Running Sucks, I Rock.

I don't know how it is that sometimes, I can run 9 miles with giraffe, and it's glorious, and then other times, I'm flailing all over the beach boardwalk, for 10 miles - and it's the worst thing ever.  Seriously.  I was all over the place, slowing down, acting like I'm having cardiac arrest issues, trying to get water from sprinklers that unexpectedly shoot mist at your crotch area, stumbling around bars because I lost the beach trail.

There was an episode where I thought I would run along the water, gracefully, and be all, one with the waves.  Except it turned out running in the sand is hard, waves are faster than me, and sneaky.  Also, running in the sand sideways sucks, and, in general, I would make a terrible, slow crab that would get picked off on the first day of being crab.

At the end of the beach there was an old guy playing harmonica, and I didn't realize that I ran up behind him, determined to touch the rock wall like there was a prize for it, and scared the shit out of him.  He was knee deep in the water, being actually all - one with the waves, and I spoiled it.   I still had 2 more miles to suffer, so I didn't even apologize properly.  Sorry, old guy who almost lost his footing, and possibly harmonica.   You were very good before I got there.

I finished off my conquest of the Kaanapali Beach weaving the golf course, even after I realized they had games going.  I was still barefoot from the beach, I had tossed my shoes away  by the hotel (because I thought running back to that point was going to be 10 miles and was wrong), and I figured the somewhat likely chance of black out via golf ball was still better than the much likelier chance of gouging feet on asphalt.   My time:  2h, 6 minutes.  But I walked all of mile 4, at 18 minute pace (the sun had risen and I wasn't prepared for it) so, really, it's better than it looks.

Then I soaked in the ocean immediately after, and lazy jogged a mile next morning (yesterday) to make sure I wasn't totally broken.   And snorkeled, a lot, since I AM on vacation.   I'm OK, it turns out.  Amazing.

I was all but done with the running business, thinking I'd exchange it for snorkeling, until Mr Snork showed me a video of myself diving for sea glass.  It's not pretty.  It seems when I dive, I can never get either my ass or my flippers under water.  I look kind of like my hands are stuck in the sand, AND I'm getting attacked by a very mean fish.   Then I pop up, empty the mask, take a breath, and circle around looking for that piece I never did get, and it happens all over again.  That sea glass jewelry business idea will have to wait.

Today I made myself run the charted 5 miles, and it was totally fine.  All 53 minutes of it.  My fastest 5 miles ever.  I'm pleased.  Pleased that I made myself go, that Mr Snork took Mouse duty and cheered me on, that I possibly burned off the half pound of Nutella I ate earlier, and that I I kept a pretty consistent 10:xx pace  throughout.  I mean, I was dying in the end, and that cursed golf course is always in the way, and is not lit up at night, and my Ipod does not light up sufficiently to avoid sand traps, but whatever.   10:xx minute miles times 5?!  I should offer myself up for the Olympics.  They'd be crazy to pass all this up.

On a side note, why is there a swarm of people in the gym, looking longingly at the sunset/sunrise/ocean through the giant, sad glass window, every time I ran past the fancy Hyatt?    Come outside, people.  Leave the concrete.  Be one with nature.

She Figured Out That Doors Open.

Oh, no.

Bikram Yoga Is a Terrible Way to Spend Your Time. - Review

It sucks.  There, I said it.  

These Groupons will be the death of me.  I thought it was such a good deal, and I know a couple people who seem to really like it, so I bought and signed up for the $25 for 25 sessions, dragging the running Giraffe with me.  Without the coupon, their pricing is outrageous, and I having gone, I don't see where the money goes - to heat up the room?   

--Scratch that, I looked up Bikram the Man talking about making "about 10 million a month".  So, I guess, I know where it goes.  Meanwhile, 24 Hour Fitness charges a tiny fraction of that, and offers yoga classes.  And babysitting.  And they are way nicer.  And don't smell like feet.   But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I went a few times, just to make sure, that I wasn't being a sissy.  I didn't want to be a quitter, and I didn't want to have $25 go to waste.   So, I guess I AM, in fact a quitter, but the $25 did not go to waste, I now KNOW what it's like, and it's not pretty.  

