Tag Archives: fitness

Short Training Runs on Nantucket

We’re on Nantucket for a few weeks so I’ve been training out of the gym, mostly running. This week I put in over 16 miles. Pretty great for Mommy on vacation in foodie heaven. Jeeze, I love eating in this place. Lola, Juice Bar, Something Natural, American Seasons, Oran Mor, Town, Toppers, Provisions, The Nantucket, Brotherhood, and the list goes on and on and on.
Most importantly, this morning’s treasure:

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The Nantucket Bake Shop (new location mid-island) donut. Krispy Kreme, eat your heart out. This baby melts in your mouth. Delicious sugary goodness. I’m not afraid to admit I had a Boston Cream and half a jelly. One pre-run and work-out, the other post.
I couldn’t decide to focus on running or food in this post. I was torn, so instead, I decided to show you a picture of my sin. You’re welcome.
More about great, beautiful, breezy, short runs on Nantucket to come.

Morning Lament: from the gym to filling up diesel cans.

In my notes, I called this post the Day of Buttheads, and while I still feel that way, I also felt as though that title wouldn’t convey the general idea quite the way it should. Because, really, who am I kidding? I’m just moaning here. My list this morning was simple: Swim, Go by kid’s school, Pick up library books for kid, Dollar Store for potty training prizes, Diesel for the farm. Home. This is the true story of how it actually went. Looking back, I’m slightly put off that my hunger seemed to really take the driver’s seat for a bit.

My day started off by getting run over in my lane while swimming at the gym. Now, I have been known to lane leap once in a while (generally while back stroking and usually when I get water up my nose), but not when freestyle lap swimming especially in the first 500M of a morning swim. I digress. This morning, some pasty, pudgy, slightly hairy douchebag totally swam right over me. And that was his way of letting me know he was joining my lane. No warning, no standing at the end so I’d see him while turning. Nope. He just got in, started swimming and ran right over me. Jackass. I’m still pissed just thinking about it. You know how much I loathe swim day anyway.

So, I shower and head off to the kid’s school to drop off his paperwork and another check. Activity fee. For a 2 year old. WTH. Whatever. I thought I picked the route with the least amount of construction, instead, the stoplight was out, two lanes were closed and the city’s finest were directing traffic. Yay.

On to the library for said kid’s books. Glance at clock. Nope. No time for library. Text from wife – “pick up bras for me please.” Hey that actually sounds fun! A. I get to shop for small bras – I never get to do that, and B. I get to shop for my wife’s lingerie. Fun.
Well. It was fun until A. I tried on bras, and B. I missed the free bra by one square on my ‘bra and panty club’ card. I’m not making this crap up.

Starving. Must check my calorie counting fitness app to see what I can eat because I’m low on time and getting crotchety and faint with hunger. It looks as though the grilled chx wrap at chikfila (which I don’t like doing because of the gay stuff and it’s still technically fast food) will suffice and it’s next to the dollar store so I can hit that after.

Left turn lane closed. Really? It’s 12:30 and the left turn lane into the Rio Hill Center is closed. Really great planning there. I keep going, do a uey at the next light, head back.

I’m totally distracting myself with my little fitness app, but I still manage to notice how effing slow this fast food line is. I’m not even supposed to be eating this crap. Shh. Check clock. I’m losing precious dollar store minutes. I watch the lady in front of me order for her entire apartment building.

Tick tock. (Or as Ke$Ha might say, “Tik Tok.” Jeeze she makes work outs fun.)

Dollar store window of time is gone.
Why, you may ask, did I need the dollar store. I’m attempting to potty train my oldest. Sort of. Anyway, someone recently told me they wrapped up individual little prizes and kept them by the toilet to help with potty training. Sounds like something the kid would go for – he loves prizes almost as much as his mommy. I thought the dollar store would have some nifty little crap toys to wrap up for such a thing. BUT IT WILL HAVE TO WAIT FOR ANOTHER EFFING DAY.

I’ve got to get diesel and get home before the nanny leaves. Woe is me.

