Is anyone still there?

I have a new friend who has encouraged me to start writing again.

You know, now that I have all this free time raising a child and working full-time and pumping ALL the milk. (Seriously, can we talk about how much pumping SUCKS?)

I'm thinking about it. Namely, I'm thinking about putting my money where my damn mouth is and just getting back to what I love doing: cooking, menu planning, meal planning, dinner parties, and all of that. But on a budget.

Cuz there are no other blogs like THAT around. And no one posts photos of their creations too, right?

I can't believe I have been able to see straight enough to type this as I have been rolling my eyes AT MYSELF this whole time.

I'm thinking about it though. Why not, right? I need to make sure to do things for myself to make ME happy. If it is jumping in the realm of the food/recipe bloggers, perhaps it's time for me to get my feet wet.

Can I do this guys?

Will I post more than once a year?

STAY TUNED.

It happened.

Eleven weeks and change ago, I had a baby.

I don't have a dramatic delivery story. Much like my pregnancy, it was smooth sailing. The few days after were rough. I had never spent the night in a hospital, and had no idea how difficult it was to sleep. (Big duh there.) Luckily, I had my mom at home to help me out. Rather than google potentially terrifying things, I could just say..."Mooooom, is this normal?" and she'd allay my fears. Her most fantastic help meant that when she left, it was extra terrifying. In fact, the night after she left, my husband and I high-fived for making it 24 hours.

There are still moments when P.I.C. and I look at each other and laugh in disbelief. We have a kid. We are parents. We made a baby. SHE'S SO CUTE. (Everyone says that, I know, I know.)

You know what? All of those parenting cliches are so true. It's the hardest job in the world. It's the best job in the world. Blah blah blah. All you talk about is poop. (Partly true.) The entire first two weeks you are topless. (Um, try entire first month. Even now, I feel like I'm always experiencing an intentional nip slip.) I cry at the drop of a hat. The hormones that messed me up during pregnancy have evolved to make me a weepy mess.

I have so much to say about it, and yet have such a difficult time finding the words. I guess I can sum it up by saying...I am really, really happy. I wish that I could fit back into my jeans again, but I know this will happen with time. I'd rather focus on taking care of the little lady for now.

I go back to work on Friday. That makes me mostly sad, but a little happy, and for the happy bit, I feel guilty. ALL THE FEELINGS. Seriously. Anyhow, I will leave you alone with some four-day baby fingers.

Meet the little lady.

Yet another identity crisis.

It has taken me a long time to be okay with myself. I struggled a lot in my early to late twenties about myself as a person. You know, the big questions: Who am I? Who do I want to be? How do I want to project myself to the world? What really makes me happy?

By the time I hit thirty, I definitely had a better grasp on my own self. I was happy. Healthy. Strong. I was in a good relationship. I had wonderful friends. I was close with my family. I knew what was important to me, and I lived my life accordingly. We took vacations, I went out for dinners with my friends. I pursued hobbies. I tried to make myself a better person. Life wasn't easy. I know it wasn't perfect. But I was really and truly happy.

Today, I am 33 years old, three years past that point where I felt like I had it figured out. Of course, because life is complicated and messy, I decided to throw a wrench in my happy life. My husband and I decided to procreate.

I am adding a tiny, squealing, complicated mass of cells to my life. It could be as soon as tomorrow, or nineteen days from now. Of course, this baby is wanted so very much. For a very, very long time, I knew I wanted to have a family with my husband. But when it comes down to actually happening, and finally acknowledging the fact that this baby is going to come out and stay out...forever...it's terrifying.

This year, I went to Mexico for a dear friend's wedding and drank copious amounts of bottled water instead of margaritas. I rang in my birthday with a non-alcoholic drink rather than bottles of champagne. I have abstained from deli meats and sushi for nearly forty weeks. I have accepted my growing waistline and increasing number on the scale with little more than a shoulder shrug. I stopped all training for races finding that peeing my pants was more of a probability than a possibility. My life has already changed.

