Hitting the Trail in Style - I'm Almost There

My butt hurts. Like, really hurts. The muscles and tendons and all the things that keep my legs attached to my butt? Well, they hurt too.

And my feet...don't even get me started on my feet. I'm totally buying new walking shoes - tomorrow, when I'm able to move again.

I WILL be able to move again, right?

I was --->this<--- close to cancelling my plans to hike with Hubbypants again this morning. Over 7 miles yesterday left me feeling stiff and achy this morning, with a desire to curl up next to my coffee cup and not leave the couch.

But then I started flipping through the Title Nine sportswear catalog. Go visit the link, I'll wait.

See? Functionally cute clothes! Everything wicks - as in, draws away perspiration, stretches in all the right places and then stretches back so you don't have any saggy-baggy areas.

Whenever I walk through REI with Hubbypants I admire the functionality of the clothing, the soft and supple fabrics that are also stylish (a.k.a. no frumpy active wear). Target is starting to carry some things, but for the most part is is clearly active wear. Title Nine and REI have bridged the chasms, married the two sides and produced clothing you can look fucking awesome in, despite whatever grueling activity you are doing at the time.

At least it looks that way on the hanger and in the catalog. I wouldn't know, because I've always fallen just outside of their sizing charts.

How I long to wear a slinky sundress that I can walk around in on a hot day and not show how I'm sweating buckets (wicking fabric is actually the best invention ever, sliced bread doesn't even come close). How I've wanted to wear those cute peasant cut blouses that are also form fitting with those flouncy skirts that fall just above the knee. Everything made of that lush fabric.

Oh...the fabric.

So, it was Title Nine that inspired me to put on my sports bra (that I actually did buy from them), my shoes and hit the trail for ANOTHER 7+ mile hike.

Oh, I put pants and shirt on, too. Just in case you were worried...I wasn't just wearing a bra and shoes. This time. I'm new to this hiking thing, I'm learning what is acceptable on the trails and I get so damn hot! Trust me...nekkidness is not generally acceptable attire for hiking.

My goal is to own some of those clothes.
And, not just own them, but actually be able to wear them.
And not just wear them, but have them fit properly AND look good.

Losing 25 pounds has gotten me closer, but Title Nine dresses are still just beyond my grasp. My next weight goal is 22 pounds away. By then I'll be inside of their sizing chart - barely, but I'll be there.

When that happens, I'm buying a damn dress.
Or something.
Anything...any damn thing that fits, I'm buying it.
 

Risk Schmisk - Diving into NaBloPoMo

I am the worlds best ignorer. I can ignore things on an epic level.

Clutter? Where? I don't see any clutter.

The cat puked...again...? I don't see anything. 

Oh, you mean THOSE dirty dishes? Where'd they come from?

Then, something comes along that disrupts the force of my superpower and makes me pay attention, like this month's NaBloPoMo. NaBloPoMo is National Blog Posting Month, and the idea is to write a daily blog post for the entire month. On BlogHer, NaBloPoMo is perpetual, like...every month is National Blog Posting Month. Everyone seems to be o.k. with this, despite the fact that BlogHer is also INTERnational.  I totally vote we update the wording on this.

But, I digress....

THIS month's NaBloPoMo theme is RISK.

I was going to post the definition of RISK according to dictionary.com, but damn...someone was having a bad day when they wrote the definitions and was being a total Debbie Downer: risk of war, risk of injury, risk of death. Sheesh, it's like a black hole opened up and sucked out all the happy!

So, I'll define it myself:

Risk - doing something which scares the pants off of you. 

See, Dictionary.com - this is NOT depressing. Terrifying, yes...but NOT a total downer.

I am a huge fan of taking risks. That doesn't always mean I do it myself. I often like reading about risks OTHER people take, especially when they are successful. I don't like reading about risks that end tragically. However, a risk that falls flat on its face, but ends well despite the crash? Yeah, I'm o.k. with those as well.

Are you with me so far?

