just want to sleep under the tree and pore over the JCPenney toy catalog and make a 10-page wishlist...I just love Christmas.

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I have always felt comfortable in the knowledge that I am not one of those people who makes a big deal out of famous people. The few times I have seen "famous" people (like Elizabeth Kartchner, for instance), I have left them alone and just admired them from a distance. I don't want to be just another person who goes up asking for an autograph and a picture. Maybe it's because since they are famous, I want to be different by not intriducing myself. Am I making sense? It's like I retain my individuality by not jumping on the bandwagon. Well, all that changed this past Friday. I found two kind girls to watch my children and headed off alone to the Creating Keepsakes Convention in Seattle. I was incredibly excited. I had signed up to take only 2 classes (for the sake of getting back to pick up the kids): one from Creating Keepsakes and one from...drumroll please...none other than Stacy Julian herself. If you are not a scrapbooker, this name probably means nothing to you. But to me, it means a LOT. Like, this woman changed my life in a big way. Anyway, so I was increibly excited to take her class.
So I sat through the 2 hours of traffic and finally arrived at the convention center. Got an awesome parking spot and joined the crowd of about a trillion women going to CKC. Seriously, there were SO many people there. Wow. It was nothing compared to CKC-Houston in January. (Yep, two conventions in one year - I'm pathetic.) As you see in this picture, I was so excited that I grew a quadruple chin. Oh wait...maybe I've always had that. So I got there early and had time to sit outside my class and wait. Sitting...sitting...who should walk up but Stacy Julian! My heart started pounding. I kept looking at her, as if she would recognize me from me reading her book or something. Wouldn't that ROCK? "Hey, I recognize you as one of my biggest fans!" So I sat there listening to her talk with other famous scrapbookers and didn't say a word. My chance was past. Never mind...I still had my class.
My first class was awesome. But that's totally not the point of this story. Jump ahead to 12:30pm. I have just eaten a delicious and overpriced lunch of cheese tortellinins with pesto sauce. Oh, and a Butterfinger. What, quadruple chin?
Stacy's class was...there are no words. Even though I was alone with nobody to get excited and share this with, I still LOVED every minute of it. I learned so much. The 2 hours went by way too fast. I knew I had to book it out of there right at 2:30 to try to beat traffic to go pick up the kids. I took a couple terrible pictures of Stacy teaching and tried to persuade myself that it was the memories of being in her presence that counted. (Wow, the more I type, the lamer I sound.)
After class ended, I quickly gathered up my things, took one wistful glance at Stacy, and hurried out of the room. I called Andrew on my way to the elevator. He answered! I asked him where he was, and his answer was music to my ears. "I'm just pulling in the driveway, and I have the kids with me." AHHH! You mean I have time to go meet Stacy? Life could not get any better. I turned around and practically ran back into the classroom. I stood in line with the other women waiting for a picture with this amazing woman. I couldn't believe myself...I kept thinking as I stood there, "Are you kidding me? Are you honestly one of those shameless women?" But I am. Because I asked some stranger to take my picture. And here it prize for my shamelessness.

Posted by PicasaStacy is even more amazing in real life than in her books. I have never met someone who felt so...warm. And genuine. I wanted to hug her. But I didn't. Well, I did side-hug her for the picture. Shameless? Completely. Awesome? Absolutely. Thank you, Stacy Julian, for taking a picture with me. I'll never forget it.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Guess what I got?

A treadmill. Andrew came home from work yesterday and surprised me with it. I was elated. Last night I did my first run in the comfort of my own home while watching America's Next Top Model, and it was awesome.
Aside from the moment where I thought I was going to pass out so I closed my eyes and almost died falling off said treadmill. But I finished it - 3 minutes running, 1 minute walking, repeat 7 times, run 2 minutes. And sweat out at least my body weight. Seriously, how have I not lost weight yet? I'm sweating more than I thought was humanly possible. I'm still quite sore and my body still isn't used to this yet. But I'm not giving up.
This morning I did my 30 minute walk while Eva entertained herself throwing her sippy cup behind me on the track thing and laughing as it flew back at her. I guess now that I own a treadmill, I can be all athletic and everything. Another box checked off on things I thought would never happen in my life. Before you know it, I'll be running a marathon. Okay, actually, that will never happen. But at least I am a proud treadmill owner.