I'm a little sad. My identity is changing once again. I sure hope it's a person that I like as much as I like the one I have discovered now. I hope that it's one that my husband loves as much as he loves me now. And I really hope it's one that this child will love and respect as it grows.

My Life in a Nutshell at 32 Weeks Pregnant

I woke up feeling marginally introspective today. I had intended to do my workout video*, but decided instead to slowly sip a second half-cup of coffee and play Candy Crush on my husband's work phone.** Why not, right? Also, I started thinking about writing too. As a disclaimer, this post isn't really about pregnancy. It's just about my life right now.

I used to write all the time. Clearly, I don't do that now. I have SO many reasons, guys. Number one is that I tend to have all of thoughts during the workday and guess what? BLOGGER IS BLOCKED AT WORK. So you're not privy to my random thoughts during the day. I'm too tired at night. Once I remember that I thought about something to write, I'm probably eating.

I also don't want to talk about my pregnancy all the time. I mean, those thoughts run from very serious TMI thoughts. I just don't want to talk about nipples or gas or hormones. (NO, YOU WERE CRYING HYSTERICALLY OVER THE BABY HATS WITH THE EARS ON THEM AT THE GAP WHILE YOUR HUSBAND LOOKED ON HELPLESSLY.) I've also had probably the easiest pregnancy in all the land, so I don't want to be all, "Pregnancy, no big deal." It is a big deal, it's beautiful, blah blah blah.

The fact is, right now my life is rather boring. I wake up in the morning, usually pretty tired despite putting myself to bed at a reasonable hour the night before. I allow myself some coffee (and yes, it's fall, can I tell you about pumpkin spice creamer? It's made my world.) and a little bit of time to check my twitter feed. I mean, I have to see what all the fun kids talked about after I put myself to bed. Sometimes I go to the gym or do my workout video. I usually eat one to two breakfasts. I pack another one for work sometimes if I'm really hungry. I stare at myself in the mirror for a good five minutes to see if I have developed stretch marks, or how much bigger I have gotten overnight. (It seems to happen a little bit more each day.) I go to work, listen to wbez.org, do some work, and take walks in the loop when it's nice. (There have been lots of really nice days.)

During the work day, I have found that I try not to leave my office. It's not that I'm antisocial, but I find that people tend to STARE at my stomach, then want to discuss my pregnancy with me, even if I have never spoken to them in my life. Sometimes I just wanna check my mail, and I don't want to discuss where I will be giving birth, thank you. I feel like that girl that just got a boob job and wears her boobs out all the time. People can't help but stare, but it makes me feel SO uncomfortable. MY EYES ARE UP HERE, GUYS. I don't even want to talk about the person who asked to see my belly button.

After work, I go home. I probably eat way more than I should, watch some TV, read a little, and then go back to bed. I let PIC do more cooking now. He still cleans up. I love him. I try to ignore the boxes and boxes of baby supplies that seem to have taken over my house. I realize that in a few short weeks, I will be 33. (HOLY CRAP.) Then I'm sleeping. Sometimes I get up a few times to pee, sometimes I make it all the way through the night. The next morning, I get up and do it all over again.

This is my life. To be honest, I've never been happier. Ya know, despite the whole fat ass and stomach thing.***

* Seriously, Tracy Anderson might be strange and advocate anorexic eating habits, but her pregnancy workout video has actually been a fun thing.
** I have always known that I have sausage-like fingers. Playing on an iphone 5 makes me feel like a giant. Seriously, how to people with REAL man hands use this thing. HULKSMASHIPHONE. It makes me love my husband's non-work Nexus 5 so much more. I play Candy Crush on that one too.
*** I know it's not a fat ass or stomach. I know it's just pregnancy. I know I'm not even THAT big. But it's fun to say that I'm fat. I mean, I seriously cannot fit through small spaces anymore. It's funny to me.

So. Many. Emotions.

Guys, it's been so long since I've written, I don't even know: do people. still. use. this. to. emphasize. points?

