Tune In To Week 1's Live Performances, Where Christina Is Finally Sober

Happy Boston Marathon Monday, everyone! I have two friends running in it and I'm obsessively tracking them on my phone. I wish they updated these tracker things more frequently. So much can happen between 30k and the finish. That's a lot of miles at the end of a lot of miles.

It's super hot today in Boston. So I'm worried. I'm going to distract myself by talking about what I'm distracting myself with, which is The Voice and whether or not pirates were violent because they liked violence or violent because they wanted to make money to buy more rum.

Actually I'm not going to talk about that second thing at all because the answer is so glaringly obvious it's not really worth discussing.

So I watch The Voice, as you know. I've not been able to really keep up with it (luckily, Hulu is a thing so I catch it when I can) so I haven't been blogging about it as much. Also, it hurt my feelings a little bit when none of my favorites won, and Christina Aguilera was on drugs or something for a lot of it.

But that doesn't mean I'm not watching it. I watched three episodes of the Biggest Loser this season before I finally admitted it was awful and started removing it from the queue without watching. I don't give up on things I love.

I want this guy, Jamar Rogers, to win.

I'm posting the non-performance pieces because it's The Voice, so the idea is that you can only hear them.

I just really like his voice. I don't have like a 12-point dissertation on why he's the best. I just like what he does with his vocal chords. He's Team Cee Lo because Cee Lo was the only one who picked him. Because all of the other coaches don't know WTF to do with AWESOME.

My second choice is Jordis Unga. I saw Jordis back when she did Rockstar: INXS in 2005 when she was 22 years old. I think it's a good thing she didn't win that show, because INXS wasn't going anywhere and Jordis wouldn't have fit with them at all.

She's 29 now, and her voice has really gotten better.

So there you go. The two people who will get very close to winning and then manage to get beaten by Lindsay Pavao and that gospel singer guy whose name I can't be arsed to remember.

A Girl Needs Sleep Or She'll Be A Zombie

Fell asleep in the running store today before the run. Don't worry, I set my phone alarm.

Woke up and found this picture waiting for me in my messages. That's the love of my life, right there. Too bad she's RunnerJen's dog, not mine.

Tobacco Road Marathon

I've been avoiding this conversation, one-sided as it is, because I came off the finish line elated, and then I crashed down, and I've spent the last few days pretending to be an emotional yo-yo about all of it.

When I was a kid I was really into yo-yos despite lacking the coordination and discipline to do real tricks. There was a revival of yo-yos about this time, and all these new technological yo-yo advances to make my yo-yo experience more... yo-yo-y. I had one called The Screamer. When you hurled it down to the ground (provided it was on purpose and not in frustration because WALK DAMN YOU I JUST WANT TO WALK THE FREAKING DOG) it made a goddawful screaming/squeaking/begging for mercy noise. My yo-yo emotions weren't like that. There was no screaming. Just some sulking.

I did not PR, is what I was sulking about.

I should have; I'm in hands-down better shape now, and I know a little better what I'm doing, and my long runs were much better/faster, and... basically, it all boils down to the fact that while I was ready-so-ready, so was summertime.

The temperature was definitely over 65*. The Hideous Coursemaster says that when he checked the weather on his smartphone after, it was 90% humidity. The side stitches I battled for a lot of the race concur. I didn't think about it that way at the time, though. See, when I run, I feel like I'm in control of everything. So any side cramping was because I wasn't breathing right, or I was out of shape, or something. I probably slowed down a lot. I still kept the race at negative splits but it was a near thing.

I don't like to blame the weather for my bad race. But it was a factor and I have to allow for that to feel okay about myself.

Also, in actuality, I didn't have a BAD race. I ran 3:53:40, which is sub-4 and that's really my goal for every race. I got 9th in my Age Group (F20-24) and 277th overall.

Most importantly, I beat the guy running in a Ninja Turtle Costume.

Yes, there was a guy running while dressed as a Ninja Turtle. In fact, in this exact costume:

His only modification was to cut the legs into shorts. It pisses me off immeasurably when people run like it's a joke. He was running with the 3:45 pace group the first time I saw him, so I was extremely worried that some asshole dressed as Rafael was going to kick my ass. But I kicked his.

Any time I feel eh about Sunday, I just repeat to myself, "9th in your age group, beat the Ninja Turtle, did not throw up nor want to."

It has to do.

Also, yesterday I went mountain biking for the first time, and holy cow is that fun. Really scary, really hard, and really fun. I started laughing over the first downhill and Bike Dad called back, "What are you laughing at?" I was just laughing at the fun. And the fear. Because, wow, it's basically falling the whole time but not.

Cryptid/Nerves

I'm doing something I've never done before, which is post a blog entry via Kindle Fire. There may be some awkwardness up-ins due to tiny touch keyboard and the browser's inability to understand blogger 100%. It doesn't even understand how to spell blogger. You can almost hear it shouting, "This is not a word! IT IS NOT I KNOW ALL THE WORDS I AM KINDLE!"

I love my Fire. So much. I play Words With Friends, I check email, I read books, I watch Netflix, I stare mesmerized for hours at Gravilux. But typing just isn't something loveable about it.

But I have some time and I wanted to ramble about - what else? - marathon training. I've been markedly lax about talking about running for a blog that was supposed to be 35% about running. (Yes, there's a pie chart.)

It's not that I'm being lax about training, exactly, it's just that I'm not all that worried about it. I'm excited, a little nervous-excited, and ready. Not physically ready, because there's weeks to go and lots of long runs to get done, but all that mental preparedness I had to build up last time is still there. Plus I know for sure that marathon is possible for me. There's precedent.

