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.