All of my references to RISK are not physical. When I talk of RISK, I talk about the theoretical - where you remove the barbed wire that prevents you from stepping out of your comfort zone. Once you do, there are perimeter risks. Most of us are comfortable with small risks, posting a blog update daily is one of them. Once you move past that mine field, there are more topics to explore with riskier results - what will my readers think of me if I reveal more of myself? I don't me me, literally...I mean the community of bloggers who write about life in general.

Being genuine is a risk. Telling someone you keep a blog is a risk. Writing about a deep place inside ourselves is a huge risk. Exposing ourselves is a risk (this is one of those risks that is also literal - exposing unmentionable body parts to people on the street is against the law, so think before you  flash).

I attempt to do all of the above with some regularity, except the physical exposure...which I'm sure hubbypants will feel compelled to comment on.

I don't usually  tell people I have a blog. I have my blog link as an automatic signature on my email, but I often erase it when sending email to people I don't know (sometimes, even to people I do know).

I don't know why. It's fear, I suppose. Fear of being thought of as ridiculous, despite my love of all things ridiculous. While I love being wacky, I don't REALLY want people to think I'm a complete wackadoodle. Quirky and randomly whimsical - yes. Bat shit crazy - no.

Of all the risky things I've done in my life, revealing to a stranger that I write a blog shouldn't even be on my RISKY radar. But it is. And, because of this month's NaBloPoMo theme, I've decided to call myself out and face my fear.

I'm taking on the blogging challenge this month - 31 days of blog posts. I'm challenging myself to be less reluctant to share myself with people I don't know. I'll have to RISK being thought of as weird and awkward to some. Perhaps others will think of me as doing the back stroke in a pool of awesome sauce.

NaBloPoMo...here I come!

When Words are like Ninjas

I recently lamented, to anyone that still listens to me, about my having pieces of a story I was unable to make whole.

It happens frequently, an idea slams my brain leaving me unable to focus on the task of living, instead filling my thoughts with potential beginnings and endings. I'm good at that - bookend thoughts, without any real filling.

It also started me thinking about how I create what I call a story. It begins as a glimmer, something fluttering in on tiny fragile wings, hoping to take a breath and become flesh. I've written a number of things I call super short stories, which in reality are likely just drafts of a story - words flung onto paper because they were just too fidgety for me to keep inside my head until they matured. They aren't really stories yet, they could just linger in this stage forever. Well, actually, only until I wake up the next morning and forget everything. So, these ideas do, apparently, have a shelf life. 

Beginnings are my specialty, I start things like a boss. It is the follow through, in depth thought and completion where I falter...so, like all of it really. This brain fog that settles in, refusing to evaporate, doesn't help. I feel as if the completion to my ideas is forever out of my grasp.

But I still try, because I cannot escape the words, those little ninja acrobats that bounce around in my head, and I've come to think of myself as a Story Starter. Maybe I'm someone who writes a draftory (draft + story = draftory...it's brilliant, I'm a genius) and offers it up to the world, sparking a story idea in someone who isn't bound and gagged by their soggy brain. Someone who can actually put a story together. Do people pay for this sort of thing, draftories?


The creating part is so frustrating, especially for someone like me who is so UN-trained in  the art. The idea spills forward like a flood, I edit all the misspelled words, glaring grammar errors (while ignoring those that I deem cute) and then hit 'publish'. That's it. What results is whatever people perceive it to be.

However, it's really just a draft. It needs fermentation, to bubble and toil and be made just right. I have little patience (or skill) for that. And, besides...it is the danger zone. I've hastily written down great story ideas and then let them sit to contemplate. I edit - and wait. I edit some more, because I've done some thinking - ALWAYS a bad idea - and then edited some more. Now, my story resembles nothing of its former self - it has now become Frankenprose, a monster story that I don't like anymore.

It could be I've been impatient, yet again. Maybe I'm not giving my edits enough time, I'm not fermenting the changes long enough to evolve from a tart, juicy thought to a smooth finish. Perhaps.

I feel as if I'm bound within a glass box, where I see the end - but can only dream of it. My stories deserve a writer who can pump oxygen into them. Not all of my ideas are good, but some of them are. Alas, we may never know.

I'll leave you with the latest idea that's been plaguing my brain. It is still a draft, a story in its infancy. We'll see if it grows up some day.

