OMW

I have a dear friend who doesn't swear.

Can you believe this?

No cursing. Ever. My own potty mouth is woefully out of control and as the parent of a deaf kid, I never learned to watch my language appropriately. Turn my head, sure. Stop spewing vulgarities? Never.

Her rants are far more creative than mine because her vocabulary is bigger. And of course she sounds more sophisticated and intelligent than I do.

I've picked up one of her delightful phrases and adopted it as my own. Instead of the trashy teen girl sounding, "OMG," she uses the more gracious "OMW." As in, "Oh My Word!"

Isn't that lovely?

Those three letters were hanging in my brain as I set out on a bike ride tonight after work. However, I swapped out that W.

Oh, My WIND!

Holy Moses. Typhoon, anyone?

This was the first time I had taken my road bike out on the actual road. It took me a few minutes to get the hang of the gears (didn't use those much when the bike was in the trainer in the basement) and to get the feel for the narrower tires and lower handlebars.

Once I did, I headed uphill against the wind. It was an amazingly slow, hard climb. And it was nothing compared to the excitement as I turned the corner into a cross-wind.

I literally had to lean my bike into the gusts ... like this:

 (OK, so I can't draw. And before you ask, I don't ride a unicycle and I have arms and those are visual representations of wind. You try to draw it.)

As I said, Oh. My. Wind!

The worst part was when a car or truck came from behind me to pass. First of all, with all the whooshing through my helmet, it's hard to hear the cars coming. And secondly, the crosswind makes me wobbly and not everyone gives enough room as they go by. In hindsight, it was actually kind of scary and probably not the safest trip I've ever made.

And, to the motorcycle idiot who decided to pass a farm implement, riding smack dab head on toward me, in my lane, and smiling as I took to the gravel shoulder to get far enough away from you:

"You cock-a-doodle-do, brother-trucking, bass foal! I'm glad you thought it was funny to drive me off the road at 55 mph. Clucking hysterical, you fun of a witch."

See, I can watch my tongue when I try.

Fear is Paralyzing

It's been almost one year since I ran my half marathon. It's been almost five months since I ran at all. 

A year ago, my work situation was pretty secure. Irritating, but steady. Today they officially told us the future would change, quickly.  

Twelve months ago, I weighed 13 pounds less than I did this morning. 

I used to feel in control and strong. Today, not so much. 

It's hard for me to believe so much has changed in such a short time. 

A dear friend and her husband visited my house on Saturday and she brought me a gift. It was this photo. 

She asked me if I recognized it. I didn't. She said it was the bridge I ran over to start my 13.1 miles in La Crosse. She had gone to school there and this shot was taken for a photography course. 

"We were supposed to take a picture of something we were afraid of," she said. "It's for your workout room." 

How did she know to hit THAT nail on the THAT head? 

In my old life, I spent a lot of time being afraid of a lot of things. The one thing I was most afraid of was failing. I'm afraid of a few things again. I'm afraid that my knee isn't going to get better. I'm afraid that I will have to give up running altogether. I'm afraid that my career is about to take a turn. I'm afraid the weight won't come off ... or that it will increase. I'm afraid that I won't be strong and in control again. 

But now, every morning, I'm going to look at that bridge. And I'm going to remember that I DID run over it. And I kept going ... farther than I thought I could. I didn't run that far because I got lucky. I ran that far because I worked hard and I earned it.

Fear is paralyzing. And useless. It prevents you from trying. 

Trying puts you in control. You aren't guaranteed to succeed. But you're a step ahead of where you started. 

Thank you, my friend. 

No-Carb Appetizers

We went out for dinner last night with some friends and met at our house beforehand. I wanted to have a little nosh-worthy snacky snack to go with the before-dinner drink to kick the evening off right.

These two, along with some homemade SALSA, came together quickly, hit the mark and tasted pretty good.

