marathon training

I don't write this blog for only myself. I like to share my thoughts with others: friends, family, and randoms who may find it on blogger. It's liberating....even if its usually not about my day-to-day routine. Recently I sent the address to a friend who was surprised by the subject matter. I think he thought it would be more like, "today I ate radishes and got my nails done..." - not really my style all the time. I'm more doing a running commentary on the judgmental thoughts that pop in my head during the day. I'm not that conceited to think that people would want to know my daily routine (ok that might be a lie...). I would rather comment thing about things I read or see just because it's what is interesting to me. I'm with me all the time...I don't need to re-think the bad decisions I've just made (jk jk).

So for the real substance of this post:

I just wanted to update you all on my marathon training (after I just get done telling you that I don't usually talk about myself [lie], I'm going to talk about myself. what? stop judging me). How is this for ironic: I've never had a running-induced injury in my life until a few days before I officially started training. And my calf is still being a butthead! WTF is up with my lower left leg?! It will feel fine one day and then it'll flair up. I should be icing everyday but I can only motivate myself to do it every now and again. Today Ian and I went for a 3.3 mile run from his house down into Fremont. It started tight (again) and then loosened up (much like the person its attached to?? don't be mean...) It was a good run with a substantial down-hill which I needed. Instead of going to my gift and estates class tonight I think I'll go back to the gym and lift and do pilates since it's what I usually do on Wednesdays and didn't get out of bed in time for this morning.

I just need a day off from class...and my last two weekends have not counted as "days off." So I hope you take some "me" time as well this week...give yourself a break or two.

I need to look good for Maui :)

good chats *fist pound*

I think everyone needs to have at least one friend in their life that they can always count on for a good chat. Whether it be about fashion, psychology, philosophy, or my love of shirtless men. Thank god I have a few of these people in my life. For instance, Amy and Erin are my go-to girls for philosophy/theology/psychology/shirtless men chats. (they are really all-purpose friends). If I wanna talk fashion, I call up my lovie Sarah beara from college. If I want a ego-ass-kicking I call Pete. We don't chat on the phone much...mainly because I can slap him through the phone like he deserves. So the point of this is: I went down to visit my friend Courtney in Tacoma over the weekend. We always have these epic chats about life in general. Saturday's chat was particularly awesome, and thus it deserves a blog shout-out.

What we discovered in our discussion was that everyone has the present ability to choose to be happy. Happiness is not some grand state-of-mind that is unattainable for all who aren't either insane or mentally...shall we say...slow. Or those perpetually happy people who smile through everything, always spit rainbows and sunshine, and make my eye twitch. I think most people try too hard to obtain this gold pedestal of existential being. If you think about it like that, it will always be out of your reach. It's so much more simple than that: it's a decision. Those rainbow and sunshine people have probably made this decision without even thinking about it. It comes too natural for them (or they're trying to cover up how terrible their life is by being overly happy. I think I like this option better.)

My emotional state is easily affected. Unfortunately, I absorb emotions like a sponge. If I go watch a depressing movie, or if a sad song comes on the radio, I'm sad. It's stupid really...but I can't help it! (I guess there is an exception to that: I'm rarely sensitive to other peoples' actual troubles. So if you're like depressed and want to talk about it, it's only going to make me want to drink. And therefore forget what you've just told me.) Today on the bus a sad song came on my ipod and I started to get gloomy...until I remember the words of wisdom Courtney and I had discussed. I just smiled. Because I can smile...it's possible and I do a lot of it. Smiling that is.

So the next time you're thinking that your life is not what you want it to be, and you are striving for happiness, just be. just be happy. just be yourself. and just....be. It's quite liberating actually. and don't over-think it. Cause then you've just eliminated this blog wisdom and wasted both your time and, quite frankly, mine...which I like just about as much as like girls who wear Ugg boots or juicy sweatsuits. icky.

