How to Run Your First 5K

      1.       Join a running club.  Doesn’t matter how big or important it is, just join a running club     so that you’ll actually feel obligated to run.

2.       Spend an obscene amount of money on fancy sports bras.

3.       Start running.  Become somewhat preoccupied with the thought of running when you’re at work, at school, wherever.  Google “mile splits” so that you can understand what everyone else is talking about.

4.       Start feeling superior over non-runners because OH GEE, YOU CAN RUN TWO MILES.

5.       Donate your old pants to charity because they start being all loose and mom jean-looking.

6.       Start feeling superior over non-runners because OH GEE, NOW YOU CAN RUN THREE MILES!

7.       Sign up for a 5K.

8.       Look down your nose at anything cotton.

9.       Run five miles on a whim and consider yourself the champion of the world.

10.   On race day, get up obscenely early.  Eat four Twizzlers for breakfast.  Drastically miscalculate how long it will take you to get to the race location.  Stand around when you get there, awkwardly waiting for the race to start. 

11.   When you cross the start line, run like hell for 3.1 miles.  Feel superior over the people in their vehicles who have to wait for ten minutes at an intersection so that you and everyone else can run past.

12.   Do a decidedly mediocre job at finishing.  Gorge yourself on pizza at 9:00 in the morning.  Decide that you are once again the champion of the world and you can’t wait to do it all over again.

Look Ma, I runnededed!!!

The Best Thing Ever: #100

The other day, it was payday, and I stopped by Nordstrom Rack.  After a week of scrimping and saving, I wanted to splurge a little bit.

I looked through a few dresses and sweaters, picked up a new bag, and thought maybe it’d be fun to get a new wallet to go with it.

That’s when I found this:

And my heart stopped.

It was perfect.  It was brilliant.  The little Degas-inspired ballerinas  reminded me of my years and years as a ballet dancer.  The leather gave it a sophisticated edge, and the way the leather was shaped and puckered gave it kind of that unique, artsy feel.

Then I looked at the price tag.  I died a little bit.  It was $80.

But it was too late.  The little ballerina clutch had already taken up residence inside me.  It was a part of who I was.

I pretended to deliberate with myself for another minute or two, then took a deep breath and walked up to the cash register.  The sweet cashier took the ballerina clutch delicately out of my hands.

“This is beautiful,” she said.  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I know!” I squealed.

She rang it up.  “And today is your lucky day,” she said, “because this is one cent.”

I stared at her for a few seconds.  “Um…what?”

“Yeah,” she said, and shrugged.  “Sometimes they put them in the system wrong, and there’s nothing I can do about it.  This costs one penny.” 

“Okay,” I said, after a moment of stunned silence.  “I’ll take it!”

Yes, this clutch is just a material object.  I don’t normally rely so much on material objects for my self-worth and completion of myself as a human being, but this clutch is just something.

I’ll love it forever.

And it cost me one cent.

It was the best thing ever.  The end.

Chicago Dentistry is Hardcore

I am one of maybe seven or eight people out there who don’t hate going to the dentist.  I never have.  It’s just one of those things, like doing laundry, that (for me) is a more or less tolerable chore where at least you get a fresh, clean reward at the end.

Turns out when you live in a big city and are occasionally lonely, going to the dentist can become quite a pleasant thing.  Someone nice massages your jaw, pokes around in your mouth, and compliments you on your flossing habits.  Win!

Also, turns out that Chicago dentists are really hardcore about what they do.  Seriously, the other day, I thought I was just going in to my new dentist for a routine cleaning.  Instead, here’s what happened:

They took 18 x-rays of my mouth with a bunch of sharp, hurt-y things.

They stuck some instruments in my mouth and said things like “3…2…3…4…3…2…3” for five minutes.

They stuck a camera in my mouth and took fancy snapshots of my teeth.

Then the dentist sat and talked with me about my teeth.  At first, he was like, your teeth are AWESOME!  You are the flossing champion of the world!