Out of the three instructors I had, two were pretty good, and one was not so good, and really, kinda mean.  It was during her long, tedious 90 minute reign that I had a chance to gather my thoughts about what really irks me about the her, Bikram, and the whole thing in general:

1.  Who is Bikram?  I did some rudimentary internet research, and it appears he is a liar who makes a lot of money.  And knows some yoga stuff.   I also think he is a tremendously successful businessman.  He is also the one personally certifying the teachers - and it appears that his medical background is next to non existant.  So, when the instructor started talking about how - the deeper you bend, the harder you squeeze - your various organs are getting compressed, and then decompressed, and all the fresh oxygenated blood is rushing to them, I was a little skeptical.  

 I feel like thousands of years of evolution have been at work to make sure that I don't squish my kidneys and liver every time I bend down to vacuum the sideboards.  I just don't think it's that easy to wring out your internal organs. I don't think pulling my knees to my chest will do it.  At some point, I started feeling like I'm really going to need this instructor to show me a medical degree if she's going to keep that up.  It all sounded a little too, "The earth is flat" to me.  

2.  Speaking of freshly oxygenating your organs:  I mentioned the room smells like feet.  Dirty, stinky feet, that haven't been washed in a long time.  You'd think they could spring for a steam cleaning more often, with all that money coming in.  150+ people in a room worth of income.  It's costs $28 to rent a carpet steamer at Vons.   The smell hits you pretty hard in the beginning, and, then, as you get adjusted to your new steamy, murky, hot surroundings, it mercifully dissipates.  Until towards the last 3rd of the class, when you start getting a little nauseated - it comes back, and it hits you pretty hard.  It occurred to me I really don't want this dirty foot oxygen anywhere near my organs.  Really, the very existence of oxygen, fresh or otherwise is questionable, since 150 people are using it, too, and the room is locked up.  

3.  You can't leave the room, or at least they try to make you stay.  I've seen people leave to puke.  I've seen people leave almost every class.  Except today, when a person got up to go and got told to sit back down.  The instructors vary on their water breaks, too - which, by the way is $3 per bottle if you didn't bring your own.  There is NO water fountain there.  Why would there be.    Some instructors say you can't have water except on scheduled breaks, period.  Some let you have it, but never 'during poses'.  You're almost always in a pose, unless it's a scheduled water break, so I don't understand how that works.   I sipped water whenever I felt like it.    

4.  I smell lawsuits coming.  I didn't sign any paperwork, and the studio makes less disclaimers than the gym yoga classes.  Like, none, really - except that if you're new, you shouldn't be in the front row.  There are so many people in the room, and particularly when they run the price reduction specials - you really don't know what physical shape people are in.   When you tell them they can't leave the room, can't have water, and it's OK to feel nauseated and lightheaded - you are paving your way to trouble.   That's your body telling you to knock off what you're doing.  It's been perfected over time, and pretty dependable, just like the location and access to your internal organs.     

5.  And finally - the inconsistencies.  The constant, "Push harder, harder, - your joints should hurt, it's ok to feel lightheaded, push on - press on, it's only 10 more seconds.."  And later, "yoga is not about depth.. it's about breathing, and stillness, and depth will come through them, so never go past your breath".

So, here's the thing, if you make someone squat, stretch, and try to push to have their forehead planted on the floor, between your feet - punctuated by sit ups, in a 110" room or hotter, and be all militant about it,  they are probably going past their breath.  Some are close to passing out.   Otherwise - why would you tell them to lay down and catch their breath after each try?  Hmm.  

5. "Breathe through your nose, because breathing through your mouth activates the fight or flight response" - And you get panicky and want to leave.   All 3 instructors talked about the importance of sticking it out.  About how you want to leave the whole time.  All the time.  Fight or flight.  "Your body wants to leave, and your mind is trying to help.  You don't really want to pee, your mind is playing tricks on you.  It's trying to help your body leave this room".    Umm.  I don't know about you, but I can't keep dedicating 90 minutes to an activity that my body hates so much, all the time, now and in the future, that it makes stuff up.   Fake peeing is nothing to joke about.  

