Goal: Activate the Soles

Confession:  seeing Facebook posts about the marathon someone just ran, triathlon results or even the 2 miles squeezed in before breakfast might make me scoff outwardly, but really I'm super jealous because I have absolutely no self discipline.

I was sitting and reflecting on my current exercise regimen just now while eating a sugar cookie from Janet's and drinking skim milk (that's right, no fat).  

Once upon a time I was doing that Couch to 5k thing for weeks and weeks.  Suddenly I was super fit and ripped... wait, actually I saw very little change at all.  Then I was forced to stop when the basement flooded (ten months ago).  The Great Basement Flood of 2012 forced me to unplug the treadmill and move it away from the water-logged carpet.  There began my decline into slothfulness (I actually think I was on the running program for about 3 months, before that, the sloth thing). Also, during super fitness time, I thought I was running at a fairly decent pace before my elementary math kicked in and I realized I was running a 12-minute mile.  This so offended my PE timed-mile-running self that I renounced running entirely and proclaimed that I was a disgrace to all former bench warmers.  

Current day:  every single morning I give myself a very sleepy pep talk to motivate myself get back on the proverbial horse. For several post flood months, I was working my way back to optimal health by alternating  Jillian Michaels in the morning with [what I believed was a brisk paced] walk on the treadmill.  Then I got so annoyed Jillian and her stupid sweatpants and irritating ways that I restricted myself to walking.  I have often considered running again but the problem is I like to walk and read.  Trying to run and read gives me car sickness.  And a bad attitude.  

Also, and this is the best excuse of all, I have a hair situation.  My hair requires a minimum 6-hour settling time after drying before it can start to resemble normal hair.  I have to shower at night to meet this minimum.  Therefore I cannot sweat profusely in the morning.  Running makes me sweat profusely.  It follows that I cannot run in the morning until my hair grows long enough to be eligible for the business ponytail.  

So instead, I snooze my alarm from 5 to 6 am while Mark tosses and turns beside me, enjoying his teacher summer sleep in.  Last week I told myself there were too many spiders in the basement for me to go down there.  

I eat chips and beer at 8:30 on a Sunday night and write about reasons why I can't exercise.  (This comment made me outraged enough to pause for a round of 15 impressive push-ups.)  Clearly I have been writing this blog for more than one day and am still documenting my deplorable eating habits.  

With my extensive business knowledge, I know it is important to identify a desired outcome then formulate the steps to get there.  So here is my exercise business plan:

Desired Outcome:  Optimal physical fitness level.  This will allow me to successfully carry the members of my family out of the house, should a fire unexpectedly hit.  Also, and I've mentioned this before, I can outrun a predator should he or she decide to chase me for miles trying to steal my purse or my underwear.

Steps to Achieve Goal:

• Get up with my church bell sounding alarm at 5 am and briskly walk

• Transition to Couch to 5K

• Make the doctor's appointment I have been avoiding out of shame

• Stop drinking 1/2 a beer at night (I lose interest after the first half)

• Run a marathon immediately after completing Couch to 5k

• Wear a halter top to show off fit arms and back

You have to set goals to be successful in life.  I'll keep you updated on my progress with impressive Facebook stats about my marathon times.  

Diary Emission

My 7-year-old recently learned about diaries from a SpongeBob episode where Squidward takes SpongeBob's diary and reads it in public.  The show stresses that diaries are for private thoughts and secrets and are not to be read by anyone.

While I was rearranging his room last night, Eli found a food journal I got for free a few years ago.  It is full of lined pages with spaces to indicate the contents of your meals.  Needless to say, I never used it because I didn't want to see cake, coffee and wine fill up the majority of the pages.  At some point I must have given it to Eli, who decided to store it in his bedside table.

Apparently it occurred to him last night that this would make a good diary.  I saw him sitting in the corner and occasionally looking up to stress his need for privacy.  When he was done writing, there was a moment of indecision:  he wanted to share what he had written but knew this was supposed to be a secret book.  He chose one person who should have restricted access to the diary: 3-year-old Marina.

Our conversation went something like this:

Eli:  Mom, this is my diary.  It is a secret.  No one can read this.

Me:  Ok.

Eli:  No one!  Especially not Marina.

Me:  Ok.  You do realize Marina cannot read, right?

Eli:  Marina cannot read THIS diary.

Me:  Ok.  [Grunt]  (I'm moving a dresser across the room.)

Eli:  [Pause] I'm going to tell you what this says, but you can't tell Marina.

Me:  Ok.  (Turning to look at Marina who is sitting two feet away.)

Eli:  Dear diary, one time I farted in class but nobody knew it was me who did it.  Mom gets farts when she eats her expensive cereal.

(Explanation:  Kashi Go Lean Crunch = Expensive cereal.  Added flax seed and extra fiber.  Tastes remarkably like cardboard.)

Me:  Well, now.  I guess that's a good start on the diary.  Wise move to put that entry in the "Breakfast" space.

Eli:  Don't tell Marina.

Me:  Ok.

So there you have it.  Perhaps Eli won't mind that I'm sharing his diary entry with the general populous... just as long as I don't let Marina read it.

Obsessively Possessively Me

If you asked my friends (if I had any) and family members (I have many) to come up with one phrase that describes me, it might be, "Lily has an obsessive nature about her."  They would not be incorrect in their generalization.

What makes me obsessive, you ask?  Perhaps things like this:

Twice a year, the semi annual sale at Bath and Body Works comes around.  All the other days of the year I really don't shop there.  I'm not one for smelly lotioning myself up and I only like candles that smell like cinnamon; any other scent is guaranteed to give me a headache and the pukes (like vanilla!  Perish the thought!) I digress... 

So every time the sale comes around, I feel like I absolutely must go there and buy antibacterial soaps for 75% off.  If I don't go, I feel like I'm missing something significant.  My kids are big fans of the "Kitchen Lemon".  Unfortunately I don't check my stock before I go.  Yesterday I as I was putting away my newly purchased discounted antibacterial soaps, I discovered this.  

I also have a tendency to stockpile an alarming amount of shampoo.  We have something like six or seven sets of shampoos and conditioners in our shower right now (this doesn't count what is under the sink and in the other bathroom).  Do we have extraordinarily dirty hair?  Not necessarily.  I have been on a lifelong quest for the shampoo that will make my hair air dry all shiny and straight, and not huge and frizzy.  The quest continues... my husband's annoyance grows...

I may have mentioned that I have an abnormal fear of lice.  This fear also extends to ticks.  This causes me to avoid brushing against any trees or shrubs when I'm [rarely] outdoors.  If I do, I immediately dust myself off.  My 3-year-old mentioned that she probably had a tick when she brushed against a plant last week.  To my shame, I am passing down the freak gene.  

Slightly on and off topic, we recently passed a billboard with this on it: The Lice Lady. Talk about a stigma attached to your chosen employment.

As you may have heard, we shop at Sam's every single week for our groceries.  This works well for someone who always wants the biggest ketchup and big of lettuce in the store.  I will often scoff a too-small coffee cup.  My chosen mugs get me in trouble in the car or at a soccer game.

Have I mentioned that I can't stop taking pictures of the ridiculous Fat Linda?

I think I've proven my point.  Now who needs to wash their hands or hair??