And then he was like, oh, but I need to put some fillings in.  Six fillings, to be exact.

I have never had a filling.

The fact that I needed fillings at all was news to me.  But as the dentist showed me, teeth can sometimes be disgusting.  More specifically, teeth are funky-shaped (this is a technical term, look it up, people) and sometimes even the flossing champion of the world can’t reach every nook and cranny.

Not that YOU care, but I have to make myself feel better, okay?

I thought about showing you guys a picture of one of my better teeth, but then I decided that would be disgusting.  You're welcome.

Friends in Weird Places

Allow me to introduce a friend.

This is a makeup removal wipe.  At one time, it was moist with makeup-removing liquid stuff.  At one time, it lived in a pouch with others just like it.

Eventually, all the other wipes got used up (by me) and thrown away (by me), until this was the last one left.  It quickly dried out, but I continued to keep it around, because it was the ONLY ONE LEFT.
Sometimes I’d pour a little water on a corner of it in order to have a decent way of getting my mascara off every night.  Sometimes the wipe would fall on the floor and I’d leave it there for a day or three.  It got lost on my dresser frequently.  But still, even when it looked like complete garbage, I held onto it, because it was the ONLY ONE LEFT AND I NEEDED IT.

It did occur to me that new makeup removal wipes are manufactured and distributed and put out for sale every day, and that I would very likely be able to purchase some in my fair city of Chicago.  But do you know what a package of makeup removal wipes costs?

FIVE WHOLE DOLLARS.

I mean.  Really.

So meanwhile, I have been wiping my FACE with a very old, very dirty, pretty much all-around disgusting dried-up wipe for a few months because I couldn’t bring myself, until a few days ago, to splurge on this:

It cost, like, $4.68.  It was a major decision.

Yet I do occasionally drop a few hundred bucks on new clothes and shoes because “I need them,” or whatever. 

Pretty sensible, right?

Thank you.  I thought so, too.

All the Lives I Want to Live

Ambition is a great thing, but I have way too much of it.  The following are some of the lives I would like to have if I could live more than once.  I am acknowledging the absolutely narcissistic tone that will come through in all of these.  Just go with it.  This is a fantasy land, where I look exactly how I want to and can do everything I want with extraordinary talent.

1.       I am completely self-sufficient as an artist.  I split my time between ballroom dancing, performing with a contemporary ballet company, singing in a bluegrass band, singing in a jazz club, doing musical theatre without having to take any speaking roles, writing hilarious essays and columns, and designing wedding dresses.  I live in a big city where I know lots of people, and all of them beg me to be a part of their artsy event because they know I will totally rock it.

2.       I have 2-3 lovely children, and my husband makes enough money so that I don’t have to work.  Instead, I bake amazing cupcakes from scratch and stick them in my kids’ lunchboxes.  After they go off to school, I do fun things like take kickboxing classes and then I buy groceries at a fancy organic grocery store.  My house is pristine and smells like baking soda, and I mop the floors every day.  Sometimes in the afternoons I iron clothes while watching Netflix, and the living room smells like laundry starch.  I never have to wear anything but yoga pants and t-shirts if I don’t want to.  I start gardening, and don’t even kill any plants.  I publish stories and columns occasionally, but only because I feel like it, not because I have to do it in order to eat.

3.       I am the head of a really successful magazine that publishes smart, but not too dense, material that (magically) both men and women gravitate to.  I get to wear Calvin Klein suits to work every day and drink delicious, fair-trade coffee in my office, which has floor-to-ceiling windows.  I make all the decisions, but the bad news has to be delivered by my awesome assistant, so that I never have to deal with confrontation.  I am super nice to everyone even though my power means I could get away with being mean if I wanted to.  I write hilarious “Notes from the Editor” columns every month.  Sometimes I have to meet with vendors and advertisers who give me gift bags with bottles of perfume and aromatherapy socks and chocolate-covered espresso beans.  Basically I am Gayle King, but better.