Whatever.

I just want to discuss my roller coaster of emotions that have been seemingly taking over my life lately. Now, I am the first to admit, I am an emotional person from my very core. Hallmark commercials? SOB. Folgers Coffee commercials where the military brother/son comes home? SOBSOB. I am, to put it kindly, a hot mess of tears on a regular day. Add a healthy dose of hormones to this, and I just cannot get a grip on my life. PMS tends to be a time when I put P.I.C. "on notice" of my emotions. Because yes, those tears can turn to rage at the drop of a hat. Even better than PMS? PREGNANCY HORMONES. Guys. This is serious. I am hot mess times nine bajillion.

Sigh. Please tell me it gets better. Once that sweet little fetus is evicted from my womb, tell me eventually my tears will be reserved for commercials and real things...but...I just said sweet little fetus and thinking about the baby in a real way makes me cry. EVERY. TIME.

DAMMIT.

National Running Day

I mean, it seems like this is a good excuse for me to post a little somethin' somethin', given my love (errr...like?) for running.

2013 has been a decent year race-wise. I ran the Shamrock Shuffle faster than last year, and I finished the Soldier Field Ten Miler about five minutes slower than last year with a rather lackadaisical training effort. I'm pleased. However I think my best running experience of 2013 would have to be running a 5k with my sister-in-law.

It was a damp and chilly April morning in the northside Chicago neighborhood. I had run the Ravenswood 5k last year and found it  be very fun. Low pressure, gorgeous houses along the route, everyone was just out for a good time. I knew that this race would be the perfect choice for my sister-in-law for her very first 5k. I remember my first 5k (I wrote about it here), and it was such a fantastic and defining moment for me, I was so thrilled to be a part of that with her.

Her goals? To not be the last person and to beat 45 minutes. Her goals became my personal mission. I wasn't worried about the first one. This race aways has lots of walkers, so I knew that so long as we ran SOMETHING, we wouldn't be last. We committed to a ratio of three to one: three minutes running to one minute walking. When we crossed the start line, we were off! And...speedy. We were running at a pace that definitely felt faster than what she had told me she was running in her training. I went with it though. After about a mile, she told me that she was getting winded. I slowed it up, and we were just fine. The ratio worked out perfectly and we were plugging along just fine.

At two miles, I realized we were doing well enough that we were for sure going to beat her time goal. I think I got a little eager, and my pace crept up a little. She was great at communicating this to me, and I slowed down. I started pointing out that we were getting very close. When we got to what I knew was the home stretch, I told her to forget the last walk break, we were going to finish strong. She protested. But I wasn't having her quit on me with the finish line in sight.

"IF YOU DON'T STOP, WE NOT ONLY WILL CRUSH YOUR GOAL TIME, WE WILL FINISH IN LESS THAN 40 MINUTES."

She didn't love me at that moment, but she sucked it up and kept on running. We finished in 39:44. I felt so proud of her. It was almost like it was my first time again as I felt that sweet rush of crossing the finish line.

Running is just...well, it's changed my life. If I can share a part of that with other loved ones, you'd better believe I will. It's not abouy losing weight or getting faster (both are awesome, obviously), but it's so much fun getting up on a Sunday morning and getting fresh air and a good start to the day. So, while I might have had a personal record for the Shamrock Shuffle, the 5k with my sister-in-law was my favorite running experience of the year.

Now...about that 13.1 in two and a half weeks...I guess we will see!

Happy National Running Day to all those who love it like I do! (That is, tolerate it, like getting medals and shirts, and really are in it for post-race brunches and cheeseburgers.)

Anger.

I feel I've been holding onto some anger lately. It's no real mystery as to the source of it. I am aware that the issue causing me this anger is outside of my control. That might be what bothers me most.

I have always been the type to hold onto grudges passively. In this case, it might not be so passive. I am learning to be okay with that. While the situation is not within my control, my reactions most certainly are. I now refuse to be nice.