Prosciutto-Wrapped Cantaloupe

Prosciutto

Cantaloupe

Seed melon. Cut in chunks. Wrap the thin-sliced meat around each chunk. Would also be good to throw a chunk of blue cheese in there, if you know everyone likes blue cheese. Or, you could skip the cantaloupe, substitute a fig and then choose the blue cheese and prosciutto. Yum. Or a pear. I'll stop. But the list is endless. 

Stuffed Cucumbers

2-3 cucumbers

1 8-oz. package of cream cheese, softened (I used low fat cream cheese which as more carbs than regular, but they're still practically non-existent.)

1/2 of a packet of Hidden Valley Ranch Spicy Ranch dry dip mix

Red onion, finely diced

5-6 baby carrots, finely diced

Couple of squirts of hot sauce

Parsley or cilantro or nothing, finely diced

Peel cucumbers with vegetable peeler and cut in 1/2" to 3/4" chunks. With a melon-baller, scoop the seeds out, making a pocket for the dip. Don't go all the way through the bottom. In a bowl, mix the cream cheese, dry mix, onions, carrots, hot sauce, green stuff. Put a dollop of the cream cheese mixture in each little scooped out hole. If you're feeling fancy, add some diced veg to the top. 

Dessert Beer

OK, if you're my friend on Facebook, you've already heard this.

Kentucky Ale: Bourbon Barrel.

OMG. It's like dessert and beer all in one. And well worth every stinking calorie. It's vanilla and caramel and smooth and lovely.

Like candy and beer all at once.

I hit three liquor stores on the way home in an attempt to obtain more. I could not find it, but have a hot lead to chase tomorrow.

How could this be bad?

No Pants Thursday

I'm home!

Flying makes me crazy. I don't enjoy it. It's nerve-wracking, dirty and unpleasant.

So, to keep this day as comfortable as possible, I declared it "No Pants Thursday."

This means I wore leggings on the plane. Yeah, leggings. Like tights. With a zip-up sweatshirt. And a tank.

Leggings are not pants. This occurred to me when I had to take off my little zip-up jacket thing off in the security line. All of a sudden, there I am, in a body stocking (black leggings and black tank) as I put my arms over my head and wait for the X-ray to take its photo.

"Hello, World! Here I am. Come see my every lump, bump, nook and cranny!"

There are Amish women who have never been this exposed to their husbands ... after five kids. Completely inappropriate. But after five days of being uniformed in my trade show gear, wearing my fake smile and my totally manufactured cheery personality, I just didn't have the energy to button up in real clothes today.

Maybe this thing will catch on. No Pants Thursdays could show up across the country.

Are you with me?

This May Not Be Motown ... But I Got Your Temptations

Every day, for five long days, I had to walk past a Godiva store and a Mrs. Fields to get from my hotel room to the conference center. Five. Long. Days. 

And if you count that I was back and forth to my room at least twice a day and sometimes three times a day, that's a lot of trips past temptation. 

I am proud to tell you that I did not set foot in either divine-smelling, tantalizing, mouth-watering establishment. 

I did take a sugar cookie sample from a lovely young lady with a tray yesterday afternoon ... after a workout. 

That seemed justified. And controlled. 

And delicious.

(P.S. I had to look the Temptations up on Wikipedia to get to this headline. My first attempt was, "I'm Not Gladys Knight, But I Got Your Temptations." And then I thought that didn't seem right. Gladys had Pips, not Temptations, for the record. I think I just flunked the Barry Gordy Jeopardy category.)

Appetizer Action

I'm traveling this week, as you know. That means different time zones, a screwed up schedule, long days, missed workouts, difficult access to good food and late, large, alcohol-infused dinners.

Not the best thing for the waistline.

But I have strategies to overcome the obstacles!

I've told you before about the food I pack. Snacks for the plane and the mid-day munchies: raisins, nuts, Cheerios, shredded wheat and a few M&Ms. Apples and 90-calorie Fiber One bars for breakfast. Gum to keep my mouth busy during long flights and longer afternoons. Dove chocolate for, well, any occasion.