 Having read about this Bikram guy, and his 40 Roll Royces collection, I have a feeling it's important to keep coming back to help him add to his collection.      

I think Bikram, in trying to marry the peacefulness and stillness of yoga to a very trendy, marketable, allegedly calorie burning, profitable fitness miracle has created a mess.  A trendy, stinky, very profitable mess - although I must admit, having sweated out 2 liters of water, and finally stepping out into actually fresh air - I did feel more alive and invigorated.   In part, because I escaped and live to tell the story.  

I read all sorts of estimates of what Bikram yoga session might burn - as low as 300, and as high as 1200 calories.  My feeling is it's in the lower numbers, and your body's natural response to artificial stimuli exaggerates your perception of the benefits.  Even at that, it doesn't last.  I do feel more bendy, and stretchy afterwards, but I never feel like I used up massive amounts of my energy the way other activities make me feel.   I know that in 90 minutes of running, or even lazy jogging I can wreck some calories. 

I have yet to leave the yoga studio and feel like I have earned an extra serving of cupcakes in my near future.

In short, even though I don't like it much either, I'll stick to running and 24Fitness yoga classes in regular old boring room temperature.   

Phases of a Project (that lead to its failure)

 - OMG!  Look at this pattern!  I must make it immediately.  (Vogue 8438, currently)

 - Stalking and purchase of all related materials, that aren't already stockpiled during the weekend dumpstering sprees. 

 - Hanging up the material in some prominent spot, to look at and envision the coat once it's made.  Reading pattern instructions 8 times, and meticulously preparing.

 - Making of the muslin. 

That's when it kind of start falling apart.  I'm really driven to make it, cause it's going to be super awesome, and I'm going to wear it everywhere.  Then, once a muslin comes together, it's like, "Oh, there you are.  I see.  Next." 

In this case, I still wanted to see the finished coat in the purple cordiroy, so I pressed on.  But once that came together, it's like ADD kicks in, and I will do anything but finish.    It has taken more than 3 weeks now to complete the lining.  During which I have:

 - gone camping, and taught my little brother about intricacies of riding a dirt bike:

That was fun, except a brief episode where he got either stabbed by an evil plant or bitten by a rattlesnake, and we didn't know which.. (evil plant must have won, since his arm was still intact after the longest. 20. minutes.  ever.)

- Mutliated an unused bridesmaids' dress I had hanging around from my wedding into a Princess Aurora skirt for giraffy (to gallop in a race in, of all things):

(Some gold bias tape and a bit of sparkly kitchen curtain really princessed it up!)

- Possibly inspired by giraffy, taken up running again.  Really, really slow running.  That looks a lot like walking from distance.  But supplemented by swimming.  I heard this speeds up labor.  And I'm pretty freaked out about the whole labor/birth thing.  Plus, the 'Diet-Cause I'm Puky' phase was replaced byt the  'Eat EVERYthing' phase somewhere in the 5th month, and it's not pretty.  I actually have walked into the gym on several occasions, shaking out the remainder of Chocolate Chex cereal from the bag into my mouth.. 

 - And, finally, taken up golfing, having found a brand new set of (puprle) golf clubs at the S-Boutique, to replace ones I lost somewhere. 

I will say Strawberry does not enjoy golfing.  No matter how gracefully I tried to squat when setting up the balls. 

And, then, there was the 50's dress obsession, and Ebay/Etsy stalkage of any and all 50's patterns that I might find appealing, despite the fact that Vogue 8438 has been spread out on my dinner table, effectively preventing anyone from eating dinner there for a month now. 

Additionally, during the super excited stage, I decide to make all these additions and modifications to the garment, which surpass my sewing skills by leaps.. and then seams start to not match up, it gets really frustrating, and I frolick off to consider other, more pleasing projects.

FAIL.

