I made a last minute decision to run a 10K on Saturday (ashamedly, I was waiting to see what Mother Nature was going throw down on us). I've been working on my pace for the last few weeks, thinking it might be possible to beat my time from last year for this same 10K. I could not have been more wrong.
Apparently, running a good race requires sleep, and I counted 0 sheep the night before. Not 1 tiny little lamb (I wasn't even near the pasture). Bedtime is my nemesis. My adult years have been plagued with erratic sleep patterns and poor habits. I've had a particularly annoying two weeks in the sleep department and not functioning at 100% (60% is generous). I proved to myself just how low-functioning I am on Saturday by running my worst race ever. Not only did I not beat my time from last year, I added 6 minutes to my total. An entire minute to each mile.
I started out much too fast and I knew it before I got to mile 3. I was toast. Day old toast. I considered throwing myself to the side of the road and wait for Poseidon to report me missing. I don't know how, but I pulled it together, opting not to look for the nearest ditch. I was dragging. My effort was pitiful, but I managed to run the entire 6.27 miles, though the last quarter of a mile was more like a determined-not-to-trip-over-my-own-feet jog. I've said it before, I'm not fast and my form is never pretty, but oh my, this run takes the cake!
I felt terrible for thinking I could just show up and do this thing, and I thought about literally kicking myself, but I didn't have the energy. So, now what?
1. Running a race does require sleep. OK. Got it.
2. I ran 6.27 miles without stopping, knowing my time would be terrible. How about instead of kicking myself, I give myself a little pat on the back? Done! Feeling better.
3. Shake it off! I was online this morning searching for my next race. Anxiety and that nagging fear of failing again is strong, but so am I. Gordon Pirie (British runner in the 1950s) said, "Any runner who denies having fears, nerves or some kind of disposition is a bad athlete, or a liar."
Saturday night, Poseidon and I got our aging rockster on at Cat's Cradle to see an old school local band, The Pressure Boys, playing their second of a 2-night concert benefiting the Be Loud! Sophie Foundation.
I was new to the area during the heyday of The Pressure Boys, but I was a huge fan of their post P-Boys incarnation, Sex Police, in my early 20s. My friends and I traveled all around the Triangle to hear their "loopy" brand of ska during the early 90s, so I was excited to see my first Pressure Boys show Saturday, and I wasn't disappointed.
Poseidon and I attend local shows frequently, and sometimes we find ourselves on the older side of the crowd (but music lovers are music lovers are music lovers). We aren't bothered by this, but last night was a rare treat. We were younger than many (Poseidon and I are pleasantly surprised to see how well we're aging) of our fellow lovers of music, which was super, but I mainly noticed that aging hipsters still love and appreciate their local music, and that powerful observation made the night spectacular!
Old School:
Be Loud! 2014, Saturday (I caught of glimpse of Poseidon and I in this video):
I've never sprinted. Not once. Until Sunday. 400 meters (or .262 miles). On pavement. Downtown, in the heat. In my minimal running shoes (which was a stupid idea). Pacing myself against a kid (a 9 year old). Also in the race? A local Olympic hopeful (I won't mention his name).
The "gun" sounded to start the race, and I took off like a bat out of hell, the little kid of front of me. Twenty seconds into my mad dash and I asked myself, "What the hell are you doing? You don't sprint!" I slowed my pace to a neutral jog/run (I'm not 18...or 9 anymore).
The Olympic hopeful won the race of course, but there was beer at the finish line, and I was running for the joy of running.
This was my first, and most likely, my last sprint (I say that now, but I have a year to change my mind), but hey, it's one more 'book' I've added to my "ignoring fear and self-doubt offers up a happy life" shelf....custom designed and built by me.
The 9 year old? He beat me, but it's not like he totally kicked my ass. I came in 74th. He came in 61st. I'll take that.
I don't remember exactly what I was thinking or doing that made me remember the Lay an Egg game my siblings and I played as kids in the very early 80s (or late 70s...the decades making up my Gen X childhood are starting to lump together like gravy), but I was describing the game to a co-worker last week, and he was sure I was making this game up. Thanks to Google, I was able to prove I was not. Lay an Egg was a bit like Hungry Hungry Hippos. Marbles and little to no skill were involved, just a fast trigger finger. Both games were noisy as hell!