Those things help me get through the day okay. And I'm lucky in that this enormous casino hotel has a 24-hour fancy food mart with fresh fruit, salads, raw veg bar, Cherry Coke Zero and even sushi for a reasonably healthy lunch, though it costs me a literal arm and leg.

That just leaves dinner to negotiate.

My new go-to solution for enormous portions and calorie-laden monster meals is this:

Appetizers. And sides.

One day I had a plain, ol' ordinary side salad with a side of fresh cut potato chips. Last night I got to split some steamed edamame with the table (I ate the most by far), then ate half of a seared tuna app and a side cucumber/tomato salad. Tonight, at a fan-freaking-tastic Cuban restaurant, we again split something for the table ... empanadas. And then I noshed on a bowl of black bean soup and a cup of ceviche.

Best of all, it can be cheap to eat like this. Not always, but sometimes the sides are nominal.

It saves me in two ways. 1) I have a compulsion to eat everything on my plate. When you're traveling, you can't really ask for a to-go box to take half of whatever it is home. So I find that it's just best to not have the whole plate of anything in front of me. 2) The typical side of potatoes or rice or pasta is all not-necessary carbs. By ordering little bits at time I can just avoid them.

And, yes, I know the potato chips mentioned above are carbs. But I love fresh potato chips.

So zip it.

Gettin' Chatted Up in AC

Not sure what's in the water here in Atlantic City, but it's a bit strange.

I've been here for two days and I've had three offers.

OK, offers is a bit strong. But the former fat girl in me laughs at this. Honest to goodness, never in my adult life was I hit on my anyone. Ever. And by hit on I mean singled out. Never once.

So when this strange phenomenon happens to me, as a 45-year-old, Midwestern mom with sagging skin, parenthesis wrinkles and stubby fingernails, it cracks me right up ... and sort of secretly delights me.

Offer 1: I'm getting on an elevator as a middle-aged man is getting off the same car. We sort of pass each other in the doorway. And then he backs up, as the doors begin to close, forcing them to open again. He looks at me and mumbles something as his phone starts to beep. I don't understand what he said, but think he's asking me if the beep is coming from me/my phone/the elevator. I say, "I think that's your phone." He looks at me again and says, "Yeah. It is. Is your husband here?" I pause, "No." He follows with, "Would you like to have lunch later?" I say, thanks, but no and the door thankfully closes. I assume he's drunk, in spite of it being 10 a.m. I also wonder if he just asks every woman he sees and if so, what the odds are that someone says, "Sure!"

Offer 2: I'm hawking my company's wares, standing behind a table, spewing what little I know about the equipment in front of me. I make the mistake of bending over at the waist to write an order on said table. Mind you, I'm wearing a company-issued, logoed, long-sleeve Vneck cardigan with a tank top underneath, the epitome of Trade Show Chic and not exactly Fredrick's of Hollywood style. All of a sudden, there's a bright light on my chest and complimentary chatter from some East Coast home inspector. I should be insulted. And on the one hand I am. It's disrespectful and inappropriate at best and much worse than that in hindsight. In my head, however, I can't help but think, "My boobs used to be a lot bigger and no one ever paid any attention."

Offer 3: I have two hours downtime. I hustle off the show floor to my room, perform a quick change into these crazy zebra-ish print workout crops and a black workout tank. I toss on a black zip-up sweatshirt and hurry to the fitness center ... which, in the land of mega casinos, is approximately 47 miles away. The hike requires escalators, elevators, a fake brick walkway, marble floors, a mall with a light blue ceiling painted with realistic clouds. As I'm doing my limping best to scoot along, this dude is walking toward me. I get to where I'm ready to pass by him and he stops. "Hey," he says. "Hi. Where are you going?" And he's seriously zeroed in. "Good morning," I can't help but say (damn that Midwestern gene!) as I zip past. He's still talking, but I keep moving.

I hope this doesn't sound conceited or odd. I suspect "pretty girls" get this kind interaction all the time and never think twice about it. Hell, for all I know most people in general get this kind of interaction because they are willing to look at strangers as they pass on the sidewalk and say "Hello."

