Case of the Mondays: Welcome to the New Age

Some of you may find it a surprise to hear I have a fairly active imagination. (Haha - sike. That's called sarcasm.) Lately most of my daydreams have been supported by the soundtrack of Imagine Dragons and their hit Radioactive. I'm pretty convinced you could never top the original, but I found this version by Lindsey Stirling and Pentatonix and it is some stiff competition. It makes my music school nerd heart leap. Also, this song has brought me the realization that I have the fiercest runway walk ever. And I apparently wear a lot of leather pants in my head. You're welcome for that visual. Welcome to the new age, y'all.

Happy Monday!

Goin' Halfsies On a Marathon

I'm not gonna lie.  Half marathon training is kicking my tush.

I still think it was a brilliant plan for me to transition seamlessly from triathlon training to half marathon training.  I do best when I have fitness goals that yield immediate results if I'm faithful (or not), and quite honestly, the temptation to skip my weekly long run only lasts long enough to remember that I have an even longer run the following week.  The promise of extra future misery is a great motivator.

Until now all my runs have been reasonable distances. The first two weeks of half training were filled with 3-5 mile runs.  Then a rude awakening; my first real "long" run : six miles.  Six miles is still a far distance for me. While I've run that distance a few times, it's not something I do once a week or even feel ready for at any moment.  It is still a bit mythical and scary; one of those runs I obsess over a few days before.  I was supposed to run it last Saturday, but with the logistics of the last day of vacation and traveling home, it just wasn't going to work.  Sunday was a no-go as well, because Brian and I stayed up way too late Saturday hashing out school year plans while I cried because I was feeling overwhelmed, so the morning was shot and the rest of our day was full.

I knew Monday was the day of reckoning. While waiting for Brian to come home from work I prepared a super healthful and delicious meal for my family (what - spaghettios don't count?) while downing a late afternoon glass of mocha iced coffee (my second for the day, but who's counting?), and when Brian stepped in, I stepped out.


Here is the unofficial transcript of that run.

First Steps: Walking to the end of my driveway

This.already.exists.
And it's back by popular demand.

"Dude.  This already sucks.  I'm pretty sure it's going to rain.  I hate running in the rain.  My glasses get all splattered.  I need tiny windshield wipers on my glasses for when I have to run in the rain.  Why hasn't anyone invented that yet? Running Fit could make a killing on that.  I'm sure every runner with glasses would wear them.  I mean, I've seen runners, and some of them aren't at all concerned with what they look like while running. Why can't I just get my act together and wear my contacts already?  I have a bajillion pairs.  Oh, here we go.  The end of the driveway. I have to actually run now.  Kelly, once you start running you can't stop for over an hour.  This first step is a huge commitment."

Begin running down my street

Sabotaging my run like a ninja. 

"Yep.  This is not fun.  And my heart is already pounding.  I'm pretty sure this is as close as I've ever felt to an anxiety attack.  I seriously can't breathe.  And with each step I'm getting farther and farther away from home. WITHOUT MY PHONE.  Doh!  Ohmylanta, I will have to shamefully beg a stranger to borrow their phone when I have to call and ask Brian to come pick me up because I am obviously dying.  Or I just drank too much coffee a few minutes ago.  But I'm sure it's not at all my sensitivity to caffeine that is causing me to feel shaky but really just stress because it's almost the school year and I have to get my crap together to teach the kiddos pretty soon."

(This is when I take a one mile interlude to mentally rearrange the furniture in my house to make it more "education-friendly" without turning my entire life into home school.  This interior design session ends with the revelation that we need all new furniture. For the entire house.)

(This is also when I make many mental notes: Google how to add a laminate kitchen table top to our existing table because refinishing that mess just will not do anymore; make a pro/con list for how mad it would make Brian if I painted the half bath without talking to him first; compose a compelling argument to present to the offspring to let them know we are getting rid of Mac-n-cheese lunches on Tuesdays because this whole "allergen free mac-n-cheese" business on a busy day just ain't happening. (Can you seriously imagine having to make from scratch dairy-free mac-n-cheese in the middle of a busy day?)(Being the Best Mother in the World is just not in the cards, it seems.)

Mile 2.5 - Running through a neighborhood of McMansions

I could put in some serious training
time to excel at that sport.

"Okay, so you aren't going to die.  Seriously, Kel. This is less than a 5k right now.  It only sucks in your mind.  Your body can totally do this.  In fact, you are a total Rock Star Bad-A.  Except for just now when you tripped on the pavement and said, "Ueeegh" in order to regain your balance because that's obviously how balance works ... you know, being controlled with verbal help and all. Good thing no one but that entire lawn crew of strapping young men saw you stumble. Aaaannnnd in about twenty feet or so you are going to have to run through their congregating mass loitering about the sidewalk.  This is a good time to cross the street.  But it might shave a little distance off my run distance! Then it won't be a SIX MILE RUN!  That's totally okay Kel, serious racers always find the shortest way to run the course; crossing the street here only makes you more like a professional athlete."

(*I cross the street* *I also try to make it appear as if I meant to do that all along and not just because these men all witnessed my gracefulness in action*)

Mile 3 - My iPod is mocking me

"Mumford and Sons is singing Lover's Eyes.  That.is.hilarious.  'I walk sloooooow, I walk slooooow....'  Very funny, iPod."

Mile 3.25 - Playing Chicken with a goose

It was exactly like this except
just one goose.