Stairs

Every day after school this is where Gracie stops, the 6th stair. One foot tentatively touching the 7th, one foot up, one foot down - straddled between what is and what may be.

Every day she hesitates, steadying her breath, going over the plan: who to call first? Her best friend or 911? To call a friend means a comforting hand when the paramedics arrive. The one friend who knows everything, who knows how hard it is for mom to make it through some days. The one friend who was there for Gracie through each attempt. The one friend who knew Gracie's pain from Mom begging her not to tell anyone about what she tried to do, explaining them away as accidents, the mishaps of a klutz. Mom could be so persuasive, pleading like a heartbroken child. She was, really, so very heartbroken. Something was so wrongly shattered in Mom that no amount of love or good grades Gracie showered upon her would bring light to her eyes - only shadows lurked there.

One more step and a turn of the knob. One more step to know if fates will be changed forever and whether two people will finally be set free. A turn of the knob and quiet shout, "Hi mom. I'm home. Was today a good day?"

Juicageddon - Day 1: I'm Alive!!

We lived!

Dude...

I miss food.

Day 1 of the juicing fast was fine, except that we lost a soldier. Three of us went in, only 2 came out to plow ahead toward Day 2.

My daughter caved, she couldn't take it. After going all day she melted down and ate a bagel with pepper jack cheese.

I can still smell it.

And then she ate a bowl of Chocolate Cheerios.

I can still smell those, too.

S'ok, because it just means that I only need to buy enough veggies and fruit for just Hubbypants and I to continue this fast for 4 more days.

I need to buy a damn farm. The amount of veggies and fruit needed to make enough juice for at least 3 meals, plus more if we are feeling fragile, is staggering. I'm kind of glad my daughter dropped out. Cha-ching, baby! Oy.

However, so far everything I've created has been drinkable - not that we wouldn't choke it down if it weren't, no way are we wasting all that money nutritious gold.

Day 1 started with a 16 ounce juice made of:
Kale
Blueberries
Blackberries
Red pepper
Carrot
Celery
Apple
Cucumber

Lunch was a 16 ounce Berry Upbeet smoothie from Jamba Juice - made with beet/veggie and berry juices, nothing else.  It was tasty - but boy, something with sherbet in it would have been divine.

I spent the next hour and a half salivating every time we walked past the food court. Only crazy-ass people go to the mall during the first phase of a fast. While my sister-in-law enjoyed her lunch, I drank a venti chamomile tea from Starbucks. And it sucked donkey balls I was totally happy and satisfied with that.

The rest of the day was spent drinking various herbal teas and drinking gallons of water, 100+ ounces to be exact...enough to fill a damn swimming pool. That sloshing noise is me walking through the house.

When Hubbypants got home from work we walked for 30 minutes - up hill - before making our dinner juice. I made it up the hill, despite my deprived state...weakened from hunger, struggling for each step. O.k. not so much, but my tummy was rumbley and someone nearby was making something that smelled really 'effing yummy.

Dinner juice was:
Broccoli
Red & green bell pepper
Cilantro
Spinach
Apple
Celery
Orange
Cucumber
Avocado
Ginger

It was...fine. It tasted like a glass of veggies and fruit, so I guess I'm doing something right. Although, if I were to make it all taste like a chocolate milk shake? Well, then...I'd market that bitch and be richer than J.K. Rowling, those guys who founded Facebook and Microsoft and all the oil sheiks in the Middle East. I'mma get right on that.

As for how I'm feeling?  Fine. I'm hungry and I feel like I want to eat - like, chew something - but, I'm not feeling bad. I've got energy, no headaches or feeling faint, etc.

As of this morning I was down 4 pounds from yesterday's morning weight. That means that my body has expelled every ounce of liquid I consumed. I counted my eleventybillion trips to the bathroom toward my daily aerobic activity. Although, I must say I have not experienced the...um...cleansing...part of the fast yet. I just know there is another 2 pounds - AT LEAST - of horrid toxicity hanging around in my intestines and colon. Apparently my body is being a toxic hoarding jerk. Whatever, I'll just drown it again today and show it who's boss.

So, there ya go, Day 1. I'm now into Day 2 and...well...you'll just have to wait until tomorrow.

