Blue 5K on the Runway Race Report

I need to be clear from the get go that this 3.1 mile race was the farthest I've run in more than a year. So, just know that. Onward!

Yesterday, I ran on an airport runway, and I wasn't running away from airport security.

The Blue 5K on the Runway is an annual 5K held in honor of Jay Kirby, the son of one of the engineers who helped build a new runway. Jay has been in remission for a few years, and now the race is held to raise funds for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

(Source, cause I ain't tryin' to get sued.)

The back story for choosing this event: A few weeks after a coworker's husband was diagnosed with leukemia, I heard a commercial for the Blue 5K. I am very lucky to work at a firm that is big on community involvement. Since I started last August, the firm has taken part in food drives, the Operation Shoe Box program, Easter Seals walks, March of Dimes walk, food bank sponsorship, and community events sponsorship. I felt confident the firm would be willing to support this event, and I was right. Without batting an eyelash, management made a significant donation to the event and paid race entry fees for all interested employees. Pretty incredible, right? They also threw a party last night to honor the coworker and her family, and congratulate us all on a job well done. The siren song of a free entry and free food was impossible to resist. And now, the report:

5:00 A.M.

Alarm goes off. Snooze for five minutes.

5:05 A.M.

Hate myself for coming up with this idea.

5:10 A.M.

Coffee. More self-hatred.

5:20 A.M. - 6:30 A.M. 

Showering. Somewhat less angry. Nerves start to set in. Lots of double checking bags (I was bringing some bibs to coworkers), directions (picking up someone on the way), and event details. Grab a PB & J and head to pick up coworker. Procure coworker.

6:45 A.M.

Pleasantly surprised by the event "shuttle", which is actually a really nice bus. Well played, 5K.

7:00 A.M. - 7:55 A.M.

Lots of shuttle sitting, then porta-potty visiting, picture taking, and stretching.

7: 58 A.M.

A familiar vice grip takes hold of my GI tract, but one of my goals is to beat my boss, and I know I can't do that if I start 5 minutes after the gun goes off. I decide that I will most likely not crap my shorts. A calculated risk has been taken.

8:00 A.M.

Gun goes off. I somewhat regret my decision. Too late now.

Mile 1

Feeling okay. I'm definitely out of shape. Around .75 miles, my right knee starts hurting at the IT band insertion point. It stays painful for the rest of the race. I miss the mile 1 marker, so I'm already feeling downtrodden, thinking I'm somehow running backwards without realizing it. The course is a straightaway out and back, and I'm running towards a giant "X". Within 10 minutes, the front of the pack has already hit the turnaround. I see Barrett and high five him. 

Mile 2

A few minutes after the turn, I see the mile 2 marker. I feel like less of a loser. Still no walk breaks! There are children running all over the course, and I'm jealous of their boundless energy. My stomach is still a mess. My knee hurts a lot. Every once in a while it seizes up to the point I think I may need to stop. There's wind blowing at my face, but I'm not running fast enough to notice a difference in pace. Sometimes, it's good to be slow. There's a coworker up ahead who keeps run/walking when a cramp comes on. Every time I catch him, I tell him to keep going and not let me pass him. I try this same method with a tween age girl. She glares at me. 

Mile 3

I've been staring down the finish line for what feels like days, and right before the mile 3 marker, I see Barrett standing on the sideline cheering for me. The perk of having a fast husband is that you also always have a pep squad. 

Mile .1

I cross the finish line, and then continue jogging to the porta-potties, wondering why they're 50 yards away from the event. Poor planning. A security guard tells me a I did a great job. I yell thanks as I yank open the door. I'm sure I make running look really fun at that moment.

Time: 32:06.

Reflections: Training consistently would have been a good idea. I need to figure out this IT band issue. No more sugar laden PB&Js before a race. Need a race hat. Running isn't as terrible as I remember, and the adrenaline rush afterwards is totally worth it. 

I think I'll start running again.

Oh, hello there.

How have you been? I've been doing alright.

I spent some time in California recently, and was reminded of some differences between my home state and this place I now call home.

1. Oppressive Humidity Was Not an Issue
I didn't end up crying to old black lady in Wal-Mart about my struggles with the heat and humidity (true story). In fact, I wore a sweater for part of the day. While I was outside. Not sweating.

Frizz and sweat free.

2. California is beautiful all the time, and North Carolina sometimes looks dead. 
San Diego didn't exist when Ecclesiastes was written. If it had, The Byrds may not have been so popular.

3. I could go outside dressed all crazy, and not get The Eye. 
In fact, I bet some yuppies up in Cardiff thought I had a sweet trust fund.