I am running a lot more this time. More miles per week, more runs above six miles. I did nearly 57 miles last week and finished feeling OK. (There was a stomach related incident during my long run that I don't want to discuss.) This week is not so many miles, so don't worry.

Today is my busy day, and like a boss I left the house without my Garmin or my lunch protein bar. Go me, right? At least I get to have a donut today. If I couldn't have my weekly donut I think my whole world would fall apart.

If anyone reading this would like to leave a comment giving me their opinion of sasquatch, it would be exceedingly helpful.

Electric Tea Kettle Boogaloo

After typing this title, I looked up the word 'boogaloo' because that's what I do, and I found out that boogaloo is a style of Latin music and dance that was popular in the US in the 60s, apparently invented in NYC by those darn kids.

I also found this, which is just freaking awesome:

So really this post has nothing to do with boogaloo, because everyone who is anyone knows I can't dance. People living in Timbuktu know I can't dance. Today I learned about how Timbuktu and Portugal pwned the world for a little while, until Columbus ruined everything.

It has to do with electric tea kettles, though, because I was making tea when I sat down and started writing, and the kettle popped off about five minutes ago, and true to form, I've gotten busy and can't go make tea right at this moment. I'm just constantly boiling water. If there are ever any babies being born in the area I guarantee you I'm ready.

Today was a busy day; tomorrow isn't going to be much calmer. My job delivering newspapers has doubled in workload because now I'm the only distributor. (Distributor is the fancy thing you say now instead of 'delivery boy' because I'm demonstrably not a boy.) So I have two routes instead of one route, and that's six hours a week instead of three, and while I'm totally willing to do it because I get paid twice when I work twice, it's hard.

Plus I'm ticked off that the other distributor quit without giving any notice, and I hate to work mad.

Anyways, so my day went like this:

Wake up-aw damn it it's only 4am-back to sleep-6am wake up for real-get dressed-internet not working why-aw crap I spent so much time trying to figure out the internet that I'm late-ppppppppppaaaaaaaaaapppppppppppeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrr route-CLASS OMFG I'M GONNA BE LATE-protein bar on the way to next class-forgot the other book she said we needed-change clothes in the parking garage hope no one sees me-drive drive drive to the winternship-coffee-I love my winternship-time to go running-forgot my Garmin and my headlamp-ankle hurts hope this isn't something permanent-time for dinner-slow internet means SWTOR still isn't playable-you should really go to bed now-nope can't blogging.

So now I'm trying to make tea so I can breathe. But first this blog.

Have some Baby Boogaloo. He helped me just now.

Rawr.

You'll notice there's a new count down clock. REPTAR!

Anyone who doesn't a) already know who reptar is or b) doesn't go look up reptar and think I'm being kinda cool and spunky for bringing him back into service should probably not be reading this blog. Isn't he obscenely happy? He's happier than unicorns. Multiple unicorns. Who have been eating cupcakes.

I haven't been eating cupcakes. Actually I've been eating grapefruit. I bought a 5lb bag because it was on sale for a dollar and they're delicious.

I'm writing this post for a couple of reasons. Number one being because I logged on to update the timer because seeing Space Ghost with all his zeroes was depressing and stupid. Srs.

Number two being the fact that I can't go play SWTOR, because I'm backing up all my files - cloud storage is the way, truth, and light - and I doubt my laptop and wifi connection would be able to handle all of that. It's going to take a million years to back up my music anyways. Periodically I think to myself, "You can't possibly ever listen to all this music, this is dumb," and then I think, "Yeah, but it's all free on NoiseTrade."

My brain, you know.

Anyways, Poco the Hotdog has stolen my blanket. I would post a picture of it, but it would just look like a pile of blankets with some bare toes next to them. And no one wants to see my toes, for real. That one toenail is turning black again.

This morning I ran sixteen miles. Because the Tobacco Road Marathon is on March 18th, and I totally signed up for it a while ago. And, you know, you have to train for these things.

Ah, me. Just... me.

I'm backing up all my files because I finished building Grendel's Mother today, and I can pull them down from the internet instead of...

Oh, yeah. Grendel's Mother. Well, you see, what had happened was...

I built a computer.

I did, yes. I bought it in little bits and pieces and took a bunch of wires and cables (and some screws) and put all those pieces together. And then I plugged it into the wall and it worked. I'm sure on the inside the Bearcat-Catbear was laughing at me hysterically but on the outside he was really nice and helpful.

I can't play with her until Monday, on account of these awesome dogs who need someone to steal blankets from, and I love them dearly. So she's there and I'm here and it's okay. She'll be there. She'll always be there. She's made of amazing.

And she'll love me because I built her with my own two hands. Truefax.

Stay tuned for more episodes from season three of Kate.

Woke up and the WoW server was down, considered renapping.

So, I've had a crazy couple of days. Not crazy in the sense of anything bad happened, just that I had to be all these places and do all these things that all mattered enough that I couldn't just say, "Neh, busy, must ass-sit for that time instead."

The thing about me is that I require a certain amount of pressure-free time during a day, or else that day doesn't seem so nice to me and I consider things like slamming doors and kicking low brick walls. Running is one thing that sometimes fulfills this need for Me Time, but then sometimes I have to get a run done in a certain amount of time to get somewhere, and then running just becomes this other thing that I have to get done.

But I just took a three hour nap, which is a long nap for me, and I'm good. I decided to nap rather than watch a movie because I looked at it mathematically, and the amount of sleep I've had in the past few days = not enough.