"Ummmm, Goose?  Dude, you are like fifteen feet away and you see me coming but you show no signs of vacating the sidewalk.  Maybe you didn't realize that I'm bigger than you and a human and you are on my turf.  I don't run in your pond. Seriously.  I'm now like ten feet away. WTHeck, Goose?  Have you no fear?  I'm a predator.  *audibly growl* *Goose looks at me like, "That all you got?"* Uummm, seriously, move.  It's my right of way. Ohmylanta, this goose is going to attack me. And I'm pretty sure that right now I could not outrun this goose.  Being the age of the cell phone camera, someone is going to record this goose attacking me and running me down as I attempt to flee.  I'm going to end up on YouTube.  And probably Jay Leno (which would totally be a conflict of interest because I already have a sweet deal with David Letterman).  Or maybe even Jimmy Fallon, which? would be sorta rad.  Because then I'd be one step closer to my six degrees of being best friends with Jimmy Fallon. TWO FEET AWAY! TWO FEET AWAY. Are we doing this, Goose?  BRING IT O- sweet, you moved.  We're totally cool."

Mile 4 - The Fake Out

"Ok, Kel, just make it to the stoplight. Then you can stop and rest while you wait for the light to change.  This is a super busy road and it's rush hour, so you should have a good amount of time to catch your breath.  Just ... make it ... to ... the light ... OH NO YOU DIDN'T JUST GIVE ME THE LITTLE WHITE MAN THE SECOND I GOT HERE."

Mile 5 - That Time I Got Passed by Dean Karnazes

Dean from behind. Which is how
I would see him if we ran together.
"Kelly, you just ran 6 miles? That's
cute.  I'm running 600. See you at
the finish."

"This is kind of nice.  I'm in the home stretch.  Sure, I'm slowing down a bit, but I'm still going to finish well.  I've had some time to myself, breathing in some fresh air, feeling a slight breeze tickle my beet red face. This might even be a tad relaxi- OHMYLANTA, SLOW DOWN, DUDE. You can't just run up behind a girl with her iPod playing and race past her like a BAT OUT OF HELL.(Meatloaf begins singing in my head "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" drowning out Cypress Hill who "Ain't Goin' Out Like That" which is quite a feat.) That guy who left me in the dust looks just like my legendary running hero Dean Karnazes.  Like a much taller Dean.  A Dean with longer - and lighter - hair.  A Dean who is 30 pounds of heavier. So really, he looks nothing like Dean at all, except that this guy was fast as well.  Guess what, bro? You get in your 6 miles in 30 minutes, I'll get my 6 miles in 60ish, but at the end of the day we are both logging 6 miles. AWWWWW SNAP."

Mile 6 - GET ME SOME WAAAAATER

"I totally just ran six miles.  LIKE A BOSS.  I can't wait to do a 7 mile run in six more days.  Awesome."  

I collapse after I stretch and ice like a good girl. The end.

This loveliness is after a 4 mile run during The Great Cottage Get-Away of 2013.  This is totally what I looked like after six miles except I looked like I ran the original 4 miles plus 100 more.  Effortlessly.

This book may scream "Soccer Mom" but it reads "ROCK STAR PRINCESS"

One of my biggest secret fears is that one day I will be at the gym, doing cardio and listening to my iPod, when a stranger will come up to me mid-workout, pull my sweaty ear buds from my ears, and before I can scream, "NOOOOO!" will stick them in their own ears in order to hear what I am jamming to.  And I will be outed for all the bad music I thoroughly enjoy.

This fear is so ingrained that if a person meanders too closely to my machine I actually reach up and shut down my iPod if the song is embarrassing enough. (I would just skip it but chances are I'm really excited that Julianne Hough is finally singing the medley Sister Christian/Just Like Paradise/Nothin' But a Good Time (from the hit musical Rock of Ages starring Tom Cruise) because I keep my music on random and it's not every day that you get great hits like that.)(Keeping it on shuffle allows me to pretend God is a DJ because I don't keep God in a box, y'all.)

On the outside, while I'm all,

Scorching reservoir?!?! I die.

in the private world kept safe by my ear buds there is a slight chance* I am rocking out to Bad English singing When I See You Smile.  (*there is a 100% chance.  It is totally happening.) (That's how I can face the world.) (Oo-oh)

Sometimes I wanna give up, I wanna give in,
I wanna quit the fight; but then I see you Baby
And everything's alright.
Everything's alright.

Or conversely, I'm being white girl ghetto with Cypress Hill and I Ain't Goin' Out Like That.

"Let's kick it ese

Commin' out tha slums, it's da hoodlums 

I'm pullin' my gat out on all you bums 

So bring it on when you wanna come fight this 

Outlaw, I'll kick ya like Billy Ray Cypress Hill"

My video face is much more angst-y,
Amy Lee.

Other times, while I'm looking 110% committed to my speedwork on the treadmill, I'm really on stage at American Idol tearing it up with my performance of either Evanescence's Call Me When You're Sober or Tracy Bonham's Mother Mother. Occasionally I catch myself looking too hardcore in the mirrors opposite my person, but honestly, it's hard to mask the legendary internal performances that are routinely taking place.  Because? I am that good.

If it's a premenstrual introspective day, I let Anna Nalick sing Breathe (but only until I get in my car and then I own that mess), or the Bangels sing Eternal Flame.  Debbie Gibson also takes a turn with Lost in Your Eyes.  O-Town's All or Nothing just kills me because those are some heartbroken boys who are only asking for some exclusivity in their relationships.  Is that *really* too much to ask?!

"Don't make me promises
Baby you never did know how to keep them well
I've had the rest of you, now I want the best of you,
it's time for show and tell"
Just look at those faces.  How could you, Baby?

I have gotten a bit caught up in the music and accidently air drummed to the following songs while on the treadmill, elliptical, or stationary bike:

Green Day - Longview (I got thrown out of a Green Day concert when I was fifteen.  No joke.  I found myself with my friend Matt standing outside Cobo Hall in Detroit wondering how we were going to get home because all of our friends - and rides home - were still inside the venue because they didn't try to run for the main floor/mosh pit from their balcony seats, get caught by security, and literally thrown out onto the streets.)(P.S. Mom, I will deny this ever happened if you try to talk to me about it.  I am still your favorite angel of a child.)

My Chemical Romance - Welcome to the Black Parade  (I had a four run streak where I pretended to be the drummer for My Chemical Romance the entire run.)