tastes like college

Tailgating for the Seahawks game really tasted like college. Tasted like back in the day when I didn't have real homework to worry about. Back when I had no job. Wait...I still have no job. So, back when I didn't even want a job! When life was good and simple: college. My Bud Light tasted like college - as if I was sitting in 812 Nora with my girls, playing F-the-dealer with only one other person.
Saturday morning Ricky Martin (yes that's his real name) and Ryan Cloakey picked me up outside of my place. At 7:45am. Ricky and his parents run a family farm business with a booth at pike place, so our fashionable ride to Quest Field was in the refrigeration truck....which has two seats. Oddly enough Ryan didn't feel compelled to let me, the girl, take the actual seat so I got to sit between the seats on an 18-case of Bud Light. Classy, no? I get in the truck and find them both munchin' on Jack In The Box breakfast sandwiches. (thanks for grabbin me one). Ryan must have known that I was silently judging his breakfast choice because he soon started spouting off lies about how some junkie came up to the truck with a gun and made them get themselves breakfast at jack in the box. At this, Ricky starts giggling and goes, "Ryan got that story from the obvious hooker we had the pleasure of seeing in the Jack in the Box." Apparently some strung out hooker (the guys were 92% sure she was getting paid for sex) ordered food at the counter and then looked around all paranoid-like, screamed something incoherent, and then took off. Again, classy. I forget how they described her attire but I'm sure it was something modest.
So far the boys have not been described as very gentlemanly. (which is per usual). But they soon redeemed themselves! Our tailgating spot was not near the big group of tailgaters but rather behind the starbucks against this building. When I asked why we weren't being our usually social selves, Ricky explained that the spot was chosen because of its convenient location to the starbucks bathrooms. Oh thank Jesus! Bathrooms, for those of us who are cursed with teensy blatters, are an object of concern while tailgating.
Soon I was playing beer pong (which I'm only moderately good at) and flip cup. In three games of flip cup, only once did it take me more than the first try to get the cup over. It was an extremely good showing for me on the ol' flip cup stage. After being fed a delicious hot dog ("when you tailgate with the Martin's you must eat") I realized that I was kinda drunk. I looked at my phone for the time: 11:52am. Awesome. Drunk by noon.
Ryan and I watched the game from right below the 12th Man Flag, happily drinking beers and watching the Seahawks beat the Saints. Who'd a thought! I made the mistake of buying the first beer. Right as I sit down, the Seahawks made some great play. From then on, Ryan decided that me buying beer was good luck, and refused to pay for another beer the whole game. I must say, it did seem like every time I went to get more, we did something phenomenal. So maybe I really am good luck! Just like the palm reader in India said!
On the way home I made a quick stop in to McDonalds for a delicious McNugget and fries. drunk eating by 6pm. Awesome.
By 9pm, I was experiencing a hangover.
By 9am, I was no longer drunk or hungover. I had fully recovered! I might start getting drunk during the day more often! .....

For example, Miike Snow...

I think I have an anxiety disorder. Or hypochondria...either or. I was going to write today about the Seahawks game but I was listening to Miike Snow on the bus, thinking about the anxiety I experienced today and the almost-right-hook I threw at the Miike Snow concert. Which inspired me to write this. Let me explain before you take this post as the evidence you need to confirm your preconceived suspicion that I'm certifiable.

Ian (brother), Meredith (brother's girlfriend) and I went to see a band name Miike Snow this fall in Seattle. It is a "standing room only" sort of thing. So after getting a few drinks at the bar (priorities right?) we decided to muscle our way to the front...with me leading the pack. After using my seeming-innocence with the men, and my right-elbow-to-the-ribs with the females, we made it to the stage! It's there that Ian tells me not to let anyone muscle past me...no matter what! Do not give me a direct order without believing that I'll follow it. Soooo...I get pushed in the back. I turn around swingin'. Don't mess with a country girl. I'll hit you in the face. Seriously. Just ask The Bear (college slut) or Sara Z. (cheer friend who bet me I wouldn't do it). I think the look on Meredith's face was shock and awe. Ian just looked embarrassed. The rest of the concert I felt like an idiot, which didn't stop me from proceeding to almost get in a few more fights. But that one guy deserved it!

Before the concert I knew this was going to happen. I don't like crowds. Being shoved into a small space with a whole bunch of morons makes me lose my breath (and my mind). I'd rather spare my heart the palpitations and just stay home. It's how I've always been at concerts. I used to think it was claustrophobic (or hypochondria either or) because when I'm closed in I feel anxious...for lack of a better word. But there are other times where I feel like I may faint or hyperventilate, for little to no reason.