And maybe that's the most important thing that's changed about me ... I'm more willing to participate in the world around me. Even if it can be a bit creepy sometimes.

Where Are My Potatoes?

What do you do when something "not right" happens at a restaurant?

Tonight, we went for out for dinner tonight with my in-laws. It's Friday in Wisconsin, so you know that means fish. While my hubs and MIL shared a pizza, my FIL and I stuck to fish. Him the deep fried walleye and me the grilled salmon.

His came with choice of potato and a green salad. Mine included green beans and also a choice of potato.

However, the server didn't ask me which potato I'd prefer. I noticed, and sort of assumed I'd read the menu wrong and maybe it wasn't a choice ... she'd just bring the "assigned" potato.

When my plate arrived, my beautifully seared fish arrived on a bed of approximately 15 green beans ... and that's it. There was a big empty space on the plate. No potato.

The old me would have asked for some potatoes. The seriously dieting me of a year or so ago would have ate what was on my plate and been done.

The new me ate the beans, half of the fish, a piece of warm bread with butter ... and a corner slice of pizza.

Chocolate-Covered Oreos

Yeah. I ate one today.

Boy, was it GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD.

It was white chocolate covered, really. And, though I haven't had an Oreo in a while, I'm pretty sure it was of the Double Stuffed variety.

Best of all, it was served in celebration of a new addition to our work team. A little, tiny addition that will arrive in approximately six months.

Even the strictest, most unforgiving diet plan in the world has room for a special occasion like that.

Congratulations, parents-to-be, Dr. J and Ms. Giggles. I'm so very happy for you.

(Oh, and I can see that your brain has already been affected by the pregnancy phenomenon. You didn't tell me that the title of Monday's post had a glaring, ridiculous typo. Are Hearts Are With You, Boston? Seriously? I fixed it. Good heavens. You know I need a proofreader!)

Me vs. M&Ms

There's a war waging in my house. In my head, really.

Here's the situation:

I'm not yet running. Actually, I'm not even walking. I'm about three weeks away from that ... or at least that's the timetable given to me by the orthopedic experts in charge of my care.

I'm experimenting. I have tried to walk. Not so good. I've tried to bike every day. Not so good. I've tried taking a whole week off ... no exercise whatsoever ... icing down every night. That didn't seem to matter either.

I managed a pretty good strength workout Saturday, and followed that up with a weights/bike workout Tuesday. This morning I did another balance/stretch/strength routine and am hoping for the bike tomorrow.

I should be swimming. I know I should be swimming. I just can't do it.

I'd really like to get outside. I'd really like to hit the pavement. But I'm trying to be patient, because I know a little patience now will hopefully allow me to come back stronger, longer, later.

It's so hard to wait. It's beyond frustrating.

I'm choosing to view this as a test of my will. A test of my desire to stay healthy and my ability to fight for me.

Tonight, the M&Ms may have won the battle. But they won't win the war.

Laughter is Good, But I Know Something Better

They say laughter is the best medicine. I like the sentiment. But I'm not sure I agree entirely.

I think exercise is good for what ails you.

Stretching. Walking. Dancing. Hula hooping. Marching. Jumping jacking. Pick your poison. As long as it's ...

Moooooooooooooooving.

(And sweating. A little sweating proves you're moving enough.)

When my life feels like it's about to spin out of control, when my mind races, when my heart palpitates, when I can't catch my breath ...

The best thing I can do is shake my ass in some way.

The very action of shaking your southern half has an equal and opposite reaction that slows your accelerating northern regions.  

I spoke with an old friend last night who is going through a very rough time. She's got lots of balls in the air and all of them are on fire. She's hurting. And I feel kind of helpless because there's not much I can say or do to make it better.

But the one thing I can tell her--with certainty--is that taking care of herself does matter.

