Tag Archives: Crazy

An Exercise in Letting Go

I am a creature of habit.  Wake up. Eat.  Do stuff.  Sweat.  Do more stuff.  Eat. Shower.  Do more stuff. Eat.  Repeat.  Last week was tough on me.  There was a lot of Eat and plenty of Do stuff but not enough Sweat.  The plan was to taper my running back in order to feel fresh and strong for Saturday’s 25K.  It didn’t work out exactly as I had planned.

I went to yoga. Twice.  The first time I went I boogied out of there before savasana.  The idea of just chilling, flat on my back for ten minutes was making me crazy.  I had a routine to maintain.  I wasn’t Sweating.  And now I wasn’t evening Doing stuff. I ran a few miles and called that my savasana.  Savasana is your Happy Place, right?  Running is my happy place.

The second time I walked in to class hell-bent on staying.  It is not uncommon to focus on an intention at the beginning of class.  “Stay until the end…. Stay until the end….” I sat, cross-legged and eyes closed, and focused on what was surely the lamest intention for a yoga class ever.  Don’t leave.  Quiet the mind? Forget it.  I just wanted to stay physically present in the room.

We were still in seated meditation when I noticed the clock was missing.  Surely it had been hung up elsewhere in the room.  I’d find it.

Standing.  We were finishing a set of sun salutations and I had managed to inconspicuously look all over the room. There was no clock.

It is hard enough for me to unplug.  My cell phone was on the other side of the room.  And now there was no clock. I had no idea what time it was.  This laid-back yoga class might just have me sweating yet.

We were in triangle pose when I started to freak the fuck out.  How long had we been here?  And I was freezing.  The class before ours had turned the air conditioning on evidently because even our teacher finally remarked on how cold it was in there.  She kicked the thermostat up and we carried on.

Through pigeon and into some seated twists.  We had to be half-way through, right?  An hour class, we’d have balance poses last in all likelihood and that would leave time for ten minutes in savasana.  I was really struggling in this absence of Time. Was it tomorrow?  Had we been here for an entire day?  Was it yesterday?  Oh my god, what in the fuck time is it?  And now I was sweating.  Like, really sweating. I took my jacket off and I could feel warm air all around me and I almost felt feverish.

In the moment that I was convinced I had eaten some kind of LSD with breakfast someone remarked that the air conditioning was definitely off but that it seemed the heat had turned on in its place.   Ahh. I was not alone in this imaginary hot flash.

Up on our feet.  Tree pose.  Dancer’s pose.  Half Moon.  Warrior III. We were almost done. And down on the floor.  Savasana, corpse pose, reflect on your intention for the class.  I made it.

We were seated and smiling.  Namaste.

I waited until our teacher had turned the lights on.  People were talking.  I opened my mouth and without any control of the words spilling out, I spoke. “So, the clock is gone.  That was kind of crazy.  It was like I was eating acid and I was all “Oh man, whoknowswhattimeitis, Ifeelsofree.” and five seconds later I was freaking out because “Holy moly, isittodayortomorroworyesterday!? Add in the whole Iamfreezing, no, waitnowIamsweating factor and wow.  That was some yoga class.”  It is common that following these bouts of verbal vomit there is a strange silence.

My teacher smiled.  “Yeah.  We are going to need a new clock.”


My desperate attempt to take a few days off paid off.  The Merge Records 25K was a smashing success, finished strong, had fun and I am not crippled! Took a short run this morning and I feel super (thanks for asking!)


Bikini Body?

Ordering a bathing suit online is a ridiculous idea.  But when the company that makes the running shorts that make me feel hot, not just athletic, had a sale – I took the bait.

It is the time of the year that I have the Great Bikini Debate.  Last summer I tried to embrace the stretch marks. I gave it a solid effort.  I even tried to tan those mofos.  If I am 100% honest – the red bikini took a backseat to the trusty one piece the great majority of the time. And now here I am again, another year older, another year closer to the Year I Should Really Stop Wearing A Two Piece.  (I am not sure when that is, exactly, but I am certain it exists.)

Standing in my bathroom in the new two piece I could acknowledge that this summer’s bikini body is slightly more toned than last year’s.  I have run my ass off this year and it is starting to show.  Deep breath in.  Deep breath out.  Bend over.  Sit down.  Eh.  It is what it is but it is unlikely that it is gonna get better than it is right now, right? The fit is ok.  But the color?

Brown. The brown bikini was the only sale suit in my size.  I just don’t know about brown.

I called to Emily.  “Come here.  What do you think?”

She just stood there with her hand on her tiny little hip.   “Hmmm.  That’s a tricky question. I’m trying to decide what you want me to say.” Damn kid.

“The truth,” I answer.

“Well, you have really big boobs and that top is really big like a lot of fabric but weirdly it makes your boobs look not as noticeable. And I think it’s ok that your stomach is like, well, you know like that because you had two babies and you’re a great mom and you look pretty.” She paused to take a breath.  “Do you like it?”

I love her. I do.  I should have been more clear, I suppose.  “Do you like this color brown?” Sigh.