4. Babies in California measure 10 times as cute as babies elsewhere.

FACTS, PEOPLE. FACTS.

Holy carp, I ran again.

I ran a pathetically slow and painful 2/3 of a mile this evening.

Getting back into running is probably the worst thing ever. I don't know why I ever stopped. It's better to continue running and hate it, than to quit running, hate your lazy self, and then restart a year later. Ugh.

Ever seen a basset hound running?

Poetry in motion.

Now you have.

It's pretty much what I look like, too.

Did you know?

My fever broke earlier this morning around 2:30 AM. I only know this because I woke up drenched in cold sweat thinking I was going to die. Could you imagine knowing your were going to die while you laid there, totally helpless, sweating next to your sleeping husband? Ugh. What a way to make a mess and be found looking totally haggard the next morning. My goal is to go out looking like Sleeping Beauty.

A quick Google search revealed I was, in fact, going to live.

After nursing the fever for two days, I awoke (mostly dry) to a cool 98.6* core temperature. We celebrated by driving up the road (literally, like 2 blocks) to get coffee and OJ. Lifting coffee mugs and juice bottles proved to be too much, so I'm totally wiped and now a coughing mess, so back to bed for me.

Getting healthy is kind of gross and exhausting.

Goal tonight: stay awake long enough to order in pizza for the UNC v. Duke game. Also, to eat pizza.

G-A-L = F-L-U

Earlier this month I finished training to be a volunteer for the Guardian ad Litem program. Since then I've been working with kids in the foster system, and it's been really fun. There are frustrating parts, but I've had a blast hanging out with the kids I've met so far. 

However, after two weeks of crawling on the floor playing "Monopoly", making bracelets with lots of little kids hands pawing for beads, and drawing pictures with shared markers, I think I've become infested with those infamous little kid germs. It also feels like the infestation hit my body via a bus. Blah. 

Fact: Flu Virus survived this flame engulfed bus to come get 

me and drive the bus head on into my body. 

Fingers crossed I shake this with some ramen and sleep. And Biggest Loser episodes. And whining to Barrett. I have a home visit tomorrow night that I don't want to miss, so homegirl's gotta get back to good! 

Snow is pretty awesome.

Especially when it isn't cold enough to stick to asphalt, but it is cold enough to preserve a snowman overnight.

Last night was the first time I experienced snow at a place of residence and not just a place of vacation-ence. I'm not sure why that matters, but I thought the differentiation was important. I watched the snow, made a petite snowman on my car, and then went to bed. The next morning, the snow was still fluffy but the roads were clear. Win-win, in my book.

On being a Jewb* in the South

*Jew + newb = Jewb

So, I technically became a Jew on April 15, 2011. The irony of becoming a Jew on tax day isn't lost on me, and my penchant for slightly offensive and inappropriate humor appreciates the coincidence.

My decision to become a Jew is sort of a long story, so here's the short version: I think Judaism is interesting, thought provoking, challenging, and rewarding. The religion and the culture made sense to me, so once I realized I could convert, I struggled with the decision for a few years and then finally studied and became one.  And then I moved far, far away from any Jews I knew.

(Barrett took the journey with me as well, but our experiences were very different, so I'm only going to talk about me right now.)

I had a pretty sweet deal in San Diego. I rekindled a friendship with a really great woman named Eva, who was able to sort of mentor me through my Jewification and make Judaism much more accessible to me. I had really supportive non-Jewish friends, like Tauni and Mark, who asked really great questions and made me feel like I was always making the right decision. All three of them even attended my graduation from Jew school.

 Immediately after this picture was taken I tried to high-five Barrett,
who, instead,
body-checked me into a table. 

Our synagogue, Congregation Beth Israel, was totally gorgeous and the people we met there were absolutely wonderful. Rabbit Satz, (Awesome Rabbi #1 in the above picture) spent hours with us after services, in private meetings, in pre-marital counseling sessions, and even at our own wedding, where he created a beautiful and educational ceremony for us and all of our guests. Rabbi Berk (Awesome Rabbi #2) and Rabbi/Cantor Bernstein (not pictured but totally Awesome Rabbi #3) were also exceedingly generous with their time and energy. Learning to be a Jew was really easy back in San Diego. Being a Jew out here is way harder, though.

I'm honestly not sure why that is. There's still a Young Adult Division the meets semi-regularly. There is still a Reform synagogue. There is even a Conservative synagogue that I may even like better than the Reform synagogue. There are charismatic rabbis, young Jews, old Jews, a Jewish boarding school, and even a really great Kosher section at the local Harris-Teeter. We've hosted Shabbat dinners at our home, attended services, and threw a Hannukah party. I'm toying with the idea of hosting a seder this  year, too. For whatever reason though, I just feel less Jewish right now.