So there.

This posting brought to you by the most passive-aggressive of all the passive-aggressive people in the land.

LOL.

Oh, LOL. Laughing out loud. I remember when I first started typing you, back in my early aol days. (Remember that? A former colleague of mine actually STILL used aol and I'd hear the familiar "you've got mail" at least once a day for over two years. Really. I guess people still use it.)

Then I decided I was TOO GOOD FOR THAT. I would no longer write LOL. It was stupid. Especially when a simple "hahahahahah" would suffice. NO MORE LOL.

That all changed the one day I watched this STUPID video. If you have little tolerance for stupid funny, fast forward to the 2:40 mark. "LOL penis face. TAKE THAT MOM." I can't stop laughing. So I started saying that. Then i decided, hey, I can type LOL sometimes. Or lol. I can type that too.

Now I'm back to using LOL. I feel a little gross, but whatever. I don't care.

Did I just blog about LOL? Sorry.

Trials and errors.

Two weeks ago, I had my first jury trial in five years. It was also the first time I tried a case with someone other than myself. While being on your own is terrifying, there is a certain comfort in knowing that if you screw up (which you will, it's just a matter of when), no none will be there to see you. That being said, having two other people to share the workload (and toss around strategy) is a lot of fun. Yeah. I said it. WORK CAN BE FUN. But only a little bit. Let's not get crazy here.

I don't really want to get into the specifics about the trial. It's not that interesting, really. We won, which makes all of our hard work pay off. We got a proud email from our boss to our entire office, which always makes you feel proud. And, frankly, jury trials (of the multi-million dollar demand variety) don't happen all that often, so the certain rockstardom of being a "trial lawyer" is rather fun. Of course, two weeks later, the luster has faded, and no one remembers us. Go figure.

My favorite moment? The verdict had come in, and the opposing client was getting more and more verbally angry. Eventually, her attorney asked her to leave the courtroom, at which point she stopped in front of my colleague and me, saying, "I BET YOU ARE REALLLLLLY PROUD OF YOURSELF." She then proceeded to glare directly into my eyeballs until she was hustled out of the courtroom. Since I was in court, I didn't respond, but her eye chicken didn't work. I WON THE STARING CONTEST TOO.

In any event, I remember what I like about being a lawyer. I am not a great trial lawyer, but one of my colleagues that tried the case with me truly is, and witnessing a good trial lawyer is pretty amazing. Having one on YOUR side is spectacular. Winning a trial is indescribable. The sense of achievement is like nothing else.

P.S. We all screwed up in the trial. I promise you, you will ALWAYS make a mistake. Recovery is key.

P.P.S. If I had lost, this blog post would have had WAY more expletives and gone like this: F*$K THE JUSTICE SYSTEM. I HATE MY JOB. LIFE SUCKS. FML FML FML. Aren't you glad I won?

Last race of the year: Chicago's Hot Chocolate 15K.

Yesterday, I ran my final race of the year, the Chicago Hot Chocolate 15K. My training had been slightly off due to the upcoming time change. I found it increasingly difficult to get up in the mornings and run. (I'm a morning runner, and I have a really hard time running at night, so this meant I missed a lot of runs.) The weather was getting cold. Rather than get my last long run in, I cut it short by two miles.

But I sure wasn't going to sleep through the alarm when it went off. (Especially when we realized that we got an extra hour of sleep thanks to the time change that FINALLY came.)

We got up, bundled up, took our usual pre-race photo for posterity and lined up. I made us a light breakfast (scrambled egg on a bagel) to give us energy. We were ready.

Unfortunately, due to my slower-than-P.I.C. pace, I had to line up apart from him and wait. And wait. And wait. Seriously, I waited for over an hour before I even started WALKING to the start line. By the time I started running, I couldn't feel my toes, my teeth were chattering, and I had an impossible cramp in the front of my right shin. Even worse? I had to pee. Sigh. This was adding up to be my worst race ever.