I completely intended to share a revelation with you that I had on Friday, but I kept forgetting until right now, so here it is:

Indiana Jones' fear of snakes is totally legitimate and not a sign of comic weakness as we are lead to believe. Think about it. Here's a guy who knows that he can basically kill anyone or any thing that is going to try and ruin his day. BUT, if he is bitten by a snake, he's in basically the definition of the middle of nowhere. There's absolutely no way he'll be able to get to the anti-venom in time. He can't exactly shoot his way out of dying.

You can't do this to venom rushing through your bloodstream. Just saying.

While out for my run today, I had what I think could be a really cool idea, if I could somehow combine with someone with more drive and energy than me. I'm calling it the White Rabbit Race series.

The idea is, sometimes it's fun to go out and not know exactly where your running route is going to take you. And it's also fun to have some kind of... accountability for what you're running. You want someone to know that today you planned to run and then ran six miles, etc. And races are fun, but you don't always have that specific time open or money to sign up.

Enter the White Rabbit. My idea is, map several courses of varying distance around Greensboro, and mark them with white spray-paint stencils. Not just any stencils, but stencils of rabbits pointing the direction you're supposed to go - small markers at turns, like little bike sharrows. So then you "follow the white rabbit."

And you could build a community website around them, where people sign up and then log the details of their runs, times, pace, etc. And it would be like a race series, except you do each race on your own time and you never know who else is following the white rabbit.

What do you think? Cool idea?

Today happens to be the UberTransFan's birthday, which was another reason to take a nap. Plans involve staying up as long as it takes to be able to run a dungeon as a household (by which I mean as long as it takes to get the Little Monster to go to bed).

A Very Zombie Race Recap: Richmond

So, I'm having the most awkward conversation on an internet dating site (which will remain nameless so the internet doesn't find me... on the internet...) and watching Bridesmaids, which is already on my favorite movies list even though I haven't finished it, and I figured I would finally recap the race day.

So, my parents drove me to the start, and mercifully we didn't get lost for once.

It was really cold and we were early enough to watch the start of the half marathon, which meant that I had half an hour of standing around regretting my decision to wear shorts and a t-shirt with only a hat and gloves as a nod to the cold. I had a zip-up hoodie on but it was cotton and I was planning on ditching it. I was torn between moving around to warm up, or conserving energy for the marathon.

Luckily, I was so busy thinking about how cold I was that I wasn't thinking about the race.

When they started getting people in the corrals, I shucked out of my hoodie and shoved it at my parents. I'm sure they wished me luck or something. There was a guy holding up a big sign that said 4:00 and I made a beeline for it.

I talked to the people around me with about half of my brain. All of them had run marathons before so there was that. The guy running the pace group had run 53 of them and he was all, "Yeah, I basically just do this now. I ran a 3:03 last year and now I just take it easy."

I was like, "Yeah, ok. Easy."

So then they started the race and we all shuffled across the start line and finally were running.

The pace group was running straight 9:09min/miles the whole time. It felt really slow because I was cold and antsy, but I was determined to stay with them for at least the first five miles. I made it about three before I really couldn't do it anymore and stopped holding myself back. I just... ran. I tried to just stay comfortable and it worked.

I was feeling really good for the first fifteen, like there was absolutely nothing wrong and I could run forever. I did a Gu at mile 6 when I stopped to use a portajohn. The UltraMarathoner kept ninja-ing all over the course and cheering for me, and it was a nice distraction.

I had permission to kick it up a notch in the second half 'if I felt like it,' and I felt like it, so I did. Mile 15, right before The Bridge, was when I was told to start looking for McDad and The One With No Feelings. So I came around this switch-back corner and didn't see them, and then I saw them walking along the bridge looking for me.

The Bridge was not as awful as advertised at all. My parents were waiting on the other side of it and my mom did her little dance of happiness that I love so much, the one when she's so excited she can't stand it.

And then My Boys and I were off to the races. We passed what seemed like everyone running the course. At mile - I don't know, maybe 17? - The Librarian, The Triathlete and The Mathy Guy screamed at me. I didn't know they were going to be there so that was cool, except I didn't move over to get my high fives because my brain was still going, "Hey, I think maybe I know those people, and that might be my name they're screaming." So the Triathlete and The Mathy Guy actually sprinted to catch up with me, which was really cool considering that they had just run the half marathon really, really fast and were probably hurting really bad.

I did another Gu at mile 18. I was beginning to get concerned about the fact that I since I couldn't get much water at each of the stops - the water was getting more on the outside the inside - I was drinking at more of the stops, and my stomach hadn't had a chance to settle.

Up to mile 23, 24, everything was cool. And then, well... at around mile 24, I turned to The One With No Feelings and informed him, quite casually, that I had just thrown up in my mouth.

I don't think he knew what to do with that information.

Both of them just kept telling me how hard I was rocking this marathon, and to just keep going, and I'm really, really glad they were there, because mile 25 was when I started thinking, "What does it matter? What does it really matter?"

I was so nauseous the last mile that that was basically all I was thinking about. Not throwing up. If I threw up in the last mile, that would take time, and at that point I needed to just be done.

At the end of mile 26, there's a big, long downhill that goes into the chute, and the Boys basically kicked me down it before ducking off the course (they couldn't finish with me or they would be arrested or something). I stretched my legs out and just let go, and it felt... actually good. It was steep enough that I could just fly down it.