Another game I remember, involving no skill, just luck: Cootie!
My throwback Thursday contribution: Hungry Hungry Hippos, Lay an Egg, and Cootie!
Combining three of our favorite things: Biking, football, and great beer. We biked 9.5 miles from our driveway to Sadlacks Heros (before they shut their doors in December), had a couple of beers and watched football, then walked next door to Schoolkids Records, spent $60 in CDs, then biked back home. What a gorgeous day! What a gorgeous week. The highlight of this week? My newly active self (after neck surgery in January) is now at the weight I was in 1995 (this picture was taken last week at the Hopscotch Music Festival 2013):
Saturday mornings, growing up Gen X, were the best (and I've blogged about Gen X Saturdays more than once). We got up, fixed our Cheerios, and parked ourselves in front of the television to watch cartoons. Saturday morning cartoons were followed by the ABC Weekend Special (hosted by Willie Tyler and his ventriloquist puppet, Lester). I lived for those episodes in the early 80s, especially the spookier episodes.
Today's Five for Friday - 5 of my favorite ABC Weekend Special episodes (and a YouTube link, if I could one):
"The Haunted Mansion" - Original aired in 1983, in two parts (the great ones were always in 2 parts), and starred a very young Christian Slater. This was my favorite, and I'm sad I couldn't find it on YouTube. New girl in the neighborhood. Christian Slater's character tells her house was owned by a creepy old miser who disappeared. Secret room in house, searching for fortunes, etc.
"The Red Room Riddle" - Also airing in 1993, this story is the typical, if-you-want-to-be-part-of-the-cool-kids-club-you-must-prove-it fare, but it was (and still is, in my opinion) spooky. I like the graininess of these clips. Takes me back. Way back.
"The Haunting of Cassie Palmer" - This one wasn't actually a part of the official ABC Weekend Special series, but it aired in the early 80s, around the same time, over several Saturdays, so I'm including it in my list because I associate it with ABC Weekend Special. It was a British children's drama, consisting of 6 episodes, and I found them on YouTube! I've linked to the first episode. Cassie's mother was a psychic who has been accused of fraud. It turns out that Cassie may have the "gift" herself and conjures up a spirit in a graveyard. I won't spoil it! If you can get through the poor quality of the recordings, it's an eerie good time.
"The Gold Bug" - Part I and II aired in 1980. It is based on Edgar Allan Poe's short story, "The Gold-Bug," starring...Anthony Michael Hall. Secrets and buried treasure! What more could a Gen X kid want out of a Saturday afternoon?
"The Ghost of Thomas Kempe" - Originally aired in 1979. I would like to watch the entire episode again (this one aired in 2 parts also). Family moves into new house. Young boy encounters poltergeist. Creepy.
It has been 11 long years, but tomorrow, I will once again be a palindrome...I will be 44. Do I expect to see a herd of fluffy white unicorns in my front yard when I roll out of bed on my birthday? No, but that would be the best birthday present in the history of birthday presents. You know, I wasn't quite sure if more than one unicorn is referred to as unicorns or unicorn (like deer), so I googled it, and apparently, it is common knowledge (to all but moi) that a herd of unicorns is actually referred to as a "blessing." Good God, we never stop learning, do we?
I just spent 2 of the last 5 minutes reflecting on my last palindromic age: 33. I believe I expected it to be spectacular, simply because it was a palindrome, and I was disappointed that not one magical thing happened to me that year (that I can recall...I can tell you, no unicorns sang "Happy Birthday" to me). 33 turned out to be quite dull. When I was 22 I doubt I realized I had reached a palindromic age, and at 11, I couldn't have given you the definition of palindrome, so progress has been made.
So, what does 44 mean to me? Nothing really. I've matured enough to know this birthday will be devoid of all things mystical, and I won't see those unicorns grazing in the front yard (they would starve...no grass there now anyway). The skies will not be filled with rainbows, unless the circumstances are just right, and the odds are not worth considering. No, it will be just another birthday, but another day alive, another day to breathe, so I will be excited. Who knows, maybe Poseidon will bake me a unicorn-shaped birthday cake?
