epic idea a.k.a. this post is NOT about the heat.

I refuse to blog about the heat.  To some of you, it may seem that I just refuse to blog at all (pretty sure not posting for over a week constitutes a blogging fail).  Honestly, when your entire existence is based around packing, sweating, wedding stuff, toddlers & tiaras, and more heat-infused packing, inspiration is hard to come by.  But, see??  Just in that last sentence, I have already said too much about the heat.  And this post is NOT about the heat.

So what is this epic idea, Weinberg? People are holding their collective breath while on the edge of their collective seat!!  All I wanted today was a freeze pop (for reasons that definitely did NOT have anything to do with the topic we are not discussing . . . starts with an “h” and rhymes with meat).  However, the current food situation in my house has nothing to do with nutritional need or deliciousness and everything to do with finishing up every last crumb before the move while not wasting any of my precious dollars on sustenance.  This translates into freezer burritos, assorted yogurts, frozen edamame, instant noodles, Food Should Taste Good Olive Chips, and Luna Bars.  Absolutely nothing with any of the refreshing qualities possessed by freeze pops.  I spent a good deal of time walking to the fridge, opening it, saying “hmmmm . . .,” and closing it again. Rinse and Repeat.  Then, in a light bulb moment that rivals velcro invention, I remembered that I had a singular Odwalla Superfood Blueberry B Smoothie . . . and what could be more awesomely satisfying than flash freezing that bad boy into a delightful slushy, sherbert-y, fruity treat??  Let me tell you, it did not disappoint, and I am suggesting that everyone try it (even if you do happen to have freeze pops in your freezer).

Odwalla

Image by mae919 via Flickr

Do you think any of this post’s product placements will yield food freebies?  Ship it to my California address!

Also, look what I did today!!  Coming soon to a mailbox near you, but probably not your mailbox.

11eighteen11

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you know what’s a real buzzkill?

Moving Companies.

That’s all I can say without resorting to profanity, and I think everyone knows I am too much of a fucking lady for that.

Because I need to turn this frown upside-down, I am going to introduce everyone to my new running shoes.  I spent some quality time with Ericka at the Nike store today, and she introduced me to the Nike Air Zoom Vomero.  Now, I know what you’re thinking: 1) What the heck is a Vomero?? and 2) I hope this whole post isn’t about sneakers.  I will address both of these concerns post haste.

1) I don’t know . . . but a quick wikipedia search reveals that Vomero is a district of Naples dubbed “Hill of Broccolis” during its agricultural heyday.  Well, it couldn’t be more obvious why Nike has chosen to name a running shoe after this location.  I can’t wait to run faster than broccoli with these pups on my feet.

2) This whole post hasn’t been about sneakers . . . remember what I said in the beginning about moving companies??

Back to the sneakers!  Ericka had no easy task in front of her today.  I am one of the 3% of people whose foot underpronates when I run.  This basically means that my foot is a crappy shock absorber because it rotates outward while running (supinating for those who want to sound wicked smart).  Even in the face of this disturbing information, Ericka kept her cool.  With confidence, she selected the Zoom Vomero, and I did not question her authority.  OK, that’s not true.  The first thing I did was question her authority (I was really reluctant to switch from my Air Max 2010’s) . . . but when she reminded me of their 30 day return policy even if the sneakers have been worn, I was sold.

So here they are (notice the light, bright California colors – nothing makes a New Englander stand out in SoCal like dark, dreary grays and blacks)!  Now if only it would be less dank out so I could take them for a test drive . . .

*sigh* so pretty.

stoked . . . and soaked.

Can you tell I self-took this pic after attaching the number to my shirt? Because the angle is not at all awkward.

I WOULD run my very first 5k in the middle of the 7th plague.  That plague was the storm plague, right?  I mean, I guess it was likely more intense than what I experienced today . . . with fire and golf-ball sized hail and Moses.  However, I’m pretty sure the Egyptians weren’t out trying to race for time during that plague.  Plus, they were totally warned.

Aaaaaanyway – what is my point here?? – Right, 5k.  To say I was nervous about running my first real race since the years of Newington Fun Runs would be an understatement.  I respond to anxiety by over-preparing myself, and becoming a pseudo-expert on whatever is making me uneasy.  I tapered; I carbo-loaded; I hydrated; I proteined; I electrolyted; I visualized victory . . . I worked myself into a decent dither by about 5:30 pm.  Once I realized that the rain and lightning (which were certainly compounding my apprehension) were not going to subside, I took a deep breath and readied myself to run in, what would now be, a very wet 5k.

When I arrived to pick up my bib, I asked whether or not the event would go on as planned.  No lie, I was reminded that I had signed a waiver. Comforting.  Then there was the shuttle ride to the starting line where I got to stand around completely unsheltered from the storm for about 45 minutes.  (I will admit that I used the port-a-potty a few more times than my bladder necessitated just for refuge.  I liked it in there.  It had a roof.)  By race’s start, my shirt and shorts were completely soaked through (I had earlier made the conscious decision not to wear white), and my shoes contained enough water for a fish to live comfortably.

There was no air horn, no shot gun, no “on your mark” . . . when people started moving, so did I.  As the rain fell harder still, I tried to imagine myself as an elite warrior, navigating through street rapids in the name of some really righteous battle. (During this little fantasy, I also had nunchucks . . . yes, I know most warriors don’t even carry nunchucks, and they are hardly aerodynamic, but I likes me some nunchucks. And laser guns.)  Despite the elements (and a water-affected contact lens that stole the vision from my left eye for about 5 minutes), I kept running – past the lightning over the lake that would have been cool in almost any other circumstance, past my little lake house, past the people who were really happy that they had signed up to man the water stop, and finally, past the finish line.

All in all, I ran the race rather conservatively finishing 30 seconds off my goal time and, as a result, could probably have run for another mile or so past the line.  My biggest fear had been that I would run out of steam after the 2 mile mark.  Really though, I couldn’t be happier with the experience I had today (ack, yesterday by this point).  I met some excellent people (as well as catching up with a few that I hadn’t seen in awhile), and I was blown away by the supportive community of runners that took on this challenge with me.  Heck, some people might even say that I was stoked – Glorious Gallop ’11!!

P.S. Regarding how the Nike+ Sportband holds up in extreme water situations: surprisingly well!  Of course, I was so jazzed to sprint across the finish line that I forgot to turn it off.  Two minutes into my water chug/stretch, I realized my mistake (loudly and with swearing) . . . almost didn’t want to upload my tainted stats . . . but did anyway.

it’s getting DANK in here (so dank).

“Dank” is one of my favorite words to throw around.  And what a word it is – its single syllable, its ability to rhyme with skank – its enough to make a word nerd swoon!  Dank describes basements, bathrooms directly following showers, and, most relevantly, CT summer weather . . . which is why it came to mind today (as I tried and failed to regulate my body temperature).  In fact, it has been so dank lately that I have become someone who carries a towel around to mop sweat off her face. Attractive.

Once in California, I am going to have to drastically cut back on my use of the word dank.  Walking around shouting “dank this” and “dank that” will only lead to misunderstandings (and possible arrest . . . thanks to Proposition 19 failure).  You know what that means??  I am going to have to get all the dankness out of my system before moving westward.  Steel yourselves friends/family . . . . . . dank da dank dank dank.