I was briefly surprised that no one else seemed to have the same response to the hill. I shot past at least a dozen people. I came around a slight curve and looked straight into my dad's eyes. He grinned really big and gave me two thumbs up, shouting, "All right!" Just super proud of himself for finding a good spot to see me.

I crossed the finish line with that smile on my face, and I thought the clock said 3:56 (it turns out my time was 3:50:57, but I didn't find that out for at least half an hour). I spent about two seconds totally celebrating while my medal was dropped over my head and I wrapped a space blanket around my shoulders, and then I remembered I felt like I might die. I kept walking until I got out of the finishers' area and then just stood there thinking, "Uh..."

That's what this expression is.

My mom ran up and hugged me and while I appreciated that, I also needed her to stop touching me. I actually needed my body just to not be there. I really felt lousy and half-dead.

It turns out The One With Manners and The Superhuman were there, and everyone else was there, and everyone was all, "How do you feel?" and I was all, "OMG please no one look at me when I throw up."

The Librarian was like, "Dude, just throw up," but there was nowhere to do it.

So we walked down the street a little bit and my dad ducked into a cafe and got me a Reed's Ginger Beer. And I sat down on the cold flagstones outside the cafe and drank my ginger ale and thought to myself about how it was a good thing I had finished a marathon, because I was going to die and it was nice to have that crossed off the list first.

Race Recap Part 1: Friday

So, I did it.

I ran my first marathon.

I've been trying to put my thoughts in order about this since about an hour afterwards (when I started to feel human again) and I still don't know what to think about it.

How about a recap while I keep thinking about it?

We'll start with Friday.

I had already gotten permission from my archaeology professor to skip class - actually what she said was, "Have you ever been absent? Cause you can be, three times." - so my parents and I left Greensboro about the time I would have been leaving for class.

We left this early so we could go to Mama Dip's in Chapel Hill for lunch. I ate sweet potato biscuits, fried green tomatoes, cornbread, cabbage, turnip greens, and pecan pie. And it was all delicious. Well, the pecan pie could have been darker and made of more pie crust but then that's my criticism of most pies that other people find quite nice, so probably that's more of a 'me' thing and less of a 'pie' thing.

So then we drove to Richmond and checked into the hotel, but didn't actually go into our hotel rooms because we needed to make it to the expo for packet pick-up and then to dinner.

Packet pick-up at the expo... well, I didn't know my number, so I went over to number look-up and the lady was all, "Yeah, you're number 706."

And I was like, "Wait, surely you mean 12706 or 14706?"

And she said, "No, 706. Go get your number over there and let the next person in line go."

So I went over to where she said and said, "Hi, they said 706 and here's my ID but -"

And they said, "Oh! You're in corral 1. Here."

And I said, "No no no. I'm not in corral 1. I said my goal time was 3:50. That's not -"

And THEN they said, "Oh, well. That sounds about right." (The actual corral 1 cut-off time was 3:45, so I dunno what they were talking about.)

So I freaked out for a little while, and was oddly embarrassed about the number and the big letters that said 'Corral 1' under it. But then it was time to put pasta and rice krispies treats in my face and sit around watching the basketball game that they were playing on the ocean.

During half time, we all looked at the maps so my parents could figure out where to stand to see me, and somehow right in the middle of it, it hit me: Miles. There were 26 of them. More than 26 of them.

And though everyone was quick to reassure me that I'd be fine, that I'd trained hard for this, that I was prepared... I was deep enough into my internal panic attack that I figured they were just lying to me so I wouldn't be so nervous.

After we got back to the hotel, I stacked all of my clothes and supplies on a chair and went to bed, convinced I would not be able to sleep at all. I did eventually fall asleep, but I had a dream where I was running a marathon, and even though I thought I was running good, I was the slowest one and was still running when it was getting dark. I got lost on the course because a guy had had time to build a house in the middle of it before I got there, and I had to figure out how to run through it.

I woke up at 6 and by that point just wanted to get running so all of this nervous shit would go away.

The Kato's Mad Tarantella

5 days until Richmond.

Just so you're fully aware of what's happening in my brain. It's just that, over and over, a little party of panic being thrown by my neurons. With screams and hyper-active pillow fights and about half of them demanding Cheetos at the top of their lungs. My brain is made of nine year old girls at a slumber party right now.

I think probably I'm ready. But I'm not being overconfident and saying I'm ready, because then it'll turn out I'm not ready and I said I was ready and... Nine year old girls. Up till two AM and high on nail polish fumes. Seriously.

So this week is taper, which is a whole new layer of hell added to the mix, like maybe somehow the nine year olds got ahold of a metric ton of pixie sticks. Because what I do when I'm stressed is run. And I can't run very much, so I'm just gonna stay at this heightened level of stress until whoosh it's all gone.

I have a somewhat plan for dealing with this. I know I'll be judged for it, and I'm judging myself, but my plan is to eat cereal and play World of Warcraft. Yes, eat cereal. I know. I'll quit again after the marathon, but for now... The nine year olds want Cheetos.

The Queen's Mad Tarantella

^ is the name of something in my future. Possibly a band, or a book, or I don't even know what. But it's awesome, and it's mine. I call dibs.

Tonight I'm going to run the course for the Greensboro XC League's first race on Saturday, which I will not be able to run because it's a patently stupid idea to race a 5k the week before a marathon. Running 5k distance, no problem - shattering my legs (or trying to) in order to get a good time, problem. And I don't need to hear your "Well, maybe go run the race just to get a finish in." That won't work. It's been demonstrated to me that I have no sense. I'm going to enjoy a nice, long leg-stretch run from Tex n Shirley's Pancake House, followed by some corn pancakes.