Monday, November 10, 2008


Well, I survived the run. Thanks to Marelize, who encouraged me to the finish line. I ran two minutes, walked one minute, 10 times for a total of 20 minutes of running. It felt like an awful lot more than that. New pants, here I come. I'm going to hobble upstairs now...I think I'm going to die.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

It's all fun and games until someone doubles the running times.

My running program is going great. Aside from the fact that my right hip is doing very strange things and I could hardly walk all day Saturday, I feel good. But the thought of tomorrow makes me shake in my boots. You see, all last week I did 2 minutes of walking for every one minute of running. No biggie. But tomorrow, I have to do 2 full minutes of running and only one minute of walking. To all of you, this may sound like no big deal. In fact, I know a few of you blog readers who have run entire marathons. 2 minutes of running is a marathon to me. I'm so nervous. If I never write on this blog again, you'll know that those 2-minute increments did me in. Either that or my right hip. Bad combination.

I also must record one thing I have been thinking about this evening. One thing that I hate about myself. My sisters used to call me "BP," which stands for Bottomless Pit. This nickname is totally spot-on. I eat more than anyone I know. Tonight we had my gorgeous, skinny, beauty-queen friend Melanie over for dinner. We had a full meal of cumin pork chops with avocado salsa with black beans and rice, followed by a dessert of cream puffs. After that, Andrew and Melanie both said they were stuffed. I had eaten more than both of them (possibly combined?) and I wasn't close to being stuffed, so I kept my mouth shut and inwardly chastised myself for being such a bottomless pit.

After Melanie left and we put the kids to bed, I went downstairs to do the dishes. The cream puffs we had for dessert were sitting out, and a few of them still needed to be stuffed with the cream. So I stuffed them, ate one more, and put them away in the fridge. Then I saw the delicious avocado salsa sitting there. I know avocadoes don't keep well, and I LOVE that salsa, and I didn't want it to go to I went upstairs again to ask Andrew if he wanted to eat it with me. He said the phrase that makes me feel like a cow: "I can't eat any more. I'm stuffed." I rolled my eyes, stomped downstairs, and sat on the couch with a magazine and a bag of chips...and finished the bowl of salsa. Now am I stuffed? Nope. I'm going to stop eating, but I'm not full. What is wrong with me? Why can't I be one of those girls who eats like a bird and graciously says after 3 bites, "I'm stuffed!" and have it be true.

Maybe those 2 minutes of running will be good for me after all.

P.S. Leighton is 4 months old today!

Friday, November 7, 2008

Breaking the rules, and running awkwardness

Stacey and Clinton would be terribly disappointed in me. This evening I commited a crime against the proper way to buy clothes. I found some adorable pants at Ross. Considering I only own 1 (ONE) pair of pants (jeans) that currently fit me, I desperately need another one. So I found what I thought would be my size and tried them on. Apparently I feel skinner than I really am, because 5 days of running hasn't shrunk me in the least bit. But...I BOUGHT THEM ANYWAY. Full knowing they were too small (not terribly, just enough to be unflattering), I purchased them anyway thinking that they will fit soon. I guess I'd better keep running, because my $20 cute new pants are holding me to it.

Speaking of running (which I do alot now - sorry), today I went to the Y alone. Fabulous. I was the only girl on the track, and there were lots of fit men running by me. I felt like unto a buffalo as I thundered slowly along. My only hope was that they would pass me so quickly they wouldn't notice how slow I was going and how profusely I was sweating. Have I mentioned before that I hate sweating? I hate sweating. That's how determined I am to be a runner. I am allowing myself to sweat. Massive quantities.

