This is the real stuff.

So, I was running with a friend today and she was remarking on the fact that I had been married "a long time." Almost 16 years is a long time, I suppose. Danny and I have had our share of good and bad. Married life is not always pretty. It's not all passion, hearts, flowers and jewelry. It's helping you remember the "football hold" when the baby you are nursing won't latch on. It's loading a washing machine with the comforter that your child just threw up on. It's holding the hand of your mother-in-law and the hand of your  husband, as your mother-in-law takes her last breath. And, lately, it's blood pressure and colonoscopy scares. This is marriage. Sometimes, not pretty. Always beautiful.

If the Birks fit...

I will be 37 years old in just one month. The birthday itself does not upset me. What does is the fact that it took me so damn long to embrace who I am. I realized this as I caught the whiff of a sandalwood candle while browsing the shelves of the Home Economist's Market in Davidson. This was it! My happy place. Ten years ago, I tried to tell myself that a Coach Bag, the right house and a club membership were what I needed. It seems so shameful to admit to this. There's nothing wrong with any of this, but it's just not me. Show me a cute pair of shoes, and I'll smile. Show me organic, fair-trade, shade-grown coffee, and I'm over the moon! I have friends of all kinds, and yes, if you voted Republican, you are welcome at my table, even though we probably shouldn't discuss politics. But a decision has been made.  I am going to stop apologizing for not driving a mini-van, for not having (or wanting) a Pandora bracelet, and for wanting to camp instead of going to Vegas. Love and acceptance will come my way no matter what. How beautiful!

Girl Time, Dining Solo, Self-Loathing

So, welcome to February, even though it is already half-gone! I had a wonderful weekend. I spent time with my dear friend, Anne in Asheville. We have known each other for just shy of 19 years. During that time, our friendship has gone through good, bad, and silent periods. After a very long silent period, I am thrilled to say we are able to have it be "just like the old days." Except, there are gray hairs and wrinkles on the scene, now.

I finished my time in Asheville on Sunday in an Indian restaurant, dining solo. In my twenties, I never would have attempted this. I would have felt like everyone was suspecting I had been "stood up." Now, I do not mind this at all from time to time. I see it as growth, to be able to take myself out on a date.

Now, on to where I could do better.  I am angry with myself that I am not reaching my fitness and weight loss goals, that I continue to sabotage myself, that I binge mindlessly, that some nights I opt for a glass of wine on the couch instead of a run on the treadmill. I must do better with this. I am the only one standing in my way. I can blame no one else.

Loss, Emotional Eating, and Getting Back on the horse (treadmill)

This week my family experienced a loss, a friend got news that her mother does not have long to live, I didn't sleep well, and I was disappointed to learn that we only have one confirmed sign-up for Girls on Track so far. I did not work out once beyond Sunday. Bring on the pity party with balloons. Actually, it was chocolate. And wine. And donuts. And Oreos. And double decker Boca Burgers. Did I mention the wheel of brie?

I cried because life is full of loss. Then I cried because life is short. Then I cried because I don't feel like I'm doing enough with mine. Then I cried because I caught sight of my "moon-pie" face in the photo booth application on my MacBook. This resulted in the consumption of more cheese.

My friend John is the only other human (No, I do not tell Danny. It's bad enough he sees the yo-yo in pants sizes every time he does laundry) on this earth who knows my weight. I report to him each Monday via email. I asked him for a pass this week. He has graciously given this to me, along with a bootie-kickin' treadmill workout. He expects me to get out of my funk and get back to the gym. So, I will. Sometimes all you need is for someone to expect something of you.

A little of this, a little of that, and my gym rant

This week has been truly non-eventful, which, in our house, can be a very good thing. We started out with snow and ice and now are in the 50s. I took a couple of my runs outside this week, which was glorious! Days like this make me forget Spring is still far away.