But I'm gonna go run the course today with The Librarian and The Mechaniker and whoever else in the league decides to show up, and then we're gonna figure out why my car is unhappy, besides the fact that she's a bitter old woman with a history of manic depression. Tomorrow I'm going to write some term papers and such.

And now I have to go, because I've just remembered that I promised to loan my hockey helmet to a girl on the Orange Crush, and I'm actually at home now and can go and get it. If I don't jump on this, then I actually will forget it, despite reminding myself (and being reminded) like eighty thousand times.

Countdown to marathon... countdown to pecan pie.

So, in logging into the blog I accidentally looked at Space Ghost's countdown, and then I had a little mini panic attack that Catface Meowmers helpfully and immediately talked me down from.

I'm looking forward to this weekend's 22 miler. I mean, obviously I'm nervous about it but not really all that nervous. I'm doing well enough on my long runs and this is really the final test. I did an accidental 16 on Saturday (meant to do 15, long story) without any gels, just half a little bottle of Gatorade at both stops, and that went well, and I'm going to Gu Up on Saturday. So it'll all be good. And I'll throw myself a couch party afterward. Everyone is invited so long as I don't have to get up to let you in the door.

This week is all about organizing and cleaning my room without letting the project absorb me and cause me to neglect schoolwork. I think by Friday I'll have gotten it all to the point of being able to set up the trainer in the corner.

Yes, I know that my room is very tiny, and putting a bike on a trainer in it will make it even smaller, but winter means not being able to ride a road bike all the time, and my legs really do feel much better if I can spin them round and round. I went to the gym on Sunday and was unspeakably annoyed by all the other people there and I had to stop working out before I was done because of the time limit. I wanted to bike for the duration of the movie Suckerpunch, and to do so I had to pause, jump off one bike, walk upstairs to a different room and pretend like I hadn't been working out already.

Oh, and then a girl came and sat next to me with speakers on her mp3 player. Not headphones. Speakers. Because clearly I needed to partake in her music, too.

Suckerpunch, by the way, was rather disappointing to me. I was excited about seeing it for so long, never got around to seeing it and felt like a failure for that, and turns out it wasn't that good. It was visually stunning with a fantastic soundtrack but the plot was too layered - too many levels of narrative so that you couldn't ever just watch because you had to keep thinking, "Okay, the metaphor here is ___ so in that other world ___ is happening which means ___." So finally I just had to give up and be like, "Oh, look, a dragon. Pretty."

Whatever. I got my workout in, did not kill the Music Sharer, and then went and watched my Pirates win the first hockey game I've seen them win in a while.

Greetings from Lab Machine 100

I'm in the SuperLab here on campus, with a few minutes until I have to migrate over to the MHRA to go to class, so naturally I decided that I was going to use the time to tell the internet about my life.

My legs are sore.

That's my life.

Okay, so there's more to it than that. My legs are sore from running. Maybe running a bit too much. I had planned to run 10 miles with The Videostore Employee Who Doesn't Watch Movies on Tuesday, and totally forgot when I suggested the route that part of the Greenway is closed for repaving. So we had to detour on the fly, and of course wound up overrunning. By almost two miles.

The funny thing is, before marathon training started, I would have considered 12 miles a "long run" for the week. But my idea of distance is so skewed that it felt like a normal weekly run, except that it was in the pouring rain and my hips hurt a bit from ice skating the day before.

I won't really know until I hit the pavement this afternoon, but I'm thinking I might shave a mile or so off of today's run, and then stay in my pajamas until at least 3pm tomorrow - my archaeology professor is going out of town, and she's letting us watch the video on Egypt from our houses instead of making us come to campus and watch it together. Because she loves us and wants us to be happy.

So I'm going to keep in the true spirit of Sacred Ass-Sitting Day, and sit. On my ass.

This Saturday is my first 20 mile run ever. I'm excited. And in my excitement, I need to remember to go to the running store and buy a couple of gels of whatever brand tickles my fancy. I'm considering getting one with caffeine for the end of the run, just so I know how my body responds to caffeinated gels.

McDad and The One With No Feelings have volunteered to go with me to Richmond - even though they're not in marathon form - and pace me to finishing. I know I can definitely finish under 4 hours. That's really my only goal. It's two goals but also one. Anyways. It makes me feel a lot better, knowing that I won't be running alone (and therefore be super nervous and run way too fast from the start and then DNF).

The only mantra now is: DNFing is not an option.

Today I'm turning in Like Water For An Octopus, which is a short story I wrote that I'm actually titling The Drinking And The Dry, because Like Water For An Octopus is a joke that's not even really all that funny, but it stuck and now I can't stop calling it that.

I'm a little nervous about turning it in because it's an experiment on several fronts and I don't know how I really want the feedback to turn out. I tried to write a more 'readable' story. People in class are getting burned out and if they don't want to put in the time, I didn't want to give them a story that would make them. There's deeper readings and themes there, but they can just skim if they want to. I'm not responsible for the expansion of their reading comprehension skills. They're in college.

It was surprisingly easy to get The Little Monster to do The Rolex Sweep. Michael Jackson may not be able to dance like you, Skepta, but a 22 month old can.

I learned how to peel a clove of garlic in 10 seconds. 10 second to peel the clove. Not 10 seconds to learn.