If there is one noticeable difference between the me of today and the me of yesterday, other than the size of my behind, it is my ability to handle stress. The things that used to keep me up at night or cause me to fly off the handle no longer do.

Some of that comes with age, I'm sure. You just get better at handling the "bad" stuff because you realize that it's going to happen and you have to deal with it. Some of the ability to let it roll I've learned from my husband. He's just built that way and I've been taking notes for 11 years.

But some of it comes from my new lifestyle.

1. Exercising gives me time to think. It's an hour a day that's all mine. The methodical pounding of my feet on the pavement or my toes on the pedals provides a rhythm for me to hammer through the issues causing me grief.

2. Exercising makes me strong ... physically and mentally. And when I'm strong, I can face anything. Waking up at 5 a.m. to get a workout in makes me feel like I have conquered something. Knowing I am doing something good for me gives me a mental edge. When I feel that power in my head, I don't spiral down  into the dark place of thinking that I'm not good enough, strong enough, capable enough.

3. Exercising gives me control. It's not control over everything in my life, but it is control over something in my life and that is comforting when the world is spinning.

My friend is taking care of herself. For that I am grateful. I wish I could magically make the fear and frustration disappear.

I can't.

But I can offer to go on a walk with her. It's a good place to start.

Our Hearts Are With You, Boston

There is no rational understanding of irrational realities.

Please keep the runners and spectators affected by today's horrible events in your prayers. And run an extra mile in their honor tomorrow.

The Workout is the Reward

Remember I mentioned the "Challenge" event a friend of mine is running via a FB page? This week's challenge is "to do something for yourself," knowing that as wives and mothers and daughters, we tend to put everyone else's needs ahead of our own.

I like the challenge. And my first thought, and my commitement to the group, was that I was going to get a mani/pedi and attempt a project that I have been putting off because I haven't found the time.

And then I thought more about it.

What is really the best way to be good to yourself?

Eating right and getting a little exercise seems like a great place to start.

This idea has come up here before, but even I had forgotten how important it is. Words to Live By and The Voices in Your Head

Chocolate cake that tastes good going in, but makes you miserable later because it does a number on your self-esteem and self-worth when you beat yourself up over it, is not good for you.

Skipping a workout to sleep in seems like a good idea in the wee hours of the morning. But when the rest of the day gets too busy and there isn't room for some activity later on, you end up junking the whole day and putting yourself further behind instead of one step ahead on the path to what you really want.

Being good to yourself means BEING GOOD TO YOURSELF.

And trust me, it's easier to get up at 4:30 to get that 45-minute treadmill rendezvous in if your head is telling you that the workout is the reward, not the punishment.

I hope you are good to yourself this week. You're worth it and you deserve it.

Friday Night Fish Fry

Guess how many calories in the average Friday night Wisconsin fish fry?

Per a quick Google search, 1100. And that's before beer.

That's just about a whole day's intake on a weight-loss plan. Oh, and you can add 500 calories for the all-you-can-eat version.

I love Friday fish fries. When I was a kid, my family went out for fish nearly every Friday night ... even when times were tough. I didn't have the fanciest name-brand blue jeans or tennis shoes and my parents didn't drive nice cars, but there was always enough for fish on Fridays. And a few quarters for the jukebox, a kiddie cocktail and order of deep-fried cheese curds, to boot.

My body is now sort of genetically programmed to crave fish on Fridays. The longing usually starts about 4 p.m. I prefer battered to breaded, potato pancakes over french fries, creamy coleslaw vs. the vinegar kind.

I know I should choose baked fish option. But I don't always do what I should do.

It's a perfect meal.

I could choose to feel guilty about eating it. But I don't, because I don't do it every week. Or even every month.

Which allows me to really enjoy it when I do.

Happy Friday.

Taco Twosies

We like tacos. In all shapes and sizes.

I make enchilada sauce by the gallon and there is always some sort of meat leftover in the freezer (chicken breast or turkey breast) that can be added to create a burrito, taco salad, or straight up corn tortilla variety.

But I really like ground meat, 1970's hard shell Gringo tacos, too.