What have I done since reaching my last palindromic milestone? In a brainstorm fury, here is what I can come up with (though I cannot remember every bump, scrape, or pat on the back) in no real order (I mean, that is the point of brainstorming, right?), and forgive my punctuation, as that is never important when brainstorming--something else I've picked up in the last 11 years:
Went through 2 or 3 relationships, had some bad dates (remind me to tell you someday about the guy who wanted to be a cat and was having whiskers implanted in his cheeks, if I haven't already), had some good dates, decided singledom was the life for me, lost some weight, got back in shape, moved twice (2 different states), bought a house, started a blog, met Poseidon, got engaged, changed my mind about singledom, got married, changed jobs twice, lived through a recession (is it over?) joined Facebook, joined Polyvore, joined Pinterest, joined several other online time sucks that I can't remember now, sent approximately 10,000 emails to spam, had my gallbladder removed, made many new friends, grew apart from some old friends, lost my father to cancer, traveled to (some for work, some for pleasure): Brussels, London, Dominican Republic, Alaska, Oklahoma City, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Seattle, Turks & Caicos, West Virginia, White Plains, NYC, Austin, San Antonio, Nashville, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, The Outer Banks, Atlanta, Newberry SC, Cedar Key, DC, Bahamas, Tampa, took up running, ran a few 5Ks, managed to not kill my two cats (still), took up sewing, attended countless concerts, took up biking again, attended some boxing classes, sporadic yoga practice, had only 1 cavity, had a couple of moles removed, more than 20 facials, neck surgery, probably bought more than 150 pairs of shoes, changed my hair color at least 4 times, did some house remodeling (nearly resulting in divorce...do not try to replace a toilet with your husband...call a flipping plumber, please), bought several cell phones including the smartphone I have now, changed my mind about PC's superiority over macs, decided there isn't any age I would revisit, made peace with myself, and most importantly, learned to relinquish some of my imagined control over the universe back to the universe...where it oh most certainly belongs. I'm exhausted.
Last night, Poseidon asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I said, "Hmmm, I dunno, I'll think about it." My birthday is less than a month away, and I assumed, being a Pisces and all, I would find something au courant, the newest wrinkle, to pass along to Poseidon (I'll pick it out, he'll pick it up--or have it shipped--and I'll open it with an open-mouthed surprised look on my face).
Well, not even 24 hours after Poseidon's question, and I know what I want for my 44th (God, can it be true that I'm really going to be 44?) day of existence: A doll house. Not just any doll house: This doll house! A coffee table/doll house, all in one!
I found this beautiful mod doll house, handmade in the UK by Amy Whitworth Design, on Qubisdesign.com today and I want it like mad. But, with a price tag of £400 (plus shipping of course, and that my friends isn't going to be cheap from the UK to North Carolina), I've landed safely again on planet earth, and will be happy with a new pop up book or whatever gift Poseidon deems all the rage.
I've never given dolls the boot. My twin sister and I had our Barbies and their houses and cars until we were 15ish (then we reluctantly gave them to a younger cousin), and driving and high school moved to the forefront. I actually have a few Barbies now that are hanging out patiently in their boxes, in a large, comfy closet, including this Versace Barbie (a Christmas gift from my sister several years ago), this Bob Mackie Sterling Silver Rose Barbie (also a Christmas gift from my sister), and the Japan Barbie (a Christmas gift from Poseidon one year, based on my desire to be a Samurai), to name a few. I bet my dollies would love to see the light of day every once in a while. That is a topic for another post...Poseidon complains that I never take those dolls out to play. I know he will demand a tea party, thrown by me, with every doll in the closet present, chewing on scones and gabbing about who knows what, before he accepts another doll (or doll house) into our home.
I can't help it. I am fascinated with dolls. In addition to Barbie, my sister and I have also collected porcelain dolls since the age of 7 or 8. These dolls too, unfortunately, are boxed away in the attic, planning their escape and my punishment. I rue the day they learn to climb out of those boxes. It will not be pretty.
In 1999, I started collecting Tyler Wentworth dolls. Tyler Wentworth is made by The Tonner Doll Company. I was (still am) in love with these dolls. I have several Tyler dolls, and rather than looking for specific photos of them to include, I'll post a link to this awesome Pinterest board filled with Tyler pictures...OK, here is one picture, Tyler Wentworth "Opera Gala" doll, one of my favorites from my collection:
Now it seems I'm turning my attention to doll houses, mostly the mod, contemporary styles, and I've seen some truly first-rate doll houses lately, but I have to admit, this Amy Whitworth Design, on Qubisdesign.com is by far my favorite!