I'm hoping to shame myself into finishing it, by posting a public goal.  The coat itself is done.  Unless I want to add pockets, which I decided I might want..  The lining is done if you don't count the sleeves.  ALL that is left (other than the unfortunate pockets) is the sleeves, and then joining them into one garment. 

 
I added the insert in back with label, to mimic the RTW coats.  The lining fabric was in my stash from a previous JoAnn's clearance, and it's slippery, ravels on eye contact, and absolutely vile to work with, but I loved the colors..  I chose to interline the coat in cotton flannel, which is super ...bendy.   I cut it and the lining in one go, and by the time I turn around, the underlining is a totally different shape.   All these contribute to its undone-ness.

Anyway.  I would like to finish this coat tonight.  Not for wearability - there's no room for a 7 month Strawberry-belly in it, but as a matter of decency. 

Obsession Du Jour: Impractical Dresses

What's a girl to do to pass time once she sprouts a formidable 6 month fetus belly?  Why, shop for hourglass figure dresses, of course.  And it's all TMobile's fault.

I saw one in their commercial (with whom I'm not even on speaking terms, because their upgrade policy is awful.  New customers get shiny, pretty phones, and meanwhile, my Blackberry looks like it suffered a from a 5 story window.  Twice.  Into a dump truck.  With tree mulching capabilities.)  But, their insistence on charging me hundreds of dollars for a new phone is less annoying than putting pretty dresses on their TV models, and having me find out they were custom made. 

I don't recall how exactly, but this has led to a massive, unreasonable in its span, search for 50's dresses on Ebay, Etsy, this weekends' yard sales and favorite GMarts.  It's still ongoing.  I am seeing a whole lot of ugly 80's, and none of pretty 50's. 

Meanwhile, I might have purchased this:

Which I was hoping to alter into the TMobile dress, but there pretty buttons in the back:

Mr Snork has repeatedly expressed his hope that if I *were* to wear this out (he says incredulously) I would "at least take those sleeves off".   If he keeps it up, I'm gonna wear it, with sleeves, to his office to drop off lunch. 

Also currently stalking this wrap dress:

Not a huge fan of the colouring, but I want to make one like it, out of some fabric I have, that's scary close to the cabbage rose pattern fabric in the above dress. 

And, possibly this one:

The front!!

So, essentially, not only has TMobile wronged me in their handling of my phone needs, I am now possibly three dresses deep into a dress, and the toll is rising, since none of them so far look anything like THE dress.   Which is fine, really, cause I can't fit into anything with a waist for another 3 months, and it's questionable thereafter, with the amount of cake I have been throwing down my throat.    Stupid TV. 

And then this bird...

Mr Snork pulled off the I-5 to drop into our favorite GMart in Laguna Niguel, and there, along the off ramp, was the most beautiful stork looking bird.  Like this one:

Except, not by a lake, and far from the ocean.  Well, a 10 minute flight anyway.  I get super frantic, trying to figure out how to rescue the clearly lost confused bird.  (By stuffing in it in the back of the trucklet, of course, and taking it down to Dana Point swamps, from which we just came, and where it clearly belongs. )

Mr Snork, who's gotten creepy good at mind reading, gets frantic in turn, with, "Do you know what will happen to us with that bird in the vehicle??!"  He's also gotten wicked good with thwarting any good plan I have, and generally raining on my parades.   He got downright dramatic with, "It'll peck our eyes out, and beat us with its wings and claws".  Seriously.  I mean, it's a bird.  How hard could it be.  We could keep the windows open, and the wind G forces should keep it in the back.  

So, I try to appeal to his apparently nonexistant humanitarian side - He's lost!  And confused!  Look at him!!  His beak is made for fish, and here he is, on the side of the highway.  He is sad, and hungry, and he needs to be taken to a swamp, to eat!  

In all fairness, it really did look out of place, stalking around gingerly,  like he was trying to step around broken glass and cigarette butts, shaking his tiny head..  Until.. and phawk if, in the middle of my bird saving tirade, he didn't gracefully bend his tiny sad head into the grass, and come up with the biggest mouse ever.  With a wiggling tail, and everything.  And ATE it, with his skinny fish beak, and delicate throat, that apparently expands to fit mice size of sewer rats. 