I've given up ground beef, relying on ground turkey instead. Ground turkey comes in a 20-oz. package. Too much meat for us to eat in one sitting. But not really enough to make a good portion of leftovers.

So I look for ways to stretch it ... add a little sumpin' sumpin' in there to create a better pile of goodness to put in the freezer. Onions are a given, but here are two other options:

OPTION 1: Black beans or pinto beans. Rinse them and toss them in there. The black variety is prettier,  in my opinion. This mixture is richer and denser than Option 2.

OPTION 2: Mushrooms. Chop them and cook them with the onion first, so they release all of their liquid. Once it's all soft and starting to brown, toss the ground turkey in and finish it off. The mushrooms "lighten up" the meat a little ... you get a sort of silky texture.

Both options decrease you overall meat intake, if that's important to you and area also easy on the wallet.

I use the leftovers to make taco salads the day after, or toss them in with some peppers and cheese for a Mexi-egg scramble. It would also be great mixed with a little enchilada sauce, black olives, brown rice and maybe even a little corn, stuffed in a green pepper for a Mexi version of that classic.

Just a Swimmin'

I have a friend who has started a little Facebook group of people looking to drop a few pounds. Two weeks ago, she decided to issue weekly "challenges" geared toward developing good habits.

Last week's challenge was to eat two servings of fruit every day. That was an easy one for me.

This week's challenge is to drink 64-80 ounces of water daily.

Oh my word. I'm swimmin'.

I'm not a big drinker to start with. In fact, I'm not sure I drink 50 ounces of anything on a normal day. So this has been a struggle for me.

After three days, here's what I know:

1. I CAN drink that much. But it takes a genuine effort. I have a 20-oz. water bottle that I'm refilling from the water cooler.
2. I prefer some flavor in my water. I'm using Crystal Light and Mio right now.
3. I'm better off to chug it and get it over with. Sipping all day isn't my deal. Today I drank my 12-oz of Cherry Coke Zero on the way to work and then downed three 20-oz bottles before noon.
4. It really makes me feel full. Which should translate into less eating. It hasn't -- yet -- but I can see how it would if you truly listened to your body.
5. I'm a dang good pee-er. LOTS of trips to the restroom. But, I look at it this way, I get some extra steps in as I traipse back and forth from my desk.

Do you guys want to join in on the fun? I can pass along the challenges. I love the concept and it's fun to do it together.

The trick will be to see if you keep last week's challenge going as you add this week's. And next week's. And next. And so on.

Chug-a-lug, CCreaders!

Running ... Out of Time

It's official.  I think I'm entering my mid-life crisis.

All of a sudden, I realized I'm halfway to 90, and burning daylight. I feel like I'm just getting started and when I do the math, I don't have that much time left to do all that I want to do. To see all the places I want to see. To experience all the things I want to experience.

Life is happening too fast.

My kid is a grown up and my nieces are done being little. My mom is the same age as the people whose obituaries I obsessively read in the Sunday newspaper. I'm 23 years into my career and sort of don't care anymore about climbing higher and busting my ass.

Old is coming way too fast and I'm worried about fitting it all in.

After losing the weight, it felt like I got a "do-over." I got to crouch down as someone raised a starter's pistol and said, "Runners, take your mark, get set ... " BANG.

I'm running. Literally and figuratively. I want to attack the world and see it all, taste it all, experience it all. I'm full of energy and I WANT IT ALL. I'm also so incredibly pissed off that I wasted so much time in a body that held me back.

I was waiting to live my life. Letting my life happen to me.

I am no longer content to wait.

Buckle up, kids. We're putting the hammer down. 

Butt Bling

There was no escaping it.

It was time to buy new jeans. This "casual every day" work dress code is actually kind of a bummer. I don't have enough casual wear to find something decent Monday through Friday. So there I was, in the mall, searching.

The last time I bought jeans was when this body was new and I was buying a lot of clothes because I didn't have anything that fit. So I ended up at Kohl's, with house brand, boring, mom-like, cheap numbers.