Back tattoo teapot

If the bikini makes its presence known this summer than the excitement will be two-fold.  My stomach and the stretch marks there really get all the press.  But it is high time that the wreckage on my hips and lower back get a little face time.  The 2014 new ink highlights them nicely.  Last summer’s motto seemed to be “if you can’t tone it, tan it.” This summer it is looking like I am embracing the “if you can’t tone it, tattoo it” philosophy.  Someday perhaps I will get to that level of peace where I don’t even have this conversation with myself. Maybe next spring when I am trying on bathing suits for my 39th summer I will only ask myself the question that my sweet Emily June asked me –  “Do I like it?” Maybe.  Someday.

Magic 8 Ball of Crazy

So if I had a Magic 8 ball on my person at all times I know what I would ask it.  Several times a day I look to the Universe to answer the question “Am I out of my fucking mind?”    With my eyebrows scrunched together and a quizzical look on my face.  Because really, sometimes I wonder.  And by sometimes I mean a few times a day.  In the last few weeks I asked myself this question daily when I got home from work.  Or really every time I walked in to the living room.

I hate moth balls.  And cats.  I have two cats.  But no moth balls.  About three weeks ago I thought I smelled moth balls.  So, naturally I blamed the cats.  I checked the pockets of all their winter coats.  No moth balls.  So I assumed it was the new cat litter.  Cat litter and the fact that we have pets that crap in a box IN OUR HOUSE can be blamed for all kinds of things in my Universe.  It must smell like moth balls.  The new litter.

So, I wait.  And I try not to let the moth ball smell ruin my evenings.  And by ruin my evenings I mean distract me from eating bowls of ice cream and watching shitty TV.    The weekend comes and MQD changes the litter.  Even though he most definitely can NOT smell the moth balls.

Monday rolls around and I come home from work.  Open the door.  MOTH BALLS.  I am losing my mind.  I must be.  He changed the litter.  My house can not smell like moth balls.  Because this heinous scent must be the fault of the cats.  I trudge on through my week.  Avoiding my couch.  In the living room.  Where I enjoy relaxing.  I am feeling angry and crazy.  A bad combination.  I live through the week.  But it is touch and go.

Saturday morning comes.  MQD and Em are doing their thing. Em is tearing apart her room.  Changing her clothes every 45 seconds. MQD is downloading some music, because surely there has been music released since last week when he had a copy of everything ever recorded on his hard drive.  I take this opportunity to do that kind of cleaning that is fueled by anger.  I furiously sweep up dog hair.  I mopped.  I hate mopping.  I vacuum. I shoved the couch back and vacuumed that sliver of rug that is mostly under the couch.  I change the bag in my vacuum and clean out the inside of my vacuum cleaner.  I pulled out the suitcases under the bed and got the cat hair off of them and swept under there.  My entire downstairs smelled like Simple Green.

Success.  It must have been cat hair that smelled like moth balls.  MQD leaves for the grocery store and I sit down on the couch.  Em is in her room.  I am relaxed.  I exhale.  I inhale.  Oh hell no, motherfuckers… MOTH BALLS.  I smell them, this is no joke.  I am filled with rage.

In a moment that can only be blamed on hormones I jumped up from the couch.  Kicked the coffee table back in to the room.  And flipped my motherfucking couch over.  I was, of course, expecting to find a cat.  A cat in a coat it had gotten from a thrift store.  The thrift store having gotten this coat at an estate sale.  Or maybe a cat in an ancient wool cardigan.  Suspiciously free of holes.  But there were no cats under my couch.  In coats or sweaters.  But what I did find there…. it was like I had asked the Giant Magic 8 Ball of the Universe  if I was crazy and it had answered once and for all.  “Oh hell no. No.  You are not.”

Em came running down the stairs.  Perhaps because I shrieked.  Perhaps because I was flipping over furniture like a drunk in a barfight.  “Go back upstairs!” I hollered.  As if I had in my hand a MOTH BALL sized ball of plutonium.

So, I ran out on the porch.  And I waited.  For MQD to get home.  With it in my hand. And I yelled, gleefully as he exited his car.  “LOOK AT THIS!!! I found this under the god damn couch.  I am NOT CRAZY!”

I thought about putting it in a jar.  And saving it.  Like my own Magic 8 Ball that always said the same thing.  “You are NOT crazy.”

Sadly this feeling of euphoria only lasted a couple of days.  I haven’t been sleeping very well so my early morning thought processing has been all over the place.   I woke up this week thinking about how I really don’t think I can ever wear contact lenses again.  At least not why I have my period.  Because knowing that a menstrual cup works because of the suction it has around your cervix, and that contact lenses don’t fall out because they are in a way suction cupped to your eyeballs… I don’t think I could handle both at the same time.   And I started imagining these opposing forces of vacuum seal… and my eyeballs would get sucked down my throat, my lady bits pulled up in to my guts and they’d meet somewhere around the center of my chest.  Yup.  Back to feeling like maybe I am just not quite right.   At least things are back to normal.