Today I had a to-do list (which gives me anxiety inandof itself): pick up dry cleaning, pick up camera at best buy, 3 mile run, lifting-legs day, studying and school. I woke up at 7am thinking about this list and couldn't get back to sleep. Just thinking about it made my throat close just a smidge. I had until 6pm to get all this done. That's like, almost 12 hours. I mean, what if there is traffic? what if I can't find a parking space at best buy? what if I get in an accident? What if I lose motivation to run? What if...I stop being such a princess drama queen and just shut the F up. Even typing it out makes me feel both silly and anxious. The funny thing is, I did all of these things by 1pm. With time to make myself a delicious lunch. WTF is wrong with me?! Personally, I blame my parents. For a few reasons: the first being that I'm too perfect...it can't be something wrong with me, and secondly, everyone gets to blame their parents for something and this seems like a perfectly good opportunity to use my "blame the parents" card.

What it probably is (because I didn't feel like this ever in Cashmere or Spokane) is that the big bad city is a teensy bit overwhelming for me. I think, like that maybe I have a flaw!!! SHIT! Is like what it feels like to be you?! ....how do you like, deal?! Once I get used to the hustle and bustle this small flaw will dissipate and all will be well. For now though, I think I'm going to stick to taking the bus and avoid the Showbox concert hall.

that's all for now.

--LJW

Reality

I hate the term "the real world." Mostly because this infers that my existence thus far has been fake...or something less than real. If a prerequisite to living in the "real world" is that I have a job, then lets just say I'm living one foot in, and one foot outside of this so-called real existence. I work for the UW low-income taxpayer clinic. I think you can deduce from the name what it isthat I do, but for you slower readers, I assist low income taxpayers with their tax issues with the IRS. Some people owe 6,000; others owe 60,000. I would venture to guess that most of my time is spent on the phone and/or on hold with the good people at the IRS. The well-spoken, highly educated, warm-and-fuzzy IRS employees. Like a good shot of Jim Beam, they make your insides (crawl) heat up. Actually, most of the time they're alright. Some times they're big jerk faces and hang up on you after you've listen to their "on hold" music for 20 minutes and then spent 10 explaining what you would like them to do. (and that music doesn't change. like ever. They didn't even switch to Christmas music during the holidays! What's a girl gotta do to get some Frank Sinatra Christmas!?) My blood pressure spikes when I hear the words (narrated with a southern drawl) "please hold." My internal voice (ironically and unexplainably also narrated with a southern drawl) screams "UMM NOOO!" My inter child throws a tantrum. I've only been hung up on once. But it's enough to teach me to be wary of the seemingly innocent, "please hold."

Is "please hold" a question or a statement? I feel like one should always ask you to hold. Because if it were asked as a question, I might just actually say no because I don't wanna hold! (alright that's a lie. I'm a push over. But I would want to say no...)

All in all working for the clinic is rewarding and informative. I've learned more working in here than in any of my classes. Every now and then you get a client the outcome that they've been hoping for and that feels way better than acing an exam (but I think I've forgotten what acing an exam feels like...).

On a marathon note: I completed my 5 days of 3 mile runs for last week with flying colors! I even ran outside twice! Kay reprimanded me for running over 3 miles when I ran with Ian on Friday. We probably did 4ish miles. It's hard to pace yourself! I can run more than 3 miles...but I need to remind myself that if I get injured, I'll long for the leisure 3 miles. Today I pussed out on running outside when I saw snow on my car and went to the gym/treadmill. (brr!) I increase the incline every now and again to simulate the outdoors. (totally the same thing.) Afterwards I went home and did a 20 minute Jillian Michaels workout DVD. I know I know...I suck at pacing myself. bite me. I LOVE Jillian Michaels and her hellish workouts! They make me wanna cry, but then I see the killer shoulder definition that it gave me and it makes me wanna hug that mean little lady!

My next post will be about the joys of Seahawks games and tailgating...I'm just too lazy (and need to read for class tonight) to write it all out now.