Anyway, one awkward moment came to pass while I jogged along behind an older gentleman with incredibly small legs and a very disproportionately (did I spell that right? that is a very long word) large top. In front of him was a VERY old man (probably 80) walking very slowly. I passed them both, and the pleasure of doing so gave me a little extra burst of energy. (Pathetic that the only people I can pass are old men.) I picked up speed and looked at my watch, as I frequently do, to see how much longer until I could walk again. Right as I did this, one of the men from behind me said, "It's working!" I knew he was talking to me. But I didn't know what he was talking about. His strange comment gave me something to think about for the rest of my workout. What was working? My watch? My running program - he was telling me how hot I was? My attempt at speeding up and passing him? I wish I knew what that old man meant. I guess I'll never know. But then every time I passed them both after that, I kept being afraid he (whichever one it was) wouldn't say anything else. How awkward.

Whatever that weird old man meant by, "It's working!" I know that I'd better keep working if I want to fit into those pants. Maybe I should stop eating candy corn...oh well. The bag's almost gone anyway.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Officially white trash

Tonight, I hit a new low.

According to my workout program, I was supposed to do 30 minutes of walking today. Andrew didn't get home from work until later than usual, and I never got around to going to the Y during the day with the kids. (It's about 25 minutes away so it's quite an ordeal.) It was raining pretty hard, and now that it gets dark so early, it cut my walking time off. I didn't want to drive all the way to the YMCA alone just to walk. So I came up with a totally brilliant, totally white trash idea. I WENT TO WALMART.

That's right, folks. Not only is Walmart where I shop, it's also where I work out. Pathetic. But it worked out great. I just went and walked around in my workout clothes (which look suspiciously like pajamas...)for my 30 minutes, and then picked up a few things at the end. (Honestly, how can you spend a half hour walking by every thing in that store and not think of things you need? It was bound to happen.) I found a copy of Real Simple magazine (highly recommended to me by Marelize) and used my trusty old talent of reading while I walk. Talk about multi-tasking. Working out, reading, and shopping.

But while walking around, I had ample opportunities to see the people of my community in action. There were plenty of people in the obesity wheelchairs (who conveniently kept pulling out right in front of me and cutting me off), which was to be expected. But the level of white trashness kind of surprised me. See, coming from Oklahoma, it was to be expected there. Stringy-haired, dirty people without teeth are pretty much the norm there. But here? I am disappointed to report that yes, indeed, they are here too. White trash people are all over now, folks. Not to be mean and stereotypical. But I am.

I actually, truly, honestly overheard this conversation between a pregnant girl and a man, who I assume was the father, although clearly not her husband. (I did a couple laps around the hygiene aisle to keep listening to them.)

Girl: (talking loudly and obnoxiously) I'm not going to your house tonight. I don't care what you say, I'm not going.
Boy: Why not?
Girl: Because! I don't want to sit there on your couch watching a movie and getting fleas again. (Then she scratched her round stomach.)

Wait, did I just type the word FLEAS? Yep. Because that's what she said. A human, pregnant woman in America got FLEAS from her boyfriend's couch. It doesn't get more repulsive than that.

I'm so grateful for the chance I had to observe the fine society around me while doing my daily workout. I think I'm going to go take a bath now and get the Walmart germs off me. Who knows - I might have gotten fleas.

Monday, November 3, 2008

8 is great.

8 TV shows I watch:
-Jon & Kate plus 8 (how appropriate)
-Biggest Loser
-Dancing with the Stars
-America's Next Top Model
-Real Simple Real Life
-The Office
-Kath & Kim
-What Not to Wear

8 favorite restaurants:
-Cheesecake Factory
-La Hacienda in Milton, FL
-Ruby Tuesday
-Asahi in Flower Mound, TX
-The Roof in Salt Lake

8 things that happened yesterday:
-had a good hair day
-cooked a whole chicken for dinner
-Eva made me laugh about a million times
-Andrew fell asleep at 8pm and I got way mad at him for going to bed without me
-talked to my mom on the phone
-ate what was left of Eva's Halloween candy
-bore my testimony in RS and cried - I hate that because I look retarded when I cry
-ignored 4 telemarketers' calls