Following yesterday's realization of HOLY CRAP ONLY 45 DAYS UNTIL RACE DAY! I am now thinking, "Wait... 45 days is a lot of time. A lot of runs. A lot of stuff that's going to happen between now and then and panicking? Not helpful."

The closer I get to this thing, the calmer and more in control of it I feel. The marathon is happening. I'm training, I feel pretty good, and I'm gonna be fine.

Funny stories for today....

I went out for a run with The One Who Makes Me Seem Inadequate By Comparison (But Who Is Really Nice So Just Deal With It) after class, and since it's all about-to-be-winter, it was dark way before we were done. I actually really like night running as long as I don't feel like I might be chased by bears.

But the point here is, that when I got back from my run, I walked into the Collective House and was hit by the most goddawful smell of my entire life. I rounded the corner to the kitchen, opened my mouth, and before I could say anything, Catface Meowmers said, "The microwave caught fire. Save you asking."

The Collective House was built in the fifties, and had a microwave-over-stove thing happening which we didn't question, and apparently it caught fire, with smoke and actual flames. So like rational adults, members of the Collective tried to cut the power to it. Only to find - this is my favorite part - there was no breaker for it. The Bearcat-Catbear turned off every breaker on the panel, and they stood in complete darkness... save for the comforting glow of the microwave.

So then the next option was "Take the microwave down and just unplug it." So with some grunting, and some cursing, and some powertools, the UberTransFan got it down to the stove, we clapped and cheered, happy in the knowledge that we would not die in our sleep, except...

It was wired directly into the wall. No plug. Just some as-previously-established LIVE wires, coming out of the wall and into the back of the microwave.

Luckily we know a JOAT with electrical skills, and he happens to be a nice enough guy to come and help us. We gave him money and dinner and the general Collective consensus is that he's our hero.

And then this morning I got my haircut, and I have to live with everyone's faces for a couple of days until they realize that the words "You have to give it a few days to figure itself out" aren't just things I'm saying, it's true. I think it has something to do with the combination of blowdrying and those rolly-brushes that Chris always uses. I mean, I'm not one to question her expertise - I mean, I call them rolly-brushes and I'm sure they have a name - but my hair doesn't look good when you do that.

I can't wait till it gets a bit cooler. I'm so ready for my fall/winter wardrobe. Leather jackets. Scarves. Knit hats. My apple hat has been calling to me for months. Soon I will be able to answer its call.

But for now, time to go talk about Marxist criticism some more. No, not criticize things Marxistly. Actually talk about Marxist criticism. This semester is drastically changing the way I read, between Critical Analysis in the Study of Literature and Writing Fiction Workshops.

So basically, you know, I'm having dinner.

It's my birthday tomorrow - you might have heard. And all weekend, I'm having dinner.

See, I tend to plan my days around one, maybe two events. That way everything else I need to do can fit into the cracks around those events. So when you make a plan with me, like having dinner, if you make it far enough in advance, chances are you're the only thing on my docket for that day. That isn't to say that I don't have a million other things to do. It just means that everything else is flexible.

Tomorrow I have two things planned, and they're close enough together that even though they don't overlap, it still stresses me out. Bike Dad is taking me mountain biking for the first time (provided the bike gets over its issue, more on that later after I've fixed it because I prefer to post in the aftermath of catastrophe and not during, as you may have noticed) and then the Collective is feeding me the dinner of my choice, which as previously mentioned is tempeh sweet potato curry and saffron rice.

THEN on Saturday I'm going to run 14 miles in High Point in the morning, have corn pancakes at Tex n Shirley's, and at some point (probably following a crashnap) I'll go over M. Chef's house and we'll be making birthday veggie lasagna, my choice following my query/challenge of "How many veggies can you stuff into a lasagna and still have it be lasagna?"

THEN on Sunday I'll be up early for a 60 mile bike/6 mile run, followed by a ride to Winston-Salem to have Family Birthday Dinner, which always sounds like a great time but usually turns out to be kind of upsetting because the answer to "Can't we all just get along?" with my family is generally a wide-eyed, innocent, "What? It isn't my fault we're arguing!" and the Beanie Baby and I wind up sitting in the back room watching Dangermouse while they argue about who started the argument.

But I'll be getting my mom's scratch-made carrot cake and maybe if I stick my fingers in my ears and say, "Lalalala can't hear you it's my birthday," every time they start, it won't happen. I can't hear you, chief, I've got a banana on my head.

I was explaining the hectic-sounding weekend to the UberTransFan and I ended, quite lamely, with, "So basically, you know, I'm having dinner." There was a long, bemused pause, and then I whined, "And they all want to know what kind of cake I want!"

I love cake. But three cakes three nights in a row is a bit much to contemplate.

I got this song in a free Amazon sampler, and I freaking love it:

Apologies for the live video quality. It's all the internet had to offer.

"I don't eat food. I eat science."

Two milestones, two mornings in a row:

I ran my first 15 yesterday morning. Officially the longest I've ever run, and I didn't crash or burn. I even successfully downed an Accel Gel mid-run and drank a little Gatorade. I had a stomach cramp for about 5 minutes, but I pretended I didn't and it went away; I also had a little GI issue towards the end (literally in the last mile) but I kept running and told myself that at the marathon, there would be Port-a-Johns for that sort of thing.

I'm really happy that I could do it, considering how slow and crappy I've felt lately. I'm starting to think that maybe I won't get quite the time that I was thinking I would before I got injured, but I'll definitely be able to finish. This Saturday I'm back down to 14, and then next week is my first 16!

I'm gonna keep trying the Accel Gel, because they're the sponsors at Richmond, which means that probably they'll be handing them out at the race. If it's an emergency, I need to know if I can take them or not.