Then something weird happened. I warmed up. I felt my toes, and the cramp in my shin went away. The 5K split off from the 15K and I was feeling GREAT. Then I got hot. I had to stop to walk and take off my top layer. Then I made a quick pit stop to pee. I probably lost a good 5-6 minutes getting adjusted. It was totally worth it though. Despite my necessary walk break, it was the ONLY walk break I took. When we got to the 9 mile mark, I kicked it up a notch. Seeing the walkers at this point, I knew this is where my training, although not as diligent as for my earlier races, kicked in. I was fast.

 This was my best race of the year (distance-wise). I had my best pace. I finished strong. I was smiling when I crossed the finish line. (Granted, I always smile when I cross. It's why I do it!)

Bring on 2013! I'm already signed up for two races, so let's keep active this winter, yes?

Reason Number 43 why I can be a total jerk.

About a month ago, P.I.C. and I got into a discussion about romance, particularly, his lack of romance.* This is how the conversation went.

FA: "I mean, you never cook me dinner. I always menu plan, make the grocery list, and cook dinner. It's fine, but it'd be nice if you surprised me by cooking once in awhile."
P.I.C.: "I cook you dinner."
FA: "Name one time OTHER than the night you proposed."
P.I.C.:"uhhhhhh"
FA: "And you have never sent me flowers at work. I know you bring them home from Trader Joe's sometimes, but that doesn't count anymore. That doesn't take any effort, they put those flowers right in front so anyone realizes flowers are a good idea."**
P.I.C.: "Um, I don't know how to send flowers."
FA: "WHAT? How do you not know how to send flowers?"

The conversation ensued with both of us breaking into laughter at various points. He's so funny. Fast forward to two weeks ago and my birthday. He told me he was leaving work early to run an errand for my birthday.

FA: "Ooooh, are you getting me birthday flowers? NICE."
P.I.C.: "Noooo. Sorry."
FA: "Sigh."

Spoiler alert, he didn't get me flowers on my birthday. The next night, I got so bothersome about it. Mind you, I'm not really upset about this, just in a rather tenacious mood. (We'd had a few drinks, and I was relentless with my teasing.)

Eventually, P.I.C. got fed up with my antics. Perhaps they weren't as amusing as I viewed them. He sighed hugely and told me, "YOU ARE RUINING THE SURPRISE."

Wait, what? Apparently, a few days before my birthday, he had actually pre-ordered me flowers to be sent to me the Monday he was in London. He had taken our jokey argument to heart and done something completely and utterly romantic. Flowers on my birthday? Nice. Flowers just because he wanted me to know he misses me? Romantic. Perfect.

My response to this revelation? EWWWWPS. Lucky for me, this is just my personality and he wasn't too upset at me. He laughed it off.

Sure enough, Monday afternoon, I got a call to the front desk and received these beauties.

I do feel like a total jerk, but having these flowers on my desk has reminded me how lucky I am to have a husband who would take a badgering like I gave him and still let those flowers be delivered. I know you can see their beauty, but the smell is outstanding. I'm happy.***


*I realize that this is a dumb problem. I also need to acknowledge that my husband would do absolutely anything I wanted or asked of him if it was possible. I'm just a typical female and expecting him to read my mine, obviously.

**This make me look like a REAL asshole. Sorry. I kind of am.

***I also REALLY love that my husband patronized the flower shop with a purpose, Urban Meadows. This made me even happier knowing that my brattiness did some good. (RIGHT?)

32.

Yep, that time of year again. My calendar is full of dinners, lunches, and diminished ability to get out of bed in the morning (due in part to the lack of light in the morning and also in part to the extra wine I've been consuming.)

IT IS BIRTHDAY SEASON! WOOOOO!

Of course, as a woman, I shouldn't probably tell you my age. But, as the lovely Aaliyah once sang, "Age ain't nothing but a number." (Although, I think that was in reference to her odd marriage to R.Kelly when she was fifteen.) I'm 32 and proud of it.