I decided it was time to move on from mom jeans and enter the world of butt bling.

I'll be totally honest I can't name a cool brand of jeans to save my own life. I have no idea if what I bought was dorky bling or hip bling.

But I bought a pair with sparkly pockets.  I chose something without rips and with a very limited amount of pre-fab fading. They sit lower on my hips than I'm accustomed to. And they're sort of snug.

The 17-year-old sales girl insisted I wasn't too old for them.

I'm not so sure.

Restaurant Strategies

OK, we all know how to read a menu and pick what's best, right?

Choose grilled, not fried or breaded. Order salad dressing on the side and use very little. Watch salad toppings like cheese and chips and candied nuts. Know your portion sizes ... most restaurants give you at least double of what a normal portion is.

But what happens AFTER you order and get your food? What can you do to make sure you don't blow it when that big, beautiful plate arrives?

Some people ask for a to-go box right away and bank half. I think that makes sense. But at a fancy restaurant, it can be a little tough. My solution is to give part of mine to Jim right away, so it's off my plate and not tempting me.

I also try to focus on the stuff I love most. In my old life, I was programmed to eat everything ... regardless of how hungry I was or how much I liked what was on the plate. Now I will evaluate all of the components and decide what's most important to me. Mashed potatoes or white rice or even French fries? Nothing so special about those. So skip 'em.

When I get to the point on my plate where I know I should be done, the thing that works best for me is to simply throw in the towel. Well, throw in the napkin, really. I very deliberately take my napkin off my lap and place it and my silverware on my plate. The grosser my napkin is (lipstick, for instance), the better this works. The visual cue to me and to others that I am done solves the problem of eating more.

Emily Post might not approve. But she doesn't have to fit in my jeans.

4 Miles

I hit a milestone today.

I walked 4 miles on my treadmill this morning.

It was the farthest I've moved under my own leg power for almost three months. And it makes me very, very  happy.

I'm supposed to be laying low. I'm counting walking at most three times a week until the injections are complete as laying low.

I have to learn a new way to workout. I know I'm not going to be able to run every day. I have some testing to do ... some trial and error experimentation to learn how much is enough and how much is too much.

I have to discover what proper recovery time means  and make sure I'm filling my "off" run days with more consistent and appropriate strength training. Whether I like it or not.

I am an old dog. I'm hoping new tricks are still possible.

Spring Favorite Things

1. Mangoes ... I'm still not an expert peeler/cutter-off-the-core-thing person, but man, I'm addicted. So good alone or mixed with fresh pineapple, strawberries and blackberries. Can't wait to use them in a salsa with peaches/nectarines, onions and jalapenos!

2. Ankle pants ... Longer than crops, sexier than bootcut. I own two pair and I just love the way they look with basic kitten heel pumps and ballet flats. I actually prefer to call them cigarette pants, though I don't know that's the right terminology. Think Audrey Hepburn. I don't have great looking calves. But I feel like a total hottie with my ankles showing.

3. Roasted pumpkin seeds ... I buy them at TJMaxx. They are not calorie or sodium-free, but they are a good substitute for candy. I eat them one at a time and get some protein and they keep my hands and mouth busy.

4. Charming Charlie's in West Towne Mall ... I'm not a very good shopper. I haven't been to West Towne in a loooooonnnngggg time. So when I popped in last week, I discovered this store. It's FULL of accessories, and a few clothes, all arranged by color. You want yellow? They've got yellow ... bags, scarves, necklaces, earrings, bracelets ... in all shades, shapes and colors. Black and white? Yup. Orange? Sure. Green? A whole section of the store devoted to each color. Oh! Best of all, there's a kick ass bargain corner!

5. My road ... I love my road. I'm taking very short walks a couple of times a week. Don't tell my doctor. It's just too nice outside and I can't stand being cooped up in this house any longer. I love the way spring smells, the sound of the birds, the occasional bite of a good, stiff breeze. Life is returning to my corner of the world and I'm thrilled to be in it.