Rage Against the Machine - Killing in the Name (I won't do what you tell me.)

Needtobreathe - the live recording of Prisoner (Actually way more intense than the  studio version.)

Harvey Danger* - Flagpole Sitta (Lyric I loved until I found out they were being ironic hipsters back in 1997 and really making fun of me - "I wanna publish zines, and rage against machines, I wanna pierce my tongue it doesn't hurt it feels fine.")

<3  RIP

Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit (How can you not air drum to this?)(Maybe you're just in a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial ... )

Beastie Boys - Sabotage (also I forgot where I was and did the dog bark out loud in Sure Shot while on the treadmill)(That's worth about 40,000 Awesome Points if you're keeping score.)

P.O.D. - Boom (here comes the boys from the south)(I saw P.O.D. play in a church gym circa '98-ish.)(A church gym, y'all.)

The Breeders - Cannonball (actually this was accidental air guitar)

*Do you remember Harvey Danger?  They were kinda a big deal in 1997.  And by "big deal" I mean they were on TRL once.  I totally met them in a very "Needtobreathe type moment" where I knocked on their tour bus door outside of St. Andrew's Hall in Detroit and they let me and my friend Megan come inside the bus and interview them for my zine.  Because it was 1998 and I had a zine.  Which was kind of like a blog.  That I typed on a typewriter and printed at Kinko's and distributed at actual record stores.  Because I was DIY and this was before computers were a thing.  Because I'm old.*

I have a ton of music I would like to write about, but I am listening to my iPod as I write this and House of Pain's Jump Around is now blasting in my ear.  I find that I have to sign off and go dance because that song is pretty much a command to move.

Thanks, Babe. It's not all fun and games being a blogger.

Happy Hump Day, y'all.

The Best Resource Since Web MD

Those who suffer from regular migraines know that they are much more than "really bad headaches" and have a management plan already in place.  They follow preventative measures, surely, but even those are not guaranteed to succeed.  Migraine sufferers can sense the early stages of the throbbing sensation and aim to curb it before it becomes debilitating.

For those that have had exactly three migraines in their entire life and have no set plan, I offer some suggestions for dealing with that pesky little headache that blurs your vision has you just wanting to die puke already.

The first thing you will want to do is deny you have a migraine. You will go about your regular day reasoning, Hey, you're a homeschooler, the children need their education.  Math will be especially awesome when you have to focus on converting millimeters to centimeters and cannot see the decimal point because it won't stand still.

Next, you will admit you have a bit of a headache and search for some Excedrin to take the edge off the pain.  You will also remember that dehydration causes slight headaches and you had a decent trail ride the evening prior; so you'll just down a few liters of agua and know you'll totally be fine.

After school is done - where you've done a stellar job and only had to take scissors away from the two year old one time and also maybe need to scrape twenty-two princess stickers off the kitchen table because Ezra was quiet during Eve's math lesson because he was busy redecorating - you will notice the children are a bit loud.  In fact, they are so loud that maybe they are causing the stress that is surely the cause of this tiny headache that is making you a bit dizzy.  The correct response to this diagnosis is that you need some "me" time.  The kiddos are happily playing Library (this is where they get out every book, cd, dvd, and stuffed animal they own and display them around the living room) so you head outside to mow the lawn.

The noise from the lawn mower is actually considerably less than the noise from your children and the mower totally isn't demanding mac and cheese for lunch again and so initially this is a good move on your part.  It's only about a minute in when the sun has intensified a thousand percent that you question the merit of this plan.  But by then you are committed.  Giving your two year old a mohawk was perfectly acceptable; giving the lawn a mohawk just confesses to the entire neighborhood that you are lackadaisical about your lawn maintenance.  In fact, the outside of your home reflects the state of the inside, so if you leave your lawn all willy-nilly, people will probably assume you are a hoarder.  Like a real life "A&E Hoarders" hoarder; one with dead squirrels buried in the mountains of decaying takeout cartons that fill your living room.  A tiny little headache is not going to let the neighbors think you harbor deceased vermin in your domicile.

Ten minutes into this chore, you will hate your neighbors.  Who are they, anyway, to assume you are a hoarder?  And seriously, while Don and Kelly to the left always edged their lawn, Eric and Stephanie to the right never did.  Which made it totally cool that you could slack in that department.  You loved Eric and Stephanie.  But then Eric had to go and get "seasonal allergies so bad he could no longer mow the lawn himself" and hire a service who consider edging the lawn something you do every time you stop by for a quick trim, which only highlights the fact that you do not edge your own lawn with nearly enough frequency for it to seem like you do it at all.  So now, here you are, mowing your lawn in a zigzag because you can't walk straight pissed off because the stakes have been raised because of pollen.  Forget you, Pollen.

Lunch time means you will figure maybe you are just hungry.  It's merely a hunger headache that is causing the lights to get so bright your eyes are reduced to slits even indoors.  The kids totally win and get mac-n-cheese because for the love of God why are they being so loud?!  You will have a Weight Watchers frozen meal and tell yourself it's healthy because it is calorie controlled and includes spinach.  Spinach is good for your eyes, right?  Or is that carrots?  Either way it's a vegetable, so, there's that.

After lunch you will cuddle some kids on the couch while your eight year old reads a storybook because there is no way you can handle that mess.  You will decide that scrunching your face up - eyes tightly shut, nose like a rabbit sniffing, and mouth puckered - is the best method of pain management currently available, and you will sit like that for the duration of story hour.

At nap time you will finally admit you have a migraine.  You will take a shower and pray to throw up, and after that, lie quietly on the couch until the kiddos come creeping out.  This is where your genius will truly reveal itself.