Is it because I still don't know enough about Judaism? Is it because the South is predominantly Christian and conservative, and I got spoiled with a huge Jewish congregation? Is it growing pains? Is it learning to be a Jew without attending services and instead practicing more at home? Is just because I'm not a great Jew (whatever that is)? Maybe it's because my first year and a half being and becoming Jewish was one big step after the other, and now I am Jewish and it's like: I'm HERE! I'm JEWISH! ...Now what? 

Help me out, little man! 

I have a feeling it's all of the above, and then some. For over a year, my version of Judaism was attending services on Friday night, going to some classes while I converted, and maaaaybe attending Torah study once in a blue moon. Now, I don't really jive with the Reform synagogue here. It feels more Protestant to me than Jewish, and while I like the Conservative temple, I don't know enough Hebrew to follow along with the services. To be fair, I haven't attended Torah study here, and maybe that's something that needs to change.

I suppose I thought that once I'd studied, converted, and continued practicing and believing I was Jewish, I would actually, ya know, feel Jewish. Right now I just feel sort of isolated, and if there's anything I love and know about Judaism, it's that no Jew is meant to be Jewish in isolation! By Judaism's very nature, that is impossible.

I'm not sure what the next best step is to fix this (services? mikveh? Torah study? more lox and bagels?), but I do hope I fix it soon. I feel like I'm doing a disservice to myself and to my hard work when I feel like this, and I have to believe the ability to change this feeling it entirely up to me. What is the point to being a Jew if you just sit at home and feel kind of weird about it, right?

Jew-ing Out, Vol. 1, Ed. 1

So, we got married August 21, 2011. We finally got our ketubah framed. The timing of our decision to frame may have had something to do with Michael's 50% off custom framing sale (see: title of post--ZING!), and it may also have had something to do with the fact that showing off your ketubah is way easier if you're not unpacking it from a cardboard sleeve every single time you want to display your one piece of customized art.


In short, a ketubah is a Jewish wedding contract. Back in the old days, it really was a contract (much like civil marriages are today, only with much different terms). The ketubah dictated what the husband was required to provide to the wife; it dictated the minimum amount of sex a husband must have with his wife, and it also stated what sort of financial compensation a wife was entitled to should her husband decide to divorce her. Think of it as a document that encompassed some basic aspects of pre-marital counseling and prenuptial agreements before those things were en vogue.

We opted for a ketubah containing both Hebrew and English, as well as egalitarian language stating our contractual marriage vows. We chose artwork that evoked memories of our wedding day (there were peacocks everywhere), and something that wasn't overtly feminine or masculine. It was tough to pick one we both liked, but our pre-marital counseling sessions had us readily equipped to handle such conflicts.

Without further ado, here are some pictures of our ketubah:

                                The beautiful ketubah, and our rental grade carpet.

                           I think the mint green matting really makes the leaves in the border pop.

                                                Still loving the green matting.

Seven

This is my seventh blog, meaning I did what I said I'd do.

Seven things about the number seven:

1. Seven is my lucky number. When I was in 2nd grade in 1991 (and seven years old), I participated in a contest to win a cake at the school fair. When the music stopped, I was standing on number seven and won a cake. When I was seven (did you catch that?). It was pretty sweet.

                                          (I have no idea who these children are).

2. When I was seven, I did more things than win cake. I also had my first crush (a kid named Jonathan). Seven was a big year for me.

                                                      (Really big. Also, not my cake.)

3. In Judaism, seven is sort of a BFD. I'm a Jew, so I think the transitive principal states that seven is therefore a BFD to me. So really, I can't escape seven even if I wanted to.

                                             (See: shiva, sukkot, and the seven wedding blessings. Also, this article.)

4. I've never seen the movie Se7en, but I sort of want to. I really don't like being scared though, so I'll probably just read the Wikipedia synopsis instead.

                                                      (If I had Young Brad Pitt's baby, Morgan Freeman would be the god father).

5. Seven jeans aren't really my favorite. Maybe if I were slimmer and had a flatter butt stopped drinking so much beer they would be.

                                          (This is totally not me.)

6. This is the hand-shape for the number seven:

                                                        (Still not me.)

7. 7:10 just happened and Barrett walked in the door, so I'm outta here. Yay 7th blog entry!

P.S.: I don't understand caption placement.