This morning, I rode my first 50+ solo. The tandem ride I did with Bike Dad doesn't really count because I think he helped me out a lot and if I had died, he would have just dragged my ass back in. This was my first ride where it was all on me, to live or die. I did it and I'm happy about that. It was the first part of another rider's 120 mile group ride. She had scheduled a jump-off at mile 57 and I started the ride knowing I was going to take it, no matter how I felt at mile 56. I ate a granola bar before and sucked up an Accel Gel at the mile 30 pit stop.

I honestly think I could have done even better this morning if I didn't have to pee so badly between miles 20 and 30 that I could barely think. After the pit stop, I was riding much better. One of the other riders pulled up beside me and said, "You are an excellent climber. You go up the hills like they're not even there." Which made me happy, and made me even happier when I found out that she did IronMans.

I think the hills are a cross-over thing - I think the leg muscles you use to run are the same ones you need to attack hills, so my status as runner-who-bikes has me at an uphill advantage. I actually find downhills sorta difficult and I've noticed that that's when I tend to fall off the group.

After the marathon, Bike Dad and I are going to train longer distances. I want to bike to Ocracoke Island one day. (That's 272 miles. But part of that is a ferry ride.)

Friday is my birthday. I think I might be finally crawling out of the depressed, anti-social funk I wormed my way into. I hope so because Catface Meowmers is making me tempeh sweet potato curry for my birthday dinner, and I'm going to make funfetti cake the way I like it (shallow pan and almost crunchy), and it would be really awful to be depressed and snappish while eating funfetti cake in between monster servings of curry.

(Seriously, Catface Meowmers' curry is a reason to get up in the morning if you think you don't have one. Especially with saffron rice.)

I have to go feed some cats now.

Stick to the plan.

According to The Plan today, I am to run 7 miles. 7 "easy" miles. So that's what I'm going to do.

Ah, yes, The Plan. Which I did not write myself. I figured this was a smart move considering that I don't tend to make good decisions when it comes to training. 90+ degrees outside? Perfect running weather. Your first 13 miles since before you got injured? Do it in 100% humidity.

So, yeah. I got RunnerJen (that's how she is in my phone so that's how she's gonna be in my blog) to make me a plan. And it kind of highlights the fact that I'm a little bit dumb in my normal life. For instance, without the plan, today would have been 10 miles. Cross training is only on it one day a week (Sunday) when I usually bike for exercise (not for just getting around) three days a week. Also I expect I'm going to have to learn what a fartlek is. The only other major change is that my rest day has moved from Friday to Wednesday. Which means that I can eat cheese on Tuesday nights as opposed to Thursday nights.

My approach for this marathon is simple: Follow The Plan.

My idea is that I don't focus on any other fitness/body goals during this time. I do what it takes to run the distance in something like the time. I'm not gonna track food or worry about how many calories during this time (even though, side note, I'm pretty sure I'm getting fat and no one is telling me) because I have passed a royal edict entitled 'It Doesn't Matter What I Look Like Until After I Have Run A Bitchin' Marathon.'

Food right now is going to be one thing: Fuel. And it's about quality of fuel, and timing of fuel. Try not to junk myself up, but let it ride. There are automobile metaphors I'm just itching to break out, but I'm resisting. I don't know why I'm resisting, but I am. It probably has to do with the headache I have from re-editing 5 Rules this morning.

Apparently sometimes editors are bad at grammar, and don't care one bit about silly things like 'Voice of the Narrator in a First Person Narrative.' But that's ok. I'm fine. I don't need a nap or anything about it. I just need some more Iron Chef America, and maybe another cup of coffee.

I'm obsessed with this song. I think it's uncommonly beautiful. I can even listen to it full volume in the car when I have a migraine.

My Stargate is bigger than your Stargate.

During the run this morning, The Bad Influence and I were trying to breath air so humid it was condensing on my glasses, so obviously I felt chatty. I needed a distraction. I couldn't tell if The Bad Influence was annoyed or also in need of a distraction, because I wasn't really capable of caring about his needs.

I reached deep into the well of 'Shit That Doesn't Really Matter' in my head, and came up with, "Why isn't Stargate considered as a viable science fiction universe?"

Which is a genuine question I, as a Stargate fanatic, have always wondered. People are always asking, "Star Wars or Star Trek?" The Stargate universe is probably just as expansive as either of those. There's the original series, and Atlantis, and Universe, along with the original movie and two others. Multiple alien races have been well-established - the Stargate 'mythology' is probably even more fleshed out than Star Trek. Clearly, some Trekkie would argue that but I'd win because I'm tenacious and when cornered by Q I would just shout, "Thor! Thor! THE MOTHERFUCKING ASGARD!"

I mean, Stargate HAS Q - the Ancients. And they never throw up their hands and say, "It's a Q thing!" They actually explain the supposed hows and whys. They have space ships, and transporters, and even Jedi-like beings in the Ascendants.

So I think I'm officially backing Stargate in the 'My Fandom Is Better Than Your Fandom' fisticuffs. If only there were awesome Stargate conventions... oh, wait, look at that.

Now I really want to Stargate cosplay.

Girl is rockin'

I wanted to start this morning with something we all need sometimes: a montage of Santana Lopez being sassy.

Luckily, the internet knows, and provides.

Yeah, I'm aware that the fact that I watched the whole thing twice means that Santana Lopez just ate 20 minutes of my life. I'm OK with that, and I think she'd expect nothing less. (Though I'm not sure I ever realized how often Santana got slammed into lockers...)