You will convince the five year old to play Sports Medicine.  She will be the trainer responsible for gently massaging every muscle in your body from the neck down.  The ten year old will be a Scalp Masseuse.  You won't even know if this is a thing, but if you say it with enough authority it totally becomes a thing.  She will gently rub your scalp as you stress the importance of whispering in the presence of a client.  How this morphs into a game of Examine the Pregnancy Stretch Marks and Assign Possession to Each Child, you have no idea.  But soon the five year old and ten year old are appraising both the color and depth of each mark and declaring whose era of pregnancy to which they belong.  As you lift your head in disbelief to witness this game, you engage your abdominal muscles, which raises your entire abdominal area because you are a hardcore athlete with only a smallish layer of chub resting on top of your rock hard abs, causing the five year old to shriek in delight, "It's like bread dough!  It's rising like bread dough!" and sink her hands lovingly into the flesh while kneading away.

As awesome as that is, you will sigh in relief when the neighborhood kids return home from school, and your brood bolts outside to play with them.  This signals not only the start of a quiet house but also that reinforcements, in the form of your spouse, are coming home to take over soon.

When the spouse comes home, retreat to your bedroom, draw the shades, get into bed, and dream about a McDonald's hot fudge sundae.

(Disclaimer: The information found on this site is provided as a resource for viewers and is NOT intended as medical recommendations or professional advice ... but I'm pretty sure a real life doctor would recommend the exact same thing.)

Weight Loss in the 21st Century

If you ever visit Disney World, do yourself a favor and travel to Fort Wilderness.  Most people visit the resort for the Chip ’N Dale’s Campfire Sing-a-long, or to experience the Hoop-Dee-Doo Musical Revue, but I'm here to tell you to make your way to the Meadow Swimmin' Pool.

Scene of the crime.  I may or may not have exercised
my mommy bladder here.  But I assure that if that did
happen, it was totally an accident.

Once there, do not get in the water because I peed on the water slide.  Instead, find the women's restroom by the snack shop (totally stop first and eat if you feel like having a Mickey Mouse shaped rice krispies treat)(refuse to share it with your children because *they* have their own snacks and *you* are on vacation).  Also? Make sure you are wearing your bathing suit.

This is of vital importance.

Wearing your bathing suit, with a tummy full of rice krispies treat, step inside the women's restroom, veer to the left, and check yo'self in the mirror.  

This will probably be the most defining moment of your life.

Because.

This is the moment that will chart your course in life.  This is the moment you will question exactly how deep your convictions run.  This is the moment you will count every cost, weighing the importance of your identity and good name against the prospect of getting caught stealing the most flattering mirror in the history of the entire planet Earth and probably the rest of the solar system as well.

You will decide not to steal this mirror, but go ahead and spend fifteen five minutes checking yourself out from every angle.  Check your butt.  Do it.  It looks fly.  Arms?  Sha-zam.  Mama Gut?  No kiddos up in here because you are wearing a "skirted" tankini.  (Like a mom boss.)  Your thighs are soooooo cute.  Adorable, even.  YOU are adorable.  And thin.  Almost tiny.  Pixie-like.  I'm pretty sure you could be Tinkerbell's body double.

You might start to think something like, "Dude.  This is amazing.  I know I don't really look like this but there has to be some scientific reason this mirror works this way.  Something to do with light and reflection and refraction (you are vaguely remembering 7th grade science and also a recent trip to a hand-on museum with the kiddos so some of the vocabulary is still fresh in your mind).  I wonder how hard this would be to duplicate synthetically?  I mean, this is the 21st century.

(Maybe you will take a second to figuratively google 'What century is it in 2013?' because you are in the restroom at Disney and have no literal access to google but can't quite remember if it's the 20th or the 21st.)

Isn't there an app that could make me look like this to other people all the time?  Or an eye implant?  Or I wonder if we could determine the angle of the light and figure out how to move the sun ... no, that would be impossible.  But maybe we could build a dome and position a new fake sun so that it shows us in the skinniest position possible and then we could all move inside the dome and look thin forever.  It would be just like Biodome!  Pauly Shore ... Stephen Baldwin ... Dude, Buuuuuudy."

At this point it may occur to you that living inside a man-made biodome in order to look a tad smaller is probably a lot harder than, say, watching what you eat and exercising.  So you resign yourself to a life of better food choices maybe not on the remainder of your Disney trip and daily working up a sweat, knowing at the very least this mirror exists.  There is a tiny spot of heaven on earth, and it's in central Florida.  By the time you finish up your vacation with one last trip to visit the mirror, you will be convinced of one thing:

Disney *is* the most magical place in the world.

Pretend I have fairy wings.  Just like Tink, amIright?

Calf Update

"Ok Kel.  Get back to running.  It's time to
moooooove it."

Remember the horrific calf injury that kept me from running for five whole weeks?  The one that necessitated I spend all day in my pajamas and drink real Coke for breakfast during my pity party?  The one that kept me sidelined during the most calorie-laden season of the year?  That calf injury?  Well, it's been five weeks and I tried out some running.  How's my calf doing?  It's vealing fine, thank you very much.



Because I really, really, really want to avoid re-injury, I decided my first post-injury run would just be the scheduled workout for week one of the Couch to 5K program.  It took every ounce of humility I had to get on the treadmill at the gym and run one minute intervals.  As we've previously established, every person at the gym is there with one unified goal: To watch me workout and judge my progress.  It killed me to get on the treadmill and run sloooowly for one minute when I am obviously a super svelte hardcore athlete.

Thankfully, because I'm not a heathen, I know my Bible and it tells me "Pride goeth before a fall". I'm pretty sure that what the good Lord meant by that wisdom was that if I was going to let my pride dictate my first post-injury run by jacking up my speed and distance, then I would surely and quite literally fall in a torrent of agony as my calf strained again which I would communicate in the most dramatic of YouTube worthy ways. And falling off the treadmill all broken and wounded and writhing in pain would have been way more embarrassing than running one minute intervals at 5.2 mph.

Still, I was completely unprepared for these feelings of inadequacy. Don't worry, however; I am an adapter.