Just standing here pumping diesel into my 6 gallon can when older nosy professor type next to me glances over. He watches me place the can in my car. “Does that thing not have a cap on it?” He is incredulous. I respond, “No, it sure doesn’t. Bummer.” What I wanted to say was, “Yessir, that’s how we roll back in the hollar.” Looking back I wish I would’ve said that. He waits a minute, then leans over again, “You should at least get a plastic bag and a rubber band for it. Jeeze.” I say, “Uh huh,” as I pretend to rummage around for something to cover the damn thing with so he’ll shut up. He says, “I’d hate to think what might happen if you have an accident.” I grit my teeth, smile and say, “I know. I got it.” Just shut up already. We’re all tired of you. You’re ruining our good time. Go home. Everybody hates you.
Whoa. That one got away from me. Sorry.
Good thing I didn’t really say that because he followed me all the way to my turn off.
At which point I had to stop and wait for a leader car because one lane was closed. Seriously. I’m not embellishing. I swear.
I’m home. It’s only 1:40.
What a morning.

AYSO? Not in Cville.

We couldn’t just use AYSO for our kids’ soccer play. No, not in Cville. This has bothered me for years.
Cville had to create its own org.

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Effing Braless AGAIN: At Least it Wasn’t Swim Day

So, yes, yours truly was without bra yet again this morning post shower at the gym. Thankfully, I had made it to kettlebells class, which means it’s Thursday, not Tuesday, which is always swim day. And, this old girl has to double bag her twins, so fortunately I could use the less sweaty (and therefore, less disgusting) sports bra that I’d worn on top. It’s bittersweet though. Am I right? Yay, I have a bra. Boo, I have a sports bra.
Especially since my top is a boatneck – hello, awkward wide jersey racer back straps.
And while we’re on the subject, no one, I mean no one in my BMI category looks good in a sports bra. Ever.
Here’s what I think I look like:

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And here’s what I actually look like:

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Hey it could be worse.
It could be a swim day.
Wink wink. Bounce bounce.

A Dress (or Skirt, rather) for Every Summer

DSC_8686There’s a definitive dress for for me for each summer. Is it that way for every woman? I assume that it is. This summer I have chosen a short dress because my legs are looking fantastic thanks to my training. It has a scoop neck and almost 3/4 length sleeves. It’s a bit of a mad men-ish design in that perfect green and turquoise that just begs for a dark tan to spike its look.

As I was looking at it in my closet this evening I was reminded of my dress, or rather, skirt of the summer when I was nineteen and worked at a drive through beer store at the beach (please, no judgement – I lived at the beach and it was a job – a really, really fun job). The skirt was yellow, sort of denim, and really, really ridiculously short – like guys could totally see my ass when I went for beers on the bottom shelf of the coolers short – and it buttoned up the front. Maybe five buttons. I remember this because I can recall counting the buttons as I peed in the tiny bathroom at Tortugas. Drunky wunkey and stoney bologna. I steadily borrowed my roommate’s cute off-white sweater to wear over it for nights at the bars.old skirt days

Other summers had other dresses. Summer camp at sixteen was a long tank dress with a very high slit up the side – again, with the legs. It was ashy brown and showed off a late summer (summer job = lifeguarding) tan really well.

Jill and LindsayLast summer (as a much older lady) it was a dressy number, sleeveless, high neck with some blingy glitter, some layers at the bottom, champagne and light tan in color. I wore it to a friend’s wedding in South Carolina and danced my drunk ass off with all my other college girlfriends. SO MUCH FUN!

A couple of polo summers – black straps, low twisty v-necks. Hit just at the knee. Easy, breezy, forgiving and a great traveler. Black is always flattering on a tan and it washed easy and I could dress it up with a pashmina or sweater (for dinner on Nantucket) or dress it down (for cocktails on my patio) with flops.Black dress

Then there was the summer of the black and white work appropriate maternity dress. Ugh – but necessary.

Other summers were mostly skirts. My body type is best suited for skirts, not dresses. Denim skirts, A-line skirts, short flouncy floral skirts. The skirts had to be cool, match a lot of tops, and make a dark tan the star of the show.

So I’ve moved from skirts that show my ass to dresses that can dance like an old lady. What in the hell does that say about me?

Does it really matter?

It’s summer, I’m tan and my legs still look pretty damn awesome. I’m happy with that.