4.       I am a professional athlete, but not the kind you’re thinking of.  Basically I could be in the Olympics for several sports if I wanted to.  I run marathons and do triathlons on a regular basis, and have completed several Iron Mans.  I run my kayak through class 5 rapids.  I am basically the next Lindsay Vonn when it comes to downhill skiing.  My whole body is ripped like you wouldn’t believe.

I feel like there should be a fifth one just to round things out here, but I can’t think of anything else, and also I’m starting to feel a little bit self-conscious.  Til next time.

In Which I Do Not Partake In Any Festivities

Are you dying to hear about St. Patrick’s Day in Chicago, where they dye the river green and everyone goes completely bonkers?

Well, you are in for a disappointment, because I am pretty un-festive when it comes to March 17.  I did go outside to walk to my kettlebells class—at 8 AM—and saw lots of folks in green t-shirts lining up at the bars.  Turns out the North Side is a great place to go to drink yourself silly in the early morning hours.

Here are a few pictures from my day that might help clarify just how apathetic I am about this holiday:

I took the trash out and found this guy on our Dumpster.  It's actually a pretty impressive piece of art.  I enjoyed it.  I guess this doesn't really say anything about St. Patrick's Day, but I took out the trash while I was on my way to buy groceries, which is to say that I was out doing normal things rather than being celebratory and fun.

Dinner for one.  Irish nachos: that's a thing, right?

I Guess This Is My Monthly Update

Wow, seriously?  It’s been a month since I posted last?

My apologies to the two or three of you who happen to check this site.  I’ve been a little busy lately, but I won’t complain about it, because 1) that’s boring and 2) aren’t we all?

Instead, I’ll give you a quick update on what I’ve been doing:

DOWNHILL SKIING.  My dad, sister, sister’s boyfriend, uncle, and a few other folks met up for my dad’s 50^th birthday at the end of February.  We were going to do some cross-country skiing, my dad’s personal favorite, but there hasn’t been enough snow this winter to make that possible.  So we went to a downhill ski resort and I tried my hand at it.

As it turns out, I’m freaking awesome at downhill.  I will not even be modest about this.  I killed it.

My sissy and me, after a few hours in the powder.  Guess who is who!  Ha ha ha!!

I got really excited about buying my own gear and going up to Wisconsin every weekend to ski, but then it got nice outside, and my athletic ambitions went in another direction:

RUNNING A 5K.  This is my new goal.  And I already joined the Chicago Area Runners Association (CARA), started attending a weekly running group, and bought almost $300 worth of new running clothes, so try and stop me now!

(On a different note, how is it possible that I visited both Nike and Adidas before realizing that Victoria’s Secret is the only place on earth with actually supportive sports bras?  I mean, good job, VS.  Boo, Nike and Adidas, AKA THE MOST POPULAR AND REPUTABLE SPORTS CLOTHING LINES ON THE PLANET.)

Let’s see; what else?  My graduate course is almost complete, and I’m almost sure that I aced it, but…never mind.  I don’t want to get my hopes up.  You never know.  Either way, even if I didn’t ace it, I managed to get through it with only ONE fainting episode!  Brava to me!

Oh!  Last weekend, two of my BEST FRIENDS from college came to visit me.  It was spectacular.  We walked around the city, ate lots of delicious food, and told all the same stories we’ve told each other two thousand times before.  Don’t you love friends like that?

Because my apartment is small and tends to get crowded, my friends and I stayed at the HoJo downtown.  Check out the lock on our door.  I mean, we had no security concerns at ALL.

In other news, two weekends ago my roommate and I saw the Joffrey Ballet perform, and then we walked around Wicker Park so that I could say I’ve been there, and yesterday we went on a scavenger hunt. 

At this point I’m guessing you’re getting bored, so I’ll say tah-tah for now.  I have brownies that just came out of the oven.  So there.

Here is a hilarious picture of my cat hogging my coat and all my stuff.