I have no real point to this post, except that I love dolls and now apparently doll houses, and I can't seem to grow out of them, but I don't want to. One can never be too old to make believe, and this 40-something Gen xer is happy to be able to solder wires, use a drill like a champ, change my own flat tire (if I absolutely have to...I can call AAA now), but still gush over the prettiness of my doll's hair before her big night at the opera.
There are some rules you need to literally live by, like: Look both ways before crossing a street. Don't go off drunk with strangers you've only just met in a bar. If your fire alarm is sounding off, you should probably get up and go outside.
Then there are those rules we follow because they are self-imposed or thrown at us byothers. These may be rules we learned as little girls; rules we learned from our mother, who learned from her mother, who learned them from her mother, and so on. Women in their 20s tend to be rule-based life forms, especially when it comes to relationships, marriage, children, etc., because they still haven't had the time to figure out what does/doesn't work best for them, as individuals. I myself was a rule-based life form for most of my 20s and into my 30s.
As women in our 40s, if we want to be visible, it is time to start reevaluating some of the rules we learned along the way to see if they fit who we truly are. Let's step beyond "Women in their 40s should/shouldn't do/wear/say ____________ (insert stupid thing here)," and ask, "Why?"
S T O P B E I N G A R U L E - B A S E D L I F E F O R M
I only want to briefly mention gender rules, because I think 40-somethings are beyond that (hopefully), but for the few who still think in gender-based rules, stop. Women do this; men do that. This is madness. You can do anything you want to do, just as men can do anything they want to do. If you want something enough, you make the time and put forth the effort to do it. If you aren't doing that, it might be time to look at what it is you think you really want. You might find that you really want to be doing something else with your life but you are too afraid to go for it. It's ok to change your mind you know. Girls can do anything boys can do (except urinate while standing...boys are much better at it and probably always will be, but if you want to, go for it).
One rule women need to dispose of early in life is the "If I'm not married with kids by 'x' number of years, I'll be considered an old lonely hag." You may be considered an old lonely hag even if you are married and/or do have kids, so we should have nixed this rule a long, long time ago. If you are in your 40s, and still operating on some form of rule-based schedule, fling your schedule--with a mighty flick of the wrist--out the window. On second thought, take any schedule you have and bury
it, deep in the dirt where the worms won't even go. At 40, you should
have learned by now that life happens while your busy setting up a
project plan. I didn't get engaged until I was 40, and subsequently married at 41. When I was in my early 20s, I just assumed I would be married with children before the age of 30! Rule-based life form, I was.
Now that we have the gender and marriage/kid nonsense out of the way, let's move on to the sillier, frivolous self-imposed parameters. "I'm too old for long hair." If you are in your 40s and telling yourself that, you need to cease being a rule-based life form. Some women don't look good in long hair, and some women look better in long hair. Don't look at it from an age perspective, look at it from a you perspective. Do YOU look good in long hair? If you don't think so, try a funky short cut. You can always grow it back out. Hair grows back (for most of us). I have an entire post in the works on hair for women in their 40s.
"I'm too old to wear that skirt." Did someone say that to you, or are you imposing that rule on you? If your 40-something friends are saying that to you, maybe they are jealous of your legs. If you don't have great legs, maybe they are trying to tell you that. Look at the evidence and make a decision based on that, not just someone telling you women in their 40s shouldn't wear short skirts. Now, this doesn't give you carte blanche to start ordering off the
20-something menu or you might reek of a mid-life crisis gone bad. There is some modicum of taste that should be adhered to. I wear skirts that come just above my knees, but my legs don't look half bad. I confess, sometimes I see a woman in public, and I think, "Hmmm, she should not be wearing that." Sometimes I think I'm right, and sometimes I think I'm falling off the no more rule-based life form wagon. A great story of a woman who is not a rule-based life form: My mother-in-law's friend, I'll call her, Sue. Sue is in her late 60s, an artist who spent much of her adult life in SOHO in the 1960s. Sue always wears wonderful clothes. She showed up to my mother-in-law's birthday party last month wearing a lavender tunic and multi-colored striped stockings, and a scarf that didn't match a thing. She looked amazing! She also 'owns' what she wears, and I don't mean that she paid for it, I mean she rocks it! She is a confident woman who says no to being a rule-based life form and I can only hope to be as half as cool as she is in another 20 years!