The first thing I did was make sure my t-shirt was on full display.  This conveyed that not only had I already participated in a 5K, this particular 5K was also THE WARRIOR DASH.  I was way above the ranks of a normal runner; I could also crawl through mud and leap over fire.  This made me feel a little better.

Next, I picked some fights with people in my head who were not looking at me in the mirror opposite us which was proof they had already seen me and deemed me a poser and unworthy of their time.

Then I felt bad because I'm not a mean person who assumes the worst of others and these sweet people I had so rashly judged were just really focused on the televisions that face the cardio equipment.  Wheel of Fortune was on (and who wouldn't be altogether mesmerized since they now offer a grand prize of $35,000?).

Finally, I decided the back stories of all the people on the machines around me.  The lady on my left was flying on her treadmill (seriously, I think it's really rude to look at someone's speed but I totally did it anyway but had I looked I would've seen she was running around 9 mph.  That's about a 6 and a half minute mile).  The obvious conclusion was that she was doing a tempo run because no one runs that fast on a regular run.  But then I realized I was, in all likelihood, running next to a professional athlete who was just killing time at my gym before going into hyper-training mode for the summer Olympics in 2016.  (Rio, Baby!) I probably should have gotten her autograph. Or at least some training advice.

"Must ... get to ... the top..."

The man on my right was on the incline trainer, and not only was he seriously inclined, he also practiced the loudest exhale in the history of the universe. Ever.  He was no doubt in training to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, and needed to perfect his breathing in order to conquer any altitude sickness he might encounter.  I was in awe of his plans and drive.  I could never climb Mount Kilimanjaro because I have four kids and can't afford that mess. (This is when I started rapping -in my head- "Lose Yourself" by Eminem because "food stamps don't buy diapers, and it's no movie, there's no Mekhi Phifer, this is my life" and even though I've never been on food stamps this lyric is about being driven and providing for your family and I can totally relate to that which is proof that I'm so thug.  Logic = there it is.)

By the end of my workout I had gone the distance of about 2 miles.  It felt fantastic.  I was encouraged not only by a calf muscle that held up but also by the greatness that surrounded me.  And that is why you should train with champions.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful

Dear Jesus, if you are going to send a
blizzard, I would prefer mine with
Oreo cookies.  

Well, the good Lord saw fit to dump a bunch of snow on our neck of the woods.

...


*Searching my brain for a Pollyanna-type comment*


It's really pretty from inside my warm and cozy house.





If I had my choice I would live somewhere warm and sunny all the time.  So today's post is a return to my happy place, when I could ride my bike outside on a wooded trail while wearing a tank top. Bliss.  Here is a day in the life of a hardcore trail-riding cyclist who also won the X-Games.

And THAT'S How I Won the X-Games (posted in June)

Facebook Status: It may be all Zen to you to practice your flute in the middle of the woods at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, but to me, on my first trail ride, coming around a bend and hearing faint strains of Bach's Partita in A minor only reminds me a bit of a whacked out suburban version of Deliverance. And I'm already peddling as fast as I can.

Yep. My first trail ride.

I left the house at around 6:15 a.m. after mapping and remapping my route obsessively via mapmyride.com. I had 12 miles scheduled and I've been spoiled by Sarah planning our routes. But she couldn't bike that day so I decided to Navy Seal it and do some trail riding. (Because if Navy Seals rode their bikes to train for a sprint triathlon they would totally go trail. Blindfolded.  While being chased by rabid squirrels.) Also, major roads (the kinds my neighborhood is surrounded by) still freak me out (maybe because Brian, in his deep seeded love for cyclists, mentions taking them out with his car how much he hates sharing the road with them whenever cycling enters the conversation).  So hitting up a place that dubbed me the biggest threat had a certain appeal.

I spent most of the ride pretending I was in the X-Games. I made sure I had my hardcore face on, and skidded on the gravel as much as possible because I have poor balance and limited overall control of my ride.  There were a ton of (imaginary and consequently invisible) fans cheering me on, and I mugged for the (again, imaginary and invisible) cameras and enjoyed a few voice-over commentary moments.  Like,

"Kelly, tell us about that last turn, where it looked as if you were going to attempt a full pirouetting dismount."
"Well, John, it got dicey out there.  I was going so fast and misjudged the angle.  (Insert dramatic pause to catch my breath because I had just finished the event and won.)  I thought I was going to have to bail and didn't want to eat it on those tiny bits of gravel huge rocks, but thanks to my extensive ballet training (i.e. my best friend is a ballerina and uses terms like pirouette in casual conversation) I knew it would be the best way to get outta there.  Thankfully I recovered without any dance moves."

also

"Kelly, on bridge number four you made this fantastic face - tell us what you were thinking."
"Are you referring to when I came out of the saddle, John?  I was thinking, "I'm totally riding out of the saddle.  In the middle of the woods.  And it's gorgeous out. And since I'm standing up I can see the stream raging river below the bridge.  And at the next games I'm going to suggest we ditch the bridges and ride through the rapids.  Because this is the X-Games, not a tea party*."

*not a political statement.  It's simply that I have a gaggle of girlies and have partaken in my fair share of actual tea parties.  And they are nothing like the X-Games.  But now that I'm on a tangent, I remember my children frequently wear their bathing suits and jump off the couch into a blue comforter. They also paddle board, surf, and barefoot ski on the same blue comforter, so, yeah, my house is pretty much like a year round X-Games.

Miles 8-9 took place on a paved trail where I experienced my first X-Games medal ceremony.  And really, it was almost embarrassing to win so many of the gold.  I also saw a group of deer, which was cool but completely unexpected as I was really close to a major highway.  Because I was going so fast (have I mentioned that yet?) I came upon them suddenly, and they were only a few feet away before they took off.

Also?  I've seen a number of sweet neighborhood rabbits on my morning runs.  They generally slowly hop away as I approach.  But I have a different effect on rabbits while on my bike.  They freak the heck out.  I wanted to be all, "Dude, rabbits, I'm cool.  I wouldn't run you over or hunt you.  Even if it was the end of the world.  Or the Hunger Games.  Probably."  But then I thought about it and knew I was lying in my head to those poor rabbits.  But maybe not.  Because although I would totally eat them during the Hunger Games, I would let someone else hunt them.  So, semantics = not a liar. Awesome.