To the girl who walked in late to the Ab Lab core class:

Next time you decide to join a twenty-five minute class fifteen minutes after it starts, can you just not?

It's really distracting to see you setting up your mat in the reflection of the mirror. Setting up wouldn't have taken so long if  you hadn't been skipping around other students. While talking to your friend. And texting on your phone. It wouldn't have taken long at all if you'd just stayed out, since, you know, you wouldn't have been setting up.

It's also really frustrating to walk around you after class ends. See, when you're splayed out, belly down on the mat, while texting on your phone, you take up a good chunk of space. If you need to take a breather after an invigorating seven minute workout (it really did take you three minutes to get your mat right), can you do it with your legs closed next time? You'll be less of an obstruction, so thanks.

And, one more thing. When you are laying there, legs akimbo, texting whomever it is you're texting, can you please not hump the floor? I know the song is really good (hey, Rihanna can get me moving too), but I'd just really, really appreciate it if I didn't have to see your crotch bouncing up and down on a mat I may use next time I workout.

Again, thank you for your courtesy. I'm sure none of these things (arriving on time, getting off your phone, being respectful of others' space, and not hyper-sexualizing yourself) ever crossed your mind. But hey, that's okay. Now you know.

Yours, in core strength and in timeliness,
Nina

How to feed two adults and fund a home-brewing habit on $75.00 per week:

Step One: Get over yourself.

Organics are awesome, and so are natural food stores, but shopping exclusively at Whole Food's just isn't in the budget. Wal-Mart and Harris Teeter definitely are within budget, though. Especially if 100% organic isn't the goal. Also, the people watching at Wal-Mart is amazing and even better than the website.

Step Two: Learn to love cheap food.

I am a lover of really healthy things like fresh salads, blackberries on top of yogurt and granola, and chicken that came from, well, chickens, that got to live outside and not eat their brethren. I still really, really like all of that stuff, but I've also learned to love things like spaghetti, quesadillas, Top Ramen, and cheap tofu stir-fries. In short, I'm reliving college, only drinking better beer and getting more sleep.   

Step Three: Enlist the help of a trusty side-kick.

I have Barrett, who is way better at sticking to a budget than I am. Shopping together means we can talk each other down when we reach the tempting cliff of Eating Meat More Than Once a Week.

After all three steps, sticking to a budget becomes sort of like a game. Last week we came in at $67.55, and this week we topped out at $79.43, for a grand total of $146.98, still $3.02 under budget. We left the store looking like this:

And silently judging everyone around us.

I silently judged everyone this morning.

Today I went to the gym. This is kind of a big deal.

I used to be super into fitness and running and eating really healthy foods and all that. Actually, before I was into that I was really into happy hour and dining out. And before that I was really into exercising too much and eating sugar- and fat-free foods.

Now, before my most recent "used to be" (I think I'm counting these correctly) I was sort of in a slump. I'd exercised semi-regularly from about 2006 - 2011, even running a couple half-marathons, suffering through a full-marathon, and learning my way around the weight room at the gym. Then, in Spring 2011, I sort of just stopped.

A lot was going on at the time. I was nursing an IT-band injury, planning a cross-country move, being a bridesmaid in two weddings, and planning my own. And then I moved and was still doing all that stuff 3,000mi away from anyone I knew (except Barrett, of course). And then I threw a really crappy job on top of it all and just got into this cycle from May 2011 - August 2011 of sleeping, working, sitting, sleeping, working, sitting, sleeping, working, sitting... You get the idea. I was working at a cafe so I was up and about during the day, but mostly I was a bump-on-a-log who was really bummed out and probably depressed and just not in the mood to drag herself to the gym.

It was also really damn hot and humid and I hid from it all inside the air-conditioned walls of our apartment.

You would've thought that getting married meant I'd be lifting weights and running miles like the crazed, semi-disordered eating bride I was entitled to be. But... it didn't. I lifted weights a few times over the summer and just got really lucky that I didn't balloon up before the wedding. I actually did lose a few pounds, probably from latent dehydration, and my arms looked okay from hauling plates and dish-bins around all week. But, even though I looked okay, I didn't feel okay, and my cardiovascular health was slipping (omg.stairs.wtf).

So, when I settled into my cushy new job at the office, I thought I'd get on this awesome thing called a "schedule", and that I'd, you know, actually go to the gym.

Nope.

The months ticked by... August and September were still kind of hot. By October I'd made friends from work and had happy hours to attend. November we were busy doing things. December it started to get cold. Oh, and December started my weight gain.