Every year past 27 has gotten better for me. No lie. I've come into my own as to who I am, what I like to do (for real, not what other people like for me to do). I have an amazing life with a great husband (despite his confusion at the whole ordering flowers to the office thing) and strong family support. I have friends that have stuck by me for the worst and been with me at my best. I've become a runner. I lost that annoying 10 pounds from too much restaurant food. I have traveled a ton (and have two trips on the books for 2013).

Today, there are no first world problems, just birthday cake.

Happy birthday to me.

My happy place.

Being surrounded by twenty hummingbirds really is my happy place. Here is one of the cute little fellas.

Thank you, sir, may I have another?

Yeah, I said it. I finished one half marathon at a snail's pace and immediately wondered, "When can I do it again, and do it better?" (Y'know, this thought came BEFORE I realized that my lower back was in a world of hurt.)

The race has come and gone. If I am truly honest, I am really disappointed at my finishing time. I was slower (BY FAR) than any of my training runs. It was hot and crowded, but I'm not sure how I finished with my stupid, slow pace. It bugs me, but in all honesty, I crossed that finish line fast with a huge smile on my face.

The first five miles were very tough. I just kept thinking how much farther I had to go and how many more hours and minutes I would have to run. I loved the live bands, loved the DJs, but missed out on having spectators cheer me on. I took to pretending that the signs were all for me, the slow girl plugging along near the end. It helped a little.

At one point, I could hear a spectator shouting ,"YOU CAN DO IT, YOU'RE ALMOST THERE." At mile four, that was almost enough for me to stop running and go punch her in the face. NEWSFLASH, LADY: WHEN WE ARE RUNNING 13.1 MILES, DO NOT SAY "YOU ARE ALMOST THERE" WHEN WE HAVE NINE POINT ONE MILES LEFT TO RUN. I held it together and kept on plugging along. I stopped only for sips of water for the first eight miles. But then I got tired. Everyone around me was walking/limping. I figured I could start taking some walk breaks too. So I did. This was probably my downfall.

Once I hit mile ten, I started to get excited. I WAS DOING THIS. I was walking quite often, but every time I realized I was getting too complacent, I started to run. We'd be going up a ramp on an incline and I'd think, "Oh hell no. I'm RUNNING this." And I did. Mile 11 came and went. The closer I got, the more excited and happy I got. When I saw that 13 mile marker, I knew that I was ready to end it. I started to run as fast as I could, bobbing and weaving between the others at the end. I FLEW across the finish line, my arms in the air, a huge smile on my face.

I freaking did it.

So, the important question is: When can I do it again?

And a related question: When did I become a crazy person?

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the half marathon. When I started running a few years ago, I had in the back of my mind that my greatest running feat would be running a half marathon. Tomorrow, I make that feat mine. I will own 13.1 miles. Well, perhaps not own them, but hopefully occupy them without (a) pulling anything, (b) passing out, or (c) shitting my pants.*

I haven't been very diligent in my updates with respect to training. It's not because I don't have lots to say about it. I am sure that anyone in my life in the past two months have become horribly annoyed with me constantly talking about running. I don't feel bad about "bragging" about what I've done. I see now that running more that five miles at one time is something about which I should take pride. I do. Don't worry about that. I realize that my previous annoyance at people's pride was due to the fact that I was a lazy ass. It's true.

Honestly, my main problem has been something that I thought was entirely too embarrassing to discuss here. Rest assured, that post will happen. I promise.

But today, I just want to let you all know (if you're still out there) that I am doing it tomorrow. I created a running plan. I finished it. Today, I sit here, well-rested, fully-carbed, hydrating my body, and looking forward to crossing that finish line tomorrow.

Honestly? I don't know if I can ever go back to not being this crazy running person. I'm cool with that.

*Sorry to be so crass, but it is a REAL THING. Look it up.

It's Wednesday...you know what time it is...

TIME FOR ME TO BORE YOU WITH MORE TALES OF TRAINING. I mean, really, it's all my life is these days. Well, that, and spending time with my precious baby niece. My life is pretty terrific. No complaints.