I have another trail ride tomorrow - a scheduled 15 miles.  And in honor of the summer Olympics,  I might take a break from the X-Games, and enter a few cycling events there.  So I'll probably pass Michael Phelps as the most successful athlete in history.  Better call Guinness. (The World Records, not the beer.) (Heathen.)

Long Live the Queen

Kelly:  Esther!  It's time to come out of your room and do some math!

Esther: COMING, MAMA!

Just an average Monday.  This is her "Flashcard Face."

(If you are not familiar with Esther, take some time to read about her in my Super Nanny post.  Or check out the Facebook Friday post staring my little Drama Queen.) 

I've got interviews ALL DAY LONG

The number one keyword search that brings people to my blog by a wide margin is "David Letterman".  I owe the man a lot, people.  I mean, first he set me up with a fairly lucrative correspondence position on his show which doesn't really exist, and now he is boosting the ratings of my personal blog that I do in my spare time for fun.  What's next, Dave?  Are you going to send me to Disney World because I'm pretty sure I could be an amazing Disney Princess*?


*I've given this some thought.  And by that I mean it's occurring to me right this second that I would be an awesome Disney Princess.  I could be "Kelly - the Disney Princess who Lost 100 Pounds After Having Four Kids" (we might need to spend some time thinking of a pithier alternative title - totally open for suggestions).  I would be a Disney Princess aimed at the Mom demographic, which has to be an astronomically huge contributor to every Disney dollar spent.  Genius.  You're welcome, Disney-Pixar.  You better hurry up and call me because I'm in high demand.

Today especially Dave is keeping me busy.  In fact, for the next two days I have signed an imaginary agreement to stay off Facebook in order to preserve my opinions solely for The Late Show audience. I will be in frequent communication with Mr. Letterman to discuss my feelings on the four hundred billion updates/last ditch effort campaigning/telephone and poll solicitations that will be barraging me as the day progresses. That way I won't feel the need to reply to the political posts on Facebook by people I consider friends that are forgetting they know me and are tearing apart everything I am with public blanket statements that personally attack my character because of who I want as a president. (That?  Was probably the longest sentence in Sublurban Mama history.)(Sorry, Dave; I've got to work on my sound bites.)

So, because this is my public platform and I'm the boss of it, here is one piece of election advice. Think carefully about the people in your life that you love, respect, and admire.  Pick a few that believe the opposite of you in all things.  If there is no one you love that believes differently than you, you need to seriously stop everything you are doing and go find a friend like this.  Now, every time you are tempted to spew voice an opinion that is not at all about an issue but more a personal attack on an entire group of people, consider if you would say any of those things to the people you love.  It shuts my mouth most of the time, and my friendships are the stronger for it.

Now go vote.  Because this is America.

Johnny Depp and Jack White: The Men Who (Almost) Changed My Life

Weird, right?  My future will never be the same.

So this is what could have happened during the Great Disney Extravaganza.  (This portion is best read while having Tiffany's Could've Been playing in your head.)(Don't know it? Click here.)(You're welcome.)

When we were eating our lunch outside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride in Magic Kingdom and I was a little *stressed* we might miss our Fastpass time for the Jungle Cruise (which was dope), I could have insisted we stay and watch the pirate show that was starting on the stage ten feet from my person and worry about the Jungle Cruise at a later time. Then, had we stayed, I might have noticed that the man playing Jack Sparrow on the stage ten feet from my body was actually Johnny freaking Depp.  Because apparently sometimes Johnny D likes to sneak in to Disney World and play Jack Sparrow for fun without announcing it to anyone.

Had I chosen to stay and been the only person to notice with my keen Sublurban Mama Spidey Skillz (actually a thing) that it was really Johnny Depp, I would've stalked trailed behind him politely until he noticed and addressed me.  Then I would introduce myself as the huge What's Eating Gilbert Grape fan that I am, and also compliment him on his amazing work on 21 Jump Street (both versions).

Johnny Depp would recognize from my fine bantering that I'm probably a world class blogger (obviously), follow me on my blog, and in his next public interview, make it known that he is a Sublurbanite.  My blog would blow the heck up, and I would be bigger than The Bloggess, landing my own book deal(s) and becoming a famous New York Times Bestseller, while simultaneously fulfilling the occasional demand to be interviewed by the real David Letterman.

However.  Instead I rode the Jungle Cruise.

That elephant?  Animatronic.  Don't you feel let down? Guess who's not animatronic?  Johnny Depp.

That Jungle Cruise was a pretty costly ride.  It cost me my entire retirement plan as I lost my book deals as well as denied me a best friendship with Johnny Depp. (Which?  Priceless.)

Or it cost me the opportunity to take his picture from ten feet away.  Semantics.

So that is the story of how I did not meet Johnny Depp.  Honestly, his loss.  Totally.

"I can't believe I don't read Sublurban Mama."

This is the story of what could have happened if our friend Ed wasn't so darn reliable and Jack White had a bigger bladder.

Picture this.  It's the Saturday of our return around 1:00 p.m. and we are back at the airport in the D. I am wrangling a toddler who has had little to no sleep over the course of seven days.  He has had more chicken nuggets and apple juice than one child should consume in a year.  He has been confined to a bus seat, stroller, airplane seat, and a stroller again for six hours.  So I let him run wild exercise a bit in the baggage claim while we waited for our ride, keeping one eye on the curb to make sure we were ready* when Ed arrived.

*Detroit Metro Airport is a little intense about the curbside pickup.  I always feel like I'm shooting a war scene while airport employees hustle us along with shouts of, "NO PARKING!" "NO STANDING!" "LOAD UP AND GO!" "KEEP IT MOVING!"  There is no meandering towards your ride. There is no room for idle chit chat.  When your ride arrives, you book it (not a prison joke). Because that's how Detroit rolls.