"Aren't you a little "old" to be going to concerts?" I've heard this before and it makes me feel sorry for the people posing the question. Poseidon and I go to at least a couple of local shows each month. Why are we too old? If it is a band we like, or new music we want to have a listen to, then no, we aren't. Fortunately we live in an area of the country with an amazing music scene, and we usually aren't the only 40-somethings in attendance, so there! We like music. We know this about ourselves, and it is one of our "hobbies" if you will. We are passionate about music, and fortunately, music isn't ageist; music doesn't discriminate.
I will say one thing about concerts, based on an experience Poseidon and I had last weekend at a local show. For those 40-something ladies who come out to see a show once a year because your friend's husband or cousin is in a band, please don't see who can chug the most Coors Light (yuck, I hated even typing that beer) between you and girlfriends, and subsequently falling over people because you passed your limit 2 beers ago. Props to you for getting out of the house to see a show, but please refer back to "there is some modicum of taste that should be adhered to" in paragraph 7ish.
So, as it pertains to continuing to live a fruitless dull safe rule-based life form, I just leave you with this: There is no "too old." You are who you are, and this is what it is. Embrace it, or remain invisible. The joke is on those spending their whole lives taking every precaution to blend in.
What rules have you abandoned? Any other rules we should throw gasoline and a match on in order to cease living rule-based lives?
As a kid, I was in love with my bike. Feeling that it might be possible to achieve flight if I pedaled fast enough, was a true addiction. I gladly endured scrapes and bruises, and a very memorable, painful sprained wrist (I think my wrist was actually broken, but my parents didn't take me to the doctor so I wrapped it in an ACE bandage for a couple of weeks, thinking I would die from the pain anyway, but obviously didn't, and my wrist is only slightly out of place). I once got my shoe laces caught in my bike chain, resulting in a crying fit and my father having to cut the laces from my bike in order to 'detach' me from the bike. I also ran into a large boulder once. I'm still picturing me flying over the handlebars like I'd been shot from a cannon. Luckily, I sustained only mild injuries: Scrapes and a bruised ego. Those were some great times. A girl and her bike!
In my teenage years, I biked less and less, and by the time I reached 18, I didn't bike at all. I believe my parents sold the rusty bones of our bicycles in a yard sale...cheap.
At the age of 25, I bought a new bike. Even though 5+ years had passed since my last ride, I went to a bike shop and purchased a brand spanking new bike. This act of foolishness was me trying to keep my then boyfriend from breaking up with me. He biked and I didn't, and he wanted to break up because we didn't have much in common. I thought he might not break up with me if I biked with him. Fortunately, for me, the bike did not save that doomed relationship (how stupid we are in our 20s), and a year or so later, as I was preparing to move to Philadelphia for a new job, I sold the new-barely-used bike to my brother...cheap.
Two years ago, at the age of 41, I bought a new bike so that Poseidon and I could start riding together (haha, I'm not repeating a foolish mistake again, don't worry). For many reasons (insert excuses here: weather, doing some home remodeling projects, putting our house on the market, etc.), we were unable to ride much last year, but this year, we've found our groove, and I am once again an addict. It took an outing or two, but the feeling I got as a child, flying through space on my bike, is back!
I ride like an adult now, with my helmet and bike gloves, my new awesome bike bell, and a cell phone in case Poseidon and I accidentally pedal into the lake, but the giddiness is still there. Injury-free so far (knocking on my faux wood desk), though I was nearly mowed down by a cycling dude yesterday. Note to male cyclers out there: Gold bike shorts are not a good choice if you are going to be sweating--OK, they aren't a good choice, period.
Because we rode yesterday, and because of my experience with trying new sports in my 40s, I know that at this time tomorrow, my legs are going to lead a most impressive mutinous revolution against the rest of my body, but I won't mind. I'm just a girl with her bike again, and as the saying goes, "Good health is the slowest way to die."
Me - adjusting my bike helmet - I look mean in this picture : )