The Sea, NaBloPoMo and a Story??

February arrives tomorrow and I'm fully convinced it is a self-centered-attention-hog sort of month. I swear it bullied January into passing as quickly as possible. Wasn't January 1st just last week? What happened to this month???

 When February arrives tomorrow, pushing and shoving no doubt, it will bring with it yet another NaBloPoMo opportunity. I participated in the writing-every-day challenge back in November - the anniversary month of NaBloPoMo. It was fun, interesting, hard, frustrating and I'm so glad I did it. NaBloPoMo introduced me to some incredible writers to which I feel very connected.

The more a person writes, the better they become at coaxing the thoughts from their brain to have them travel down their arms and through their fingers to race along the keyboard *tippitytappity* - depositing those ideas onto a blank screen.

It is oodles of fun. Until it isn't.

There is always an, "until"...in everything we do, isn't there?

So, right now I'm trying to entice the story that is in my head to live in my computer instead. These things tend to relentlessly occupy my thoughts! While I'm doing that, I am also contemplating another run at NaBloPoMo. Maybe.

While I write, I am resisting the ever present urge to flee to the ocean. It has my number, the sea, and it keeps calling me. There is only so much nagging I can take before I cave in and give it what it wants. It misses me...I think.  So it should come as no surprise that my little story (??is this really a story??) has everything to do with the sea.

The Story

She fashioned herself a crown - not of rubies and pearls, but of bottle caps and sea glass.

With it She sat upon the shore commanding the waves to greet her feet with a caressing curtsy. She would then cast them away with her gnarled driftwood wand, only to watch their devoted return - the waves couldn't keep away, so devoted they were to her. She bid the seahorses to gather the diamonds that bobbed upon the swells, glittering in the sunlight, which She would then feed to the sharks - keeping their teeth strong and plentiful, should She ever need to declare war upon the destroyers of her realm. People pass by, with headphones and cellphones and chatting partners, blissfully unaware of her. They might imagine seeing a girl seated upon the sand, gazing toward the horizon. 

Did they see the diamonds? What about the chorus of turtles, or the jellyfish ballet?  No, they didn't. Her Queendom performing for her eyes only. When it came time to leave and do things that are required, expected and necessary, She knew the sea would pine away for her. "Fear not," she says, "for you belong to me and I to you."  And so it waits for her return.

Happy One More Day Closer To The Weekend, my peeps.

NaBloPoMo - So it begins...

November 1.

And so it begins.

There is an ominous ring to the phrase, "And so it begins...", especially for me after just reading _The Strain_, in which very non-glamorous, UN-sparkly, devoid of sexiness vampires are taking over the world. This trilogy takes the viral, parasitic approach to vampiredom.

I found myself wondering: Would I rather be faced with a zombie apocalypse OR vampire apocalypse?

I'm not going to answer for fear of some sinister force hearing me and making it all really happen.

'Cause it could happen, you know...I've seen Shawn of the Dead and Zombieland.

But for the sake of THIS particular blog entry, the phrase "And so it begins..." is in reference to NaBloPoMo - a blog-a-thon, of sorts.

It is essentially a writing project, the theme for this month being to blog for blogs sake! It happens in other months of the year as well...but November happens to be the month in which the idea of NaBloPoMo was originally born.

In other words, just git yur writin' on!
Write for the sake of moving fingers across the keyboard.
Let letters form your thoughts and drag them kicking and screaming into phrases and paragraphs.

The challenge is to update every day for the entire month of November. There are prompts, ideas, help, warm fuzzies...everything a person needs to write until their fingers go numb.

Notice I didn't say everything a 'writer' needs?

This is an exercise of the mind, really. At least it is for me. Whether a person identifies with the label of 'writer' is irrelevant. Anyone can participate, write, express and discover whether their imagination has limits or is limitless. Either way, discovery of oneself and exploration into breaking new ground WITHIN that self is never a bad thing.

And so I decided to do it, since I often plunge head first into situations before checking for rocks. Sometimes my ventures fail, but since they have never been disastrous and I'm a slow learner...eh, whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger...or undead...either/or.

So...here we go...Day 1.

Annnnd...she's off!

Peace.