It was at this time that I saw Jack freaking White.  Jack White of the White Stripes.  Jack White just chilling out twenty feet away, looking up at the baggage claim board, searching for his flight numbers so he could collect his luggage the same way I did a half an hour earlier.  It's like we already live similar lives.

I freaked the heck out trying to find my camera, which of course was in my purse which was in the basket of the stroller buried under everyone's jackets.  Seriously?

As I was frantically pawing around for my camera, Jack White turned and started to walk away...straight to the bathroom.  And I couldn't follow him because it's illegal I think famous people deserve some privacy although if I was a dude I totally would've been there.

But that's okay.  I'm patient.  I could wait for Jack to finish his business.

Except this is when our super dependable friend Ed showed up in our minivan, ready to escort us home.  (Disclaimer:  Ed is the jam.  I appreciate him so much.  He got up at o'dark thirty the week before to drive us to the airport, and was giving up his Saturday afternoon to be on call to come and drive us home.  He is awesome.) I'm not trying to imply that Ed ruined my life with his impeccable timing, but if I was given five more minutes, this would have been my future.

If I would've made it over to Jack White, I would've offered him a ride home.  And because my minivan packed with four kids and a week's worth of luggage for six people is way more inviting and comfortable than some personal and private Metro Car, Jack would have jumped at the chance to accompany us.

On our drive home, Jack would be witness to my unparalleled air drumming (which is 95 percent passion and 5 percent actual rhythm) and be so blown away he would insist that we jam together in real life.  This would lead to a new collaboration with Jack freaking White and Sublurban Mama that would obviously go double platinum and provide me the rock star lifestyle I know is somewhere in my future. (This may happen with Jack White, or happen as part of a cover band at Disney World.)(I'm still undecided.) 

But none of that will ever happen; Jack and I have no future, because our meeting was over before it began.

So while I tried to corral the kiddos into the minivan, buckling car seats and booster seatbelts, I glanced over my shoulder into the airport to see Jack again.  And I did see him once more. Forlornly, out the window of my vehicle, while it was driving away.  Slowly but surely driving away from Jack White who never got the pleasure of meeting me.  My nose may have rested on the window, my palm pressed beside my woebegone face while I mouthed, "Jack."  (Okay, maybe that's just me being a bit dramatic.)

"Hi, I'm Jack White.  I can't believe I grew up so close to Kelly and we never crossed paths.  Now, as I have a return visit to my hometown, I still can't believe I didn't meet her.  Looks like money and fame can't buy you everything."

Hollywood, Jaywalking, and How I Saved Ayanna

This is not me.  But it's how
I feel when I run.

It's been a while since I've written about any kind of training. Most of my runs have been with my nine year old (who is training for a Thanksgiving 5K), but a few times this week I ran by myself so I could be ready for an upcoming 10K. (I mean, my little girl can hustle, but sometimes you gotta go the distance, too.)

Last week I went to Ab Lab and planned to follow it with five treadmill miles which sounded like the worst thing in the world. Enter that it was gorgeous out, and probably some of the last of the gorgeous weather of the season, and I could not make myself stay inside.  Even for a calibrated run.  So I left the gym on foot, with only a general direction in mind.


This is not like me.  Not having a plan, I mean.  I obsessively map my runs/rides so I can effectively self-talk my way through the parts of the run where I want to quit. (Fun fact for free?  Lately, every run has included this internal conversation:
1 Minute in: "Dude, I really need new shoes."
2 Minutes in: "Oh, maybe not.  I think I just needed to warm up."
3 Miles in: "Dude, I really do need new shoes."
Yes, every single run.  Because I learn best when history repeats itself. Or something.)

So, I set out into the great unknown, travelling unexplored sidewalks through foreign neighborhoods only previously seen through a minivan windshield.  It was like an adventure.  Except I was feeling ... pensive.  And it's like my Ipod knew it.

The first song that came on was All We Are by One Republic.  I was running on a long(ish) stretch of sidewalk next to a golf course, so the area was predominately open with a few evergreen trees.  It was during this song that I knew I looked like an actress dealing with a serious situation thinking deep thoughts while I ran to clear my head.  While the (pretend) camera captured me running for a scene that would be edited as "running ... (fade)  running farther away ... (fade) running in the far distance ... (cut)" I knew One Republic was playing on the soundtrack. Ryan Tedder sang, "We won't break, we won't die; It's just a moment of change" and I looked appropriately meditative and solemn because I am an excellent pretend method actress and have enough vision to direct myself. (It's like I'm my own Hollywood studio.)

Then I turned into a neighborhood of McMansions.  (IRL, I'm back to being a suburban mom just out for a run.)(Stay with me.) I occasionally cut through this neighborhood on my way home so it was a little familiar.  My Ipod gifted me The Freshman by The Verve Pipe which is a perfectly pensive song. I started thinking about mistakes and how some are so bad they really alter the course of your life and, lest you think I'm about to drop some deep bomb on you, because of these thoughts I naturally thought about the situation where Ayanna from Road Rules Extreme Challenge (circa 2000) got in a physical altercation with teammate Christian because he offended her, and got removed from the show because she refused to apologize for hitting him.  I took TVP's The Freshman as an opportunity to have an intervention with Ayanna.  We chatted a bit about why she felt she couldn't apologize and weighed principle against opportunity.  Just as I was about to convince her she could still feel justifiably offended without hauling off and punching someone, and it wouldn't be selling out to apologize, I realized I was lost.  In McMansionville suburbia.  On foot.

I really only had one option.  To keep going.  It was getting a little close to sunset and I wanted to be done before it got dark.  I have a pretty decent sense of direction, but, um, all the houses and streets looked the same, so I was a little turned around.  This is when I had the genius epiphany to find the sun that was about to set so I could locate west.  Awesome.  I'm not a homeschooler for nothin'.