I wish I'd had even half of her attitude in high school. I was kind of... well, no. Not kind of. I was a wuss. I practically had a big ol' sign on my back that said, "Slushie me." (Except it must have been clear that I was too miserable to even bully. When I think about my high school self, I picture the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, only if the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man had really long blond hair, and instead of proton packs the Ghostbusters were carrying little signs that said, 'You're gay! You're gay! Everyone knows it!' Less Santana Lopez, more... what's the most pathetic thing you can think of? That. Stuffing Ruffles Cheddar and Sour Cream into its face.)

I went on my first group bike ride yesterday, and it was seriously a lot of fun. We had to cut it unfortunately short on account of monsoon, but I'm going again on Wednesday. It felt really good. Sometimes I really had to push to keep up, but even that was... my quads haven't felt that kind of serious exertion in a while. When you're running in the heat and humidity, your pace and effort is determined mostly by your cardiovascular system and how much usable air you can manage to suck down your windpipe, which lately is not much.

I got up this morning at 5:30 to run, and the humidity was at 100%. How is that even possible, you ask? North Carolina, I say. So, I re-evaluated, and came up with three facts.

The Three Facts

1. 100% Humidity

2. 5:30 AM

3. Darkness On Country Roads With No Sidewalks Or Shoulders

These three facts combined made me decide to go back to bed and later, at the entirely reasonable hour of 9AM, send out an SOS SMS to someone who I thought would likely run with me. So now I have a legit plan to run my 10 miles with him out at the PEC at 5, when the humidity is only supposed to be 47%. Yes, it'll be hotter then, but the air will be breathable, and I will not be hit by a semi.

This song is the latest one to go on my Marathon playlist. Well, actually, this song as remixed and mashed up by DJ Earworm into the song 'Girl Is Rockin (Erik E vs Wyclef).' It's addictive in that form, but quite nice in the original, if not exactly running toned. Note that the actual song doesn't start for 37 seconds, because Wyclef loves his theatrical music videos, and that's what I love about him.

Shut up and drive.

At about 6:45 this morning, I didn't think it was going to be a good day.

A combination of no coffee, 6:45 in the morning, and a complete lack of understanding of the words 'north' and 'south' meant that I was pretty sure my running group was going to leave without me.

This is not an admission of any kind of criminal misdeed, but I got from Oak Ridge, NC to Randleman, NC in 15 minutes. Google says it takes 45 minutes to do that. I don't know how I made it - I'm fairly certain I somehow acquired the power of teleportation. It was probably the Sun Maid tart cherries I decided to gnarf when I was leaving the house. My internet research indicates that they have magical properties. (I just know they're freaking delicious and I didn't think I could make it until after the run since I had to be awake for so long. Empty-stomach-running really only works for me if it's a roll-out-of-bed-and-run type of thing.)

So I arrived in the parking lot of the ABC store of Randleman, NC in a tiny bit of a post-teleportation tizzy, and although I put on a cheerful face because the guys had clearly decided to wait for me, I was pretty sure that the run was gonna suck.

If you're not in North Carolina, or you haven't been paying attention, it's really, really hot out there. NOAA has a big red banner above the forecast that describes it as "excessive and dangerous heat and humidity." So the obvious thing to do is go for a run.

On the Thursday run, I died. Died hard. I walked back to the store. I never walk back to the store. It's my rule of Thursday night runs - or it was before I got hurt. I go as hard as possible, which means I feel like shit, which means that on any given Thursday, I'd love to quit. I had to make the rule of No We Want Some Mo', We Want Some Mo' (Remember The Titans FTW) or else I would never make it back. But on Thursday I was so hot I really, genuinely thought I was going to pass out, or vomit. It wasn't just me because The One With Manners had to stop walking three times because her vision was blacking. The only time I've ever been hotter is that time at Salem Lake last summer, when I was still learning how to run more than 3 miles, and I made it 5 miles around the loop (which is 7 miles) and was so overheated and dehydrated that I stopped sweating.

Today's forecast being all excessive and dangerous, I was pretty sure the run was going to suck. On top of that, it was my first time back running long. I hadn't run over six since the Wednesday 10-miler when I decided that something was really wrong with my ankle. The plan was 10 miles at around a 9 min/mile pace, but I didn't actually think that was going to happen.

Damn if it didn't, though. And at an 8:42 average pace.

I started to fade in the last mile, but... I don't know. I never felt really bad. I was aware it was hot, but I didn't seem to be feeling it the way the others were. I drank about two sips of Gatorade at both water stops, and shoved a chunk of ice in the back of my sports bra for the last leg, but Thursday hurt so much more. I guess my heat threshold got raised or something.

I came home, went to Target, took a nap in my papasan chair, and now I'm watching a British tv show on Hulu called How To Look Good Naked and thinking that maybe, just maybe, I can do this. Maybe I'll actually be just fine for Richmond.

I'm working on a Richmond Marathon playlist. 26 songs, one for each mile. I'm taking suggestions for it. This one is my current favorite song. Rihanna is so boss, and this video is so hot. I've had a thing for women in coveralls since Michele Lee donned a pair in The Love Bug.

You don't get to tell me what I find insanely attractive.

Like I said, the playlist will be 26 songs long (and I'm trying to figure out what qualifies as .2 of a song) but this might be the overall theme song for the thing. Today someone told me, "If you run your car hard, it breaks down. If you run your body hard, it builds up."

Ergo - Shut Up And Drive.