Not a Web Guru

I'm trying to figure out how to put that little Facebook logo thing on this blog so people can click it to follow Carsick Caravan on Facebook.

My thinking is that if updates pop up in your FB feed, it's easier than searching out the blog to see if I've added a post.

But, alas, I can't figure it out. I found out how to get the code I need (I think), just not where/how to add it.

And I'm too afraid of screwing something up if I do it wrong. So, there will be no little FB logo on the blog.

If you want to follow on Facebook, go to https://www.facebook.com/CarsickCaravan and like the page there. On the days I have a blog post, I'll put a link in the status update. Some days I might simply have a quick comment with no link. Like tonight. 

And when I get rich and famous, I'll hire a web developer.

Orthopedic Apocalypse

I went for my second of three knee injections today. I get them at the Dean Orthopedic Center on the Beltline in Madison.

It's a nice place. Fairly new, from what I gather. And the three times I've been there (one consultation and two pokes), I've been in an exam room with enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows. As such, I am careful to wear pants I can hike above my knee because showing my bare ass to all of that traffic seems like a bad idea.

But I digress.

It's not the exam rooms that are my favorite part of this clinic. It's the waiting room.

Everyone is visibly maimed.

It's very different from a visit to your general practitioner. You often can't tell what's wrong with the people there. Maybe they need a sports physical for school. Or they have a sinus infection. Or a heart condition. Or diabetes. Or an ingrown toenail. Or kidney stone.

The point is you usually can't tell by looking at them what has brought them to this place.

But at the equivalent of an orthopedic amusement park, every ailment is easily identifiable.

There's a cast or a splint or crutches. A sling or a limp or a wheelchair. And the more people coming and going, the funnier it is.

It's not funny that they are hurting. It's just darn funny to watch the almost orchestrated way they check in, find a seat, move to the exam rooms and finally exit. Like some wounded Virginia Reel.

Or, like Zombies in a Michael Jackson video.

Bridesmaid Dress No. 3

It's always such an honor to be asked to be a bridesmaid. I know there are lots of people who groan every time they get asked because it can turn into a bit of a circus. I'm lucky in that all of the brides I've ever stood next to have been beautiful, wonderful women who brought no bridezilla activities and not one picked out a hideous dress.

OK, some are not so cute in retrospect, but the late 80s and early to mid 90s were not exactly the height of gorgeous fashion. We did the best we could. No umbrellas, big hats or pastel rainbows ... whew.

My cousin picked a really beautiful navy blue velvet for a fall wedding. It was classy and elegant. I went for the fitting and my measurements put me between two sizes. I confidently ordered the smaller size, assuming it wouldn't be too hard to get there.

And, of course, come fitting day, it was a no go. It didn't zip. In fact, it didn't come close.

I just wanted the floor to swallow me up. How do you make a dress bigger?

There was a lot of discussion between the seamstress and the sales woman. Nope, not enough in the seam allowance to make dent. There was running back and forth to an "office" to check to see what our options were. We were out of time to order a new dress in a bigger size, but we could get extra fabric sent in time.

You guessed it. Extra fabric to make those aforementioned panels on the sides of the dress. ((Read Bridesmaid Dress No. 2 here.)

I was lucky that the dress was a very dark navy and it had some texture to it, so the panels were perhaps not as visible and obvious as they could have been. I knew they were there, however.

I knew.

I knew I was too big to fit into this dress.

I have no photos of me in that dress. To be honest, I can't remember the details of it, probably in a selective/protective memory sort of way. All I remember is that it had panels.

I do have the leftover velvet. They had to order a minimum amount ... perhaps a yard? And they didn't need the whole yard for the fixes. So they gave me the remainder. I have carried it around in my sewing box for all of these years and I'm not sure why. I feel shame and disappointment when I look at it.

But it's a part of my history, too.

Maybe someday I'll take a piece of it and make it into something sexy just to bring the story full circle.