We gathered with the Billups clan last night for "Christmas." I watched my father beaming as his six children and four grandchildren created the most beautiful cacophony and chaos. It really was a great evening.

The food modifications are going well, and so is running, for the most part, except when I am stuck in the gym and have to be a hamster on the treadmill. The gym. Ah yes, that reminds me. Time to rant a little.

So the "gym" is actually your typical apartment complex fitness room. For those who don't know, the Lloyd family downsized to an apartment back in June in order to save money and prepare for a house purchase in this frightening economy. Putting five people, a dog, and a cat in 900 square feet is working much better than I had anticipated. We have no maintenance, valet trash, a pool, and yes, the gym. The gym is fine, really. Nice equipment, clean, television. The television. This opens a whole can of worms which makes me do everything from silently stewing to questioning who I am and what I stand for.

Our apartment complex is filled with many families just like us, plus singles, new divorcees, and a very special breed I like to call "the overgrown frat-boy with his first real job." It is the latter, (they do realize they all look exactly the same, right?) unfortunately,  who is at the root of my fitness room television issue. I can go in at any, and I mean ANY time of the day to work out, and there one will be, remote firmly in hand, watching ESPN. Ok, so he was there first. Fair enough. He only has 10 minutes left on his treadmill countdown. I'll just wait. Just when I think I may be able to commandeer the remote and head towards HGTV or Food Network bliss, my hopes are dashed by a figure coming through the door in oversized nylon shorts and a backwards hat. The "overgrown frat-boy remote handoff" then takes place. I am stuck. Yes, I know, partially my fault. I'm a strong woman, right? Why don't I just ask for the remote instead of doing the passive aggressive eye roll? Because I am deathly afraid of losing my Polite Southern Girl membership by asking for what I want. And I really hate that about myself! Almost as much as I hate seeing entire shows devoted to Tom Brady, who I really couldn't care less about, except that's not true because now I've had so much over-exposure to him, I wish that smug egomaniac would just cut his hair!!!! Ok, I know this is ridiculous. I have an Ipod. I'll use it. If I want to watch something, I'll just download episodes of Madmen and Big Love and watch naughty TV while the renaissance man next to me sees the injury list for the Bears for the 50th time. Problem solved.

Miles to Go

This morning I attended a training for coaches for a wonderful organization called "Girls on the Run." I am  very much looking forward to coaching the middle school girls this year. I am starting to recommit to healthier living and regular exercise. The outer is coming along quite nicely. The inner needs much work, still.

"Things fall apart. The center can not hold."
-T.S. Eliot

My "center" did not hold at all today. I had to come to the realization that as of today, inner peace is not coming along so well. It will, but I underestimated the power of the things I would have to unearth to get to that stage. I simply thought I could speak it into being. I forgot how messy it can be to deal with the past. I underestimated, too, the power of issues swept under the rug so carefully each day. There is much cleaning to be done.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

Ok, so now the Soul 2 Soul song from high school is in my head. 

Mr. Lloyd, children, and I all went back to school this morning. It was an adjustment, but actually a relief to get back on a schedule.  I awoke at 5:15 and enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee before rousing the hellions. We got out the door on time for the first time in at least a few months. It's been a good day. I discovered that I really had missed my students, although maybe not as much as I miss sleeping in. 

I'm hungry. This means I did not plan well for today. Why I thought two cups of Butternut Squash soup were going to satisfy the same beast who two weeks ago killed off the entire top layer of a Whitman's Sampler in one sitting is a mystery! I will be more realistic tomorrow. Is it bad that I'm picturing the students who are staying after in my classroom as little hummus-covered Triscuits?

I will run the treadmill this evening. Probably just 2-3 miles. I know I should push harder, but since it is the first day back to everything, I'll cut myself some slack.

Three days into my least favorite month of the year, and Depression seems to be in hiding...for now. I will be looking under the beds and behind the shower curtain all month. I don't trust him.  

I am ever-hopeful that sound mind and body will continue.