I'd had a rough time of it the last time I attempted to run more than five miles. Since then, I have had numerous pep talks from lots of runners who reminded me that I need to stop beating myself up, that every run isn't going to be perfect, and really, what matters is getting my miles in.

So, Saturday morning, P.I.C. and I set out for our long run. Nine miles. CARA runners be damned. Those of us in Chicago are very aware that it's been HOT lately. 90 degrees plus. That is HOT. I knew that my body would have to get used to the heat. So I said..."Know what? You're going to take a little walk break after each mile, have a couple of sips, and regroup." And so I did. My walks were very brief in the beginning and probably over a minute toward the end. BUT I DID IT. Even better? I felt pretty great doing it. It was SLOW. VERY slow. I'm not going to be that upset about it.

Face it, I ran NINE miles on Saturday. Most people didn't do that. So, my attitude has been checked, my body has healed from its ailments, and I am slowly building the confidence and endurance to run 13.1.

I can do it. Right?

Training Update...it IS Wednesday.

So, I got a cold. One of those annoying, nasty summer colds that gets in the way of having fun. I actually stayed home from work for an ACTUAL sick day in which I watched streaming documentaries on netflix, drank tea, and blew my nose. It was awesome, except for the whole surplus of mucus. Blech.

I suspect part of the problem was that my body was just exhausted. I did the ten mile race, which was farther than I ever ran in my entire life, then just hopped right back on the training wagon without any sort of appreciable break. That's why my eight miles were so tough. That's why I STILL can't run three miles without having to stop to blow my nose.

GETTING PAST THAT, THOUGH. I'm back on the horse. I'm taking it one day at a time. My goal for the half-marathon is only to run the whole damn thing, aside from walking for my water break. (Hat's off to those of you that can sip while running, but I'm just not that coordinated.) I don't care about my time so much. I just want to run the whole damn thing. And I will. Thank you so much for those of you that have dropped a kind word my way toward my struggles. Honestly, this might be the most tough physical thing I have ever put my body through over a period of time (not including the Panamanian Volcano Climb of 2010) so encouragement goes a very long way.

P.I.C. and I have decided to take our long runs separately now. He has decided he wants to run the half-marathon faster than me. I get it. He is faster, has already run one, and I tend to be surly at times. Lots of times I don't even want to run with me. Clearly, this is going to be one where I am going to have to look within for strength to finish. Therefore that starts this weekend. Nine miles solo. Eeeeeeps.

I'll do it. I will be surly. It won't be fun. But I will do it. That's all that matters.

HAPPY SUMMER, GUYS!

Summer in Chicago...seen and heard at street fests.

People in Chicago can be disagreeable. North side versus south side. Cubs versus Sox. Thin crust versus deep dish. I could go on and on, but trust me. There are so many things on which those of us lucky enough to reside in this beautiful city will disagree.

BUT. There is ONE THING that I feel confident in declaring. One thing on which I think all of us can agree. SUMMER IN CHICAGO IS THE BEST.

It just is. There are festivals, outdoor concerts, street festivals, movies in the park, beer gardens, friends’ patios, and I could go on for days. It’s fantastic. It is why we put up with crappy winters and shitty sports teams. (Alright not all are shitty, but lots are, and I’m a Cubs fan, so I’m just generally down on Chicago sports, so deal with it. AND deal with my run on sentences too.)

Here it is, barely June, and I’ve already trekked out to two festivals. Granted, if I were truly diligent, I would have hit up four, but come on. A girl’s gotta get some sleep, right? While I don’t love crowds, and my fear of Porta-potties is only slightly less than it used to be, these outdoor events have on quality that will keep me coming back. People-watching. Duh.

Last weekend, at Maifest, I witnessed a girl who had a rather portly middle that she rather half-hazardly covered with a shirt. She got around the fact that her too-short denim shorts DID NOT BUTTON by slapping a belt on. It was delightfully awful. To top it all off, she was drunk (at 5 p.m., not entirely unusual) and making out with what could only be a random dude. Quality people-watching right there.