8 things I'm looking forward to:
-my new running program
-my playgroup tomorrow with my favorite friends Melanie and Marelize
-teaching the RS lesson next Sunday
-going to UT for Thanksgiving
-my next haircut (I think I have a disorder - I am addicted to getting my haircut. I'm surprised I'm not bald.)
-Leighton starting to eat solids next week
-having my sister Lindsay teach me to decorate cakes

8 things on my wish list:
-a new computer
-a Bind-It-All
-a maid
-to eat ice cream everyday and still be skinny
-unlimited amounts of money to buy clothes for my kids - I LOVE kids' clothes
-to go to Hawaii without my kids
-to retire in Crested Butte, Colorado
-to die before Andrew does because I don't want to be left alone

8 things I love:
-scrapbook supplies
-my camera
-the green walls in my kitchen
-pumpkin seeds
-the humungously tall trees all around us that are green all year round
-looking through old pictures and remembering things like how in college my boyfriend cheated on me with my roommate so I stole some stuff from his house and took pictures of it all around campus and then returned it. Longs story for another post.
-working out. That's not true yet, but maybe if I write it down it will come true

8 things I can't stand:
-the fly that has been buzzing around my scrapbook/computer room for the last 2 days. Don't flies have a short lifespan? NOT THIS ONE.
-sweating - but I'm getting better about that. After all, I'm a runner.
-sleeping with socks on
-touching wet food with my bare hands (like cleaning out the disposal)
-losing things
-being late
-being pressured into things, like going to a jewelry party
-bad service at resturants

Thanks for the tag, Katie!
8 people I tag: my sisters Lindsay, Camille, Laura, my mom, Ali Flegal (this one's for you, Shirley!), my aunt Rachel, Kristyn Bore, and Stacey Culver.

It's official. I'm skinny.

You know how after you work out twice in a row, you just feel like you look dang good? Well, that's me. I really don't look any different, but MAN, do I feel different. Today was another YMCA day.

A couple months ago, my skinny runner sister-in-law Brittani told me about and how they had all these workouts on there for anyone at any running level. There are few people who are at my level of running - aka no running at all. But for some reason, this morning Brittani's suggestion popped in my mind, so I checked it out. And guess what I found? There are actually other people on my level. Or maybe Runner's World wrote this just for me. But I found one called "Beginner's Training Program." Oh, that's what I'm called. A Beginner. The workout subtitle was "Follow this plan to become a runner." And folks, that's what I'm trying to do. I want to have that title under my belt. Stephanie the Runner. Don't know why - I just do.

So I started today, day 1 of week 1 of my new training program to become a runner. Truthfully, there was more walking than running on today's docket. PERFECT for me. I'm all about walking. And it was very time-intensive - I looked at the watch and told myself, "You only have to run for 30 more seconds. You can easily do that." And I did. I completed the whole 30 minutes. Walking and running around the track, catching the different landmarks to keep me going. Walgreens out the window. Seeing Eva through the daycare window downstairs, just sitting in the same chair staring around the entire time. (What a social butterfly.) The cone covering a damaged part of the track. The front desk with the delicious smell of coffee floating up. (I LOVE the smell of coffee! Too bad I don't drink it.) The big stopclock that was off from my stopwatch. The teenage boys playing basketball. All these things, I floated past. And watched my big butt bounce up and down in my reflection in the windows, bouncing its way to skinny perfection.

Although on the last minute of running, I had a random suicide attempt. I got this crazy thought that I was a gazelle and I actually had the physical capacity to sprint. After that minute was over and I was gulping air and dying and blacking out, I realized that I am NOT a gazelle. Not yet. Just give me 8 weeks.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Much to my chagrin, I am jumping on the bandwagon and posting pictures of our Halloween.

Hi. My name is Darla. Don't I look awesome in my headgear?

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The tale of Nemo

Once upon a time, there was a little fish named Nemo. But Nemo couldn't say her own name; she pronounced it "Emo," like Elmo with no L. She was the cutest fish in all the land. She went to a trunk-or-treat at church, where she was not only the cutest fish, but the cutest kid there. Her little serious, round face sticking out from the orange felt was almost too much for her mother to handle. But Nemo systematicall refused to look at, let alone smile for, the ever-present camera in her face. Never mind, little Nemo. You still look cute, even when you frown.