I found a main road about three minutes later, and discovered I was only about a mile from my gym. I could add some distance if I lapped the pond in the park where I took my running class.  It would be like going home.

This is how I found myself jaywalking (jayrunning?) in front of the police station, effectively cutting off a police car in the process.  I rehearsed the "My sister is a cop in another county so please don't give me a ticket because I used to share a bedroom with a fellow officer" speech in my head that completely excuses any type of infraction I may commit against the traffic laws of this fine land. Fortunately the officer could tell I was feeling pensive (probably because I was wearing my Pondering the World's Issues -you know, like Ayanna's fight with Christian- Face) and chose to let me ruminate in my deepness and continue my run.

Ben Folds Five joined me with Brick (of course they did) for the final leg of my run.  The pond was as buggy as I remember, so much of my prime emo time was spent spitting out bugs.  I couldn't even do a solid interview with Babs, even though I made one of her Most Fascinating Lists, which? was pretty rude.  Way to ruin prime time television specials for everyone, Insects that fly in my mouth while I'm running and having a pretend interview with Barbara Walters.

When I climbed the last hill about a hundred yards from my gym, I noted with some concern that my vision was getting dim.  I had no idea how far I'd run; I felt okay, but I was definitely seeing my vision darkening, and I was super concerned I was about to black out.  I didn't bring any water with me because I knew it would be a less than an hour run, but maybe I was dehydrated ... it turns out that the sun was just setting, and that's why it was getting darker.  And I was fine.  Good thing I am not a drama queen  jump to the most fantastical conclusions  have an overactive imagination  am always observant about my physical health like a responsible person. Crisis averted yet again.  Wonder Woman still in full effect.

How to Get Free Stuff (You'll thank me later)

Sometimes people* question why I waste invest so much time on Pinterest.  Not to brag or anything, but I am really good at Pinterest.  I am diligent in my searches and committing to pinning anything that strikes my fancy awesome things in a systematic and logical way. Like this:

Whaaa?  Are you kidding me?  Why don't I have this already?  TheWaffsicle Maker.  A waffle on a stick you dunk in syrup.

I'm diligent in my pinning for one simple reason.  One day, the fine makers of reality television are going to spring a new show on us.  I am convinced of this.  And when it comes, I will be ready. Because I am already steadfastly planning for Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition.

Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition will happen when your Pinterest boards are hijacked and everything on them either purchased, created, implemented, or personally taught to you.  It's like a first world life makeover, and I am not messing around with my preparation.

Whenever I see something on Pinterest that I like, my sole criteria for pinning it is "What if it were free?"  An outfit that is okay but I really love the purse?  Better pin the whole thing, because EM:PE will be giving every piece.  A crazy exotic vacation destination that I will only visit in my dreams? Better get my passport ready because EM is sending me on their dime.  It's not practical to own a glass canoe when you have four kiddos?  It's totally practical when it's a gift.

Can't you see my children absolutely destroying this me freaking out as I search for leeches relaxing as I row through the crystal clear waters of paradise?

My "Lookin' Good in the Hood" board is extensive because I have fantastic (internet) style.  In fact, I'm pretty sure if Pinterest were invented when I was in high school (the dark ages)(not really, it was the 90's) I would've swept Best Dressed Not in Real Life but on Her Pinterest Board during mock elections.  So, you're really lucky, Class of '97 Reigning Queen Julie D.  Lack of technology handed you the crown for that one.

My fashion pins revealed to me that I really like 1950's housewife dresses:

(How many do I own in real life?  Zero.)(Which is a shame.)(But I'm a size 10.)(If you needed that information for any reason.)(Like buying me a dress.)

And, I apparently would really like to be adorned in birds:

(Also?  I like leaf jewelry too.  Who knew?)

(Whooooooo wants to buy me this owl bracelet?)






I also have about a thousand skinny jean/t-shirt/cardigan/scarf/purse combos pinned just like everyone else, because I'm not at all trendy.



Once I'm on Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition, my home will be filled with the cutest handmade crafts.  You are going to be so jealous, mainly because I didn't have to do them so they actually look just like the picture said they should.  Not at all like the t-shirt tutorial I tried and ended up throwing away.


<----- Lies.  All of it.  Or I just suck at crafts.  But it's probably lies.

Suburban Detroit, y'all.

I can't wait for my Pinterest Edition home.  It going to have a waterfall built into it, and a three story wall of windows.  It will fit in perfectly on my suburban block down the street from the garden gnome house.







My Nom Nom Nom board is the biggest, because I really like food.  Specifically, eating chocolate, which is reflected accurately in my pinning choices.  I'm really excited for my personal chef to make all the cute mini-food I pinned that I will never take the time to make but enjoy looking at because it's darling.

Awwww ...  Panda Bears made out of rice!

Mini Pineapple Upside-down cakes?  Don't worry, Producers, I already bought the pan to make these four months ago and haven't gotten around to it yet.

But honestly, I think the number one reason (without a doubt) that I need to be on Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition, is that I will finally own this:

This is a cross stitch of the genius that is Kayne West on twitter. "I hate when I'm on a flight and I wake up with a water bottle next to me like oh great now I gotta be responsible for this water bottle"

I die.  Every.single.time.  There are no words for how sharply I giggle when I see this.  It's like a little slice of awesomeness I could glimpse several times a day if I owned it.  It might be better than iced coffee (yeah, I just went there). (Interestingly enough, you don't even need my correct size in order to gift this.)(It will flatter me regardless.)(It's a gift where everyone wins.)(And by everyone, I mean mostly me.)

So, just a heads up, all you slackers out there that are missing out on prime preparation time, squandering your time away by making dinner instead of pinning recipes.  Don't say I didn't warn you.  The Pinterest Edition is coming.  Be ready.



P.S. Now I don't do this for just anyone, but yeah, you can follow me on Pinterest if you need some extra help with your preparation.

*my husband