Tata

valuing the value-less

So if you've read a blog of mine in the past, particularly the India blog, you will know that I enjoy taking tid bits from books I'm reading and then commenting on them. Right now I'm reading a book my dad bought me for Christmas: The Mentor Leader by Tony Dungy. Yes that Tony Dungy...the retired head coach of the Colts and now announcer for Sunday and Monday night football. Like there could be another person named Tony Dungy...geez really. try to keep up here.
In the first chapter (since I just started it today on the bus) he talks a little about sociology and societal values. He writes, "I've heard sociologist Tony Campolo say that the world has "switched the price tags," giving value to the value-less while undervaluing the truly important. Accumulating things is highly prized in our society, as are status and fame. On the other hand, the truly important things of life often happen in quiet, private moments- moments of faith, family, and building relationships." He then goes on to discuss how he's been helping Michael Vick discover a significant moment. Because apparently puppy killing isn't good for the ol' soul. You've been given a second chance Mikey...don't F it up.
Getting back to that quote...(watch out! I'm climbing the soapbox!) Our society has its priorities all wrong. The world is not right when we have over 400,000 more unemployed workers applying for benefits every month, and people who've done nothing with their lives like Snookie are out "writing" "books" and discussing the art of blacking out. I mean, talk about putting value (dollar signs) on the valueless (getting paid to drink to excess and sleep with randoms). The older I get the more irritated with all of this shit that I get. I mean really?! What is the future of the world if our youth think that all they have to do is fuck up enough, but do it in a unique and/or clever way, and you'll have a free ride through fame? I'm not knocking the occasional early-20's black out. My point is that blacking out is not a job nor furthering the functionality of society. It's trash. Just like the stuff found in the garbage can you slept in last night Snookie.
I know that the economy and all that Shiz is depressing and we therefore need something to entertain us. That is so NOT an excuse for shows on TV like Teen Mom and Bridalplasty (where idiots compete for plastic surgery before their wedding day). It makes me want to throw my TV out the window. THIS is what we value and what is a waste of time.
Another point to the quote is about accumulating "stuff." I loves stuff. To name a few things...I love shoes, handbags, anything within the confines of Nordstrom, cars, jewelry, and anything else shiny or sparkely. I'm a big fan of the accumulation of things. But alas, the other Tony is right...in the big scheme of things it is meaningless if it has consumed you or if it defines you. The moral to the story may be, all things in moderation.
When you look back at your time here on earth, what will define you? What will you remember? what will others remember of you? I think the other Tony's point is that you will be remembered for you impact on others and the relationships that you build. If those relationships are not cultivated, or poorly so, you've undervalued your time: your time on earth and your time with other people.
Now, with this nugget of knowledge, go out and do good! (PS I recommend the book...it's good so far).
As for me, I just remembered that I need to go to American Apparel and shop. I'm bored.

Tata

PS: woke up at 5:45am and went to the gym for my third 3 mile run. Very successful. Sore legs since I've been running and I lifted them yesterday...but that's good. One step at a time people.

new year decisions

So lately I've been a bad blogger. I've been neglecting my posts and followers (if there are any of you left). With a new year comes new goals and promises! So here is mine: I promise to be a more diligent blogger! Be warned, this first post may annoy some of you...I say this because if it weren't me, I'd be annoyed. But princess Lindsey never annoys herself (yes. talking in third-person is still lame/annoying. Annoying the reader is a theme interlaced throughout this post apparently).
Yesterday I started my marathon training! (how many of you rolled your eyes?! don't lie...) This week I'm to run 3 miles 5 times. No sweat. Pun intended. So yesterday I ran up and around the Queen Anne neighborhood. Today I ran on the treadmill....because princess Lindsey cannot be expected to run in the rain. pshhaw. (a mantra that severely limits my outside running opportunities in Seattle. And is also a joke...mostly.) So far so good! I've been running 4-6 miles once or twice a week leading up so 3 miles seems do-able. It'll be the 5 times that will start to get at me I think.
I'm notorious for making big goals like this, with ideas of grandeur, and then dropping the ball about 5 steps from the start line. So take this as you will. Running a marathon is a goal that I've only recently decided is less than a death wish. Growing up in a household of athletic overachievers, I've always brought up the rear with great pride and style! ...kind of a "screw this I'm walking" sort of attitude. Or, more like it... a "hand me a beer!" sort of attitude. Like um no. Sweat makes my hair look like yours. Which would be like so not cool.
Since college, when I needed a good outlet, I've been into working out. During the bar exam I got into lifting weights. So now, I'm taking it to the next level! Not one to be left behind, I'm going to run a marathon! Ian did it without training in over 4 hours (which will be his "out" when I beat his time), mom ran it in 3 hrs 20 min, dad ran it in 3 hrs 12 min. I'm shooting for something between beating Ian and not killing myself.
So wish me luck! Or hope I fail...I could really give a shit less. I will be assigning you all miles makers to stand on in order to cheer me on. Signs encouraged.

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