Wow, I can’t believe it’s been almost three weeks since I last blogged. I have a lot to catch up on.
I’m finally at a point in my work project that I don’t have to work too much this weekend. While I’m glad to have time to work on my own stuff, I’m a little nervous too. The work project is a no-brainer. There’s a set process and I just follow it. With my own stuff, it’s a lot more loosey goosey.
My low cholesterol life is still going strong, though I did splurge twice this week on fatty pesto pasta with fatty sausage, the first time after I had drinks with my co-workers and the second time last night because I didn’t feel like fish. (Last night was chicken sausage but the pasta was still pretty oily.)
It’s been almost a year since I’ve had a drink. MB doesn’t touch the stuff and I’m allergic to alcohol so drinking is never that much fun. Wednesday night I had a glass of red wine – no, half a glass of red wine – and I was DRUNK. Very warm, very red, light-headed, and chatty. By the time I got home, I was craving bad food. Hence, the fatty pesto pasta.
I was also a slacker about working out this week. Last Sunday I just didn’t feel like it, and was so blah in the afternoon, I made the mistake of having a double espresso. As with alcohol, I’m sensitive to caffeine. I mean, I can have as much as I want before noon, but after that, I’m in trouble.
I thought I’d be up till one or two. I was up till 5:30 AM. The worst was when I’d drift off, only to be jerked awake by something random – the door creaking, the girl downstairs talking at the top of her lungs, my brain skittering off to some random memory.
Luckily I work part-time so I just switched my days, working from home on Monday and going in on Tuesday, which meant missing yoga. Boo hoo. Then I went in on Thursday instead of Friday because we had a meeting I didn’t want to miss, which meant missing yoga again. Must go twice next week!
Speaking of the gym, lately I’ve noticed this chick who simultaneously cracks me up and annoys me. She’s Asian, very thin, and has a lot of dyed hair – you know, that weird brownish, reddish, yellowish color that some Asian women seem to favor. She runs on the treadmill, but she runs 1) with all that hair down 2) fully make-up’d, and 3) holding onto the side rails for dear life.
Yesterday I had the opportunity to run next to her. Being that close, I could see that in addition to big hair, she had big, fake boobs. I mean, not ginormous but solid and perfectly round. For a moment I wondered if she was actually post-op (ie, formerly a guy), but looking at her hands, I didn’t think she was.
To motivate myself, I got into a pretend competition with her. I *have* to run more than this chick, I told myself, with all her hair and her tribal tattoo and silicon lady lumps. But she ran a lot, and pretty fast. Glancing at her machine, I saw that she ran six or seven miles an hour.
BUT. She was holding onto the machine the whole time, the sides or the handles at the top. And she wasn’t sweating at all, as far as I could tell. Meanwhile I was running between 5.7 and 6.3 MPH for four miles, and I was drenched.
Then someone she knew took the treadmill on her other side, and they had a whole long conversation. I mean, she was hardly out of breath. I kept thinking, It’s because she’s holding onto the handrails right? She’s basically bracing herself or lifting herself up. (The real question is of course, Why do I care? but I do and that’s that.)
This morning I found that it *is* fake running to hold the treadmill the whole time. Yes, vindicated! I mean, I already knew that, but I just needed the internet to assure me again.
Now that I’m done being catty, it’s back to the gym again. I’ll say hello to Miss Big-Hair-Fake-Boobs-Fake-Runner if I see her.