We're not talking a lot of weight gain here. Probably not even five full pounds. However, we're talking enough pounds to make my pants tight. And you know what's worse than tight pants? Not being able to afford to buy new, loose pants. No one likes to be around a woman on her fat day, and I assure it's worse if she feels fat and broke.

So, I finally decided I'd do something about it. That decision to do something was made about two weeks ago. Last night, while watching the nth season of Biggest Loser, I loudly declared, "Dammit it! If 400lb people can workout, so can I! I'm going to the gym tomorrow!"

Then I foolishly texted Elyse and told her I would go workout with her. Like the slave driver champ she is , she took hold of my brazen statement and held me to it.

This morning we took a 6:30 AM spin class together.

When I left my apartment to go to work, my legs were already tired. By 3:00PM my abs were already sore (we didn't even do sit-ups). I was hungry all day long. I also had some crazy endorphin high, which was super awesome, but then crashed hard in the afternoon after my fix died. Stupid, stupid, fixes.

Anyway, the point of the matter is not that I did something great for myself or my health or my future yet-to-be-conceived children or anything. That's all well and good, and I'm really glad I'll be able to wear my pants for the foreseeable future. The point is that all I had to do to start feeling superior to everyone else was wake up at 0600 and go sit on a bike for 45-minutes. I even got to say things like, "I've been up for hours", while filling sipping coffee with coworkers at 8:45.

I tell ya, nothing kicks off a Thursday like knowing you earned every damn donut hole you procured from the office kitchen.

Brew Day means...

Gossip Girl day!

While Barrett is brewing his first IPA, I'm starting Season 3 of my new favorite time waster. I'm not loving the third season yet, but it is making me feel slightly nostalgic for college. It's also making me wish I'd been born into some sort of insanely wealthy family. That didn't happen, but the NC Education Lottery has been promising some decent payouts. Might be time to play my hand at some scratchers.

Third episode is about to start, and then I'm on spaghetti duty. Third blog of the new year down!

Being different is okay.

So, I lucked out big time in the husband lotto. I got a handsome Southern gentleman who is whip-smart, and all I had to do to find him was run a marathon, get addicted to a certain running website, and agree to spend a weekend with a total stranger. Our love story is pretty cool, by the way.

As lucky as I was we were to find each other, I feel like we're even luckier to be good partners, too. We don't exactly come from the same ilk, so our compatibility can sometimes be shocking. Do you remember this gem from pre-breakdown-on-national-television-Paula Abdul?

Opposites Attract (Women Love Cartoon Cats)

We aren't as opposite as Paula and the tomcat (in that we are both born of the same species), but we do have some differences.

For instance, Barrett is into things like Science, Running Fast, Treating Third Degree Burns, and Being Generally Successful at Life. I, on the other hand, am more into things that allow me to be comfortable, things like Jogging At a Conversational Pace, Hitting the Snooze Button, Being Content, and Avoiding Places Where Communicable Diseases Run Rampant. (As a back story, Barrett is now a Certified Nurse Assistant, meaning he can take your blood pressure, wipe your butt, and [if you're lucky] assist a doctor in the scraping and disinfecting of your open wound--more an that in another post).

Barrett attended a university with a romantic history and significant athletic culture; I attended a university that was younger than my parents and encouraged things like walking around barefoot.

At this very moment, Barrett is cleaning the kitchen while his made-from-scratch pasta sauce cooks down. When we picked meals to cook this week, I chose dishes that were almost already prepared (hello, boxed soup!) and involved minimal utensils (because finger foods are fun and only require a quick chop with the knife). Barrett still thinks cooking enjoyable, while I think it's something that distracts from easier things, like assembling a PB&J for dinner.

Now, I don't mean to say that Barrett is better than me. Let's face it, the things I'm in to (see: sleeping in), are pretty awesome. Barrett is in to awesome things, too (see: biochemistry), but while Barrett can understand and enjoy what I'm into (sleep), I can only merely pronounce what he's into (Le Chatelier's Principle -- apparently scientists speak Latin and French).

I'm not quite sure how we fit together so well. Barrett could probably find some science-y explanation, but I like to think that we simply balance each other out. When he's been sketching molecules for hours on end (they all look like Stop signs), I can be the one to suggest a quesadilla and Modern Family episode. When I want to hit snooze for the Nth time, he can present me with a rational argument for getting out of bed ("You will be late for work").

I love Barrett for all the reasons he's different than me, and I think he loves me because I'm different, too. I'm there when Barrett needs an easy-run day, and Barrett's there when I need to win my office March Madness pool.

We're different but kind of the same, and that makes us pretty okay together.

I will try to blog this year...

...more than six times.