At Ribfest, I witnessed some girls having a good time dancing to a band. They were having fun, drinking, throwing popcorn, whatever...IT WAS J. Roddy Walston and the Business...ROCK OUT! There were two girls in front of them, however, that were rather persnickety and with each “WAHOOO” and subsequent popcorn throw, they would turn their heads around to give a snotty look, look at each other, then get back to shifting on one foot to the other and slightly bobbing their heads. As I was behind all of this, I could witness each little episode of snotty hilarity. Loved it.

THEN there was the youthful girl that would not even “WOOOO”* at the end of a song, she would SCREAM at the top of her lungs and emit a song that I can only equate with a rape whistle. It was heinous. After she did it the first time, she looked at one of the guys she was with and said, “I know, I know. I was a cheerleader, we were TAUGHT to make that noise.”

SAY WHAAAAAA? Number one, girlfriend, I was a cheerleader too. Granted, it was MANY years ago, but I fairly certain that there is not a new trend for cheerleaders to start screaming like they are being attacked. I PROMISE. Number two, your ploy to inform the boy that you were a cheerleader was SO TRANSPARENT. “I was a cheerleader” = “I want you to picture me in a short skirt doing high kicks and stuff.” Sigh. Kids these days. But also, file THAT under hilarious too.

Summer in Chicago. Street Fests. People-watching. Never, ever, ever gets old.

Worst. Run. Ever.

You guys, never have I felt so demoralized. Not even at mile eight of the Soldier Field Ten Mile race at which point I told P.I.C. rather rudely to shove his supportive comments and to refrain from speaking to me have I felt THIS bad.

Of course, having survived the ten mile race, I waiting a few days then signed up for a half marathon. Normal, right? (I guess that depends on your definition of normal.) I jumped right into training, knowing that eight weeks isn't that long to get where I want to be for an even longer race. On Saturday, I was supposed to run eight miles. I have run eight miles before without having to take walk breaks. I did the stupid ten mile race without walk breaks. Sadly, on Saturday, my attitude took a turn for the worse.

When we woke up, I just didn't feel well. My stomach was bothering me, and I just felt a little off. We left according to plan and started our run. After nearly three and a half miles, I told P.I.C. to go on ahead. I was going to turn around and do seven miles instead of eight. I walked for a short period of time, then turned around at the next mile marker. Only I couldn't hardly run. It wasn't my knees. Those felt good. My hamstring felt fine. My damn stomach just hurt a little. I was having trouble breathing. So I would run for a bit, then have to walk. Only when I got to the "have to walk" part, I would start bawling. I'm sure that was REALLY helpful for the whole troubled breathing thing. It was just a disaster.

P.I.C. caught up to me at the end  of his eight miles at while point I broke down. I started crying, feeling like an utter failure.

HOW DO I FIX MY ATTITUDE, WORLD?

I definitely need an adjustment.

Sigh. I guess seven miles, even part walking, is better than no miles, right?

EXCITING NEWS.

I am an aunt!!!! My beautiful niece was born on Tuesday. I found out early Tuesday morning that my sister-in-law was labor. Having a rather busy two days ahead of me, I knew I had to go to the office. But...it was torture. Needless to say, we rushed home from work on Tuesday and went right to the hospital.

She is perfect. Never have I loved something so small so much (well, except for Oxford, of course). Seeing my brother with his child is amazing. He is a natural. The love he has on his face is just...indescribable. My time with my niece was short, and I am counting the hours until I can see her again. (27...)

That is my happiest news for right now. I mean, I can tell you that I ran 10 miles on Saturday without stopping. But really, I just want to gush about BABY. Sorry.

Also, I signed up to run the Chicago Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon. Clearly, I've gone crazy.

This post has no structure and no theme. I'm not sorry for that. I AM A FREAKING AUNT!!!!