The look Mr Snork gave me as the light turned green was something special.  I can tell my credibility as a wildlife expert has suffered a setback today it might take years to recover from, to say the least.

Pooping Predators, and The Case of the Sad Mint Plant.

So, I bought this mint plant at farmers market, because I like mint in my tea.  I always get the $1 bunch, which lasts me a week or two, but I had visions of a giant mint bush, like my father has outside his house in NorCal.  At tea time, the children go pluck some leaves, and, voila!  Either a nice minty tea, or some mozarella/lemon/mint plate. 

Anyway, back to my plant.  So, I happily plucked some leaves on days one and two, but then it went downhill.  It got sickly.  Figuring it was too young a plant for leaf plucking, I thought I'd leave it be for a while. 

It kept getting sicklier.  Something was eating the leaves (and not me, the person who paid $5 for it!).  We moved it inside.  We watered it.  We tried sun.  We tried no sun.  Mysterious black clumps littered the leaves..  Like, bug poop.

Sad Mint Plant With Mysterious Illness:

Finally, Mr Snork warned me to stay away from it, cause he'd spray it with some bug murder spray.  It was either going to die, or recover, but otherwise, something else was gonna finish it off and poop on the remaining bald stalks.   :(

Last night, we laid in bed and wandered if whatever was eating it is nocturnal and springs up from the ground.  Cause we haven't seen anything, and there are only, like, 7 stalks to keep track of.  Severely balding stalks.  We considered sneaking up on the mint plant, to see if IT has emerged. 

But the we fell asleep, before we had a chance to ambush the plant eater. 

This morning, I went to see the (even balder) mint plant, to see if it needed water, or something, and noticed that the bug poop is now obscene.  Something has shat on my plant, shamelessly, and the leaf is weighted down by the clumps.  Whatever it is, it's getting bigger.  The shit clumps are now bigger than an ant, so it rules out ants, those tiny green bugs, or, really, anything tiny. 

(Note the half eaten leaf).  And, then, THEN, either because IT moved, or my gaze was shifted by the audible CHEWING, I SAW IT.   (Right above the poop)

Perhaps a closer look, the way it appeared in person:

I almost fainted.

Look at the size of that thing's eyeball!!!!  Check out the spiky, (probably poisonous) Freaky Hairs.  And it's stupid, clever coloring.  It could be cast in a Harry Potter sequel.  Look at how it's shamelessly eating, even as it's being discovered and camera flashes are going off like mad in its face.   It didn't even stop to consider me.

Fighting my instinct to call Mr Snork (at work, for an hour now), and scream, "OMG THERE"S A CATERPILLAR IN THE HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!! COME NOW" (tragically, his work arrangements are not such that he can come and go, to heroically fight rodent-bugs at the house.  Dammit.) I circled the living room in panic a few times, thinking about waking up one of the neighbors. 

I got some paper towels, to grab the THING, but then I thought the hairs might puncture the paper towel, AS it turned around and bit me.  I swear it LOOKED at me, threateningly, and anyway, I do not like being bitten or slithered upon, let alone, with something surely poisonous. 

I considered Windex, cause it does a number on ants.  But this thing lived through a hard core bug spray and came through just fine, downright famished, and pretty regular in its bowel movements.  I consdered taking the entire plant outside, until Mr got home, but at the rate THING ate and shat, not much might be left in 8 hours. 

Finally, I held the mint plant with biggest tweezers I could find, wishing I could maneuver well with BBQ tongs and carefully snipped the stem with my best sewing scissors, carrying the infested stalk to the trash, wimpering, all the while.  I kept an eye on it, while I washed the dishes, cause it looked like something that would slither out and straight across my kitchen to reclaim its pot.  Then, I'd have to leave the house, and admit defeat.  Fortunatelly, it seemed unbothered, and ate the rest of the mint stalk happily, eyeballing me, no doubt, with contempt.  All the way until I took it downstairs to the trash.  Where it's probably kicking ass as we speak.

Stupid slithery hairy side eyeing worm bugs.