Nemo acted as a sanitation engineer by not only taking candy from anyone who would give it to her, but by picking it up off the ground. Good Nemo - way to keep your world clean.

Nemo had a friend named Crush. He was a little turtle, and the cutest turtle you ever did see. His mother secretly thinks he resembles a turtle in real life, so the costume was a perfect fit. He didn't understand all the commotion about his green velvet, but he loved watching Nemo run all around.

Nemo's father dressed up as a scuba diver. He felt self-conscious going to a church function in a wetsuit, so he wore pants over it. Much to the disappointment of Darla, a.k.a. me. Because Nemo's father looks exceptionally good in a wetsuit. It makes her want to run back to the ocean right now and relive the days of their honeymoon, scuba diving in Grand Cayman. Except Nemo's mother wouldn't be caught dead in a wetsuit right now. She ate all of Nemo's Halloween candy. Ugh.

Nemo's mother is ashamed of the horrible pictures she took and is only posting them for the sake of continuing the record of our lives. Although the pictures stink, at least she will always have the memory of how adorable her children looked on that rainy October night.
And thus ends this plotless tale of Nemo. THE END.
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The athlete deep inside.

Reading cjane's blog today reminded me of the frequent feelings of inferiority I experienced growing up as the ONLY non-athlete in a family of athletes. My dear father is one of the most competitive people I've ever met, and he passed that on to his children. All except for me. One time he got upset with me that I just didn't care to cheer for sports teams. He just couldn't understand how it was possible just to not care. (Simple, I tried to explain. You just DON'T CARE. There's really not much to it.)
I swam in high school, and I made it to state and took a whopping 14th place. Out of 16, if I remember correctly. And that's about it. I can't run worth a lick, I'm no good at sports like basketball and volleyball, and I don't have a competitive bone in my body. (When it comes to sports, that is.) My sister Kim, who is 18 months younger than me, is like Miss Athlete. In fact, she was Athlete of the Year (I believe twice) at SVU where she attended college. She was on their basketball and cross country teams and is probably still my dad's dream child because of how naturally gifted she is in the sports arena. My two brothers are both athletic, and everyone in my family likes working out. (Now that's what I have never understood. When did pain become enjoyable?)
But all that is about to change. You may recall how, almost exactly one year ago, I blogged about how I went running and I was officially part of the club. Well, I think my membership in the club expired, because that was the first, last, and only time I ran. A one-time use doesn't exactly keep you in the club.
Until yesterday. Our first visit to the YMCA as a family. We dropped our children off at daycare and went off to aquire our dream bodies. (Well, I did. Andrew just works out because he thinks it's fun. Who IS this guy??) We decided to run around the track for a little bit. 1/2 mile, to be exact. And guess what? I FELT GOOD. I was tired, of course, but nothing compared to other times I have run. (Ran??) I felt good afterwards.
So when Andrew went to lift weights, I went off to a Zumba class to get my Latin dance groove on. Today my shins are a little sore, but not my knees - which are normally the problem and the reason I stop running after 1 day. And I think I'm ready to run again tomorrow. Not a marathon or anything, mind you - just another half mile or so. Maybe I'll get ambitious and run 3/4 mile. I have been inspired by my friends Krista and Samye, who (I hope they don't mind me saying this) have rockin' bodies and are dedicated runners. When I see pictures of their skinny little thighs and flat stomachs, it makes me want to be like that.
Maybe my true genes are kicking in after all. As they say on Biggest Loser, "America, next time you see me, I will be 120 pounds!" Well, that's probably not true. I'll probably never get back to that beautiful number again. (If you weigh 120 pounds and you are reading this, I am sticking my tongue out at you through the internet. We are not friends. Until I'm skinny - then we'll talk.) But maybe I'm on my way to making my dad proud and living up to the athlete deep inside. And I mean DEEP. I think she's in there somewhere.