The D.C. crazy.


It’s 80 degrees outside so I wore a dress. Not a short dress. Not a clingy dress. Just a sweet little purple A-line dress with a ruffle bib thing.

I was cat called at three times. In Cleveland Park no less! Land of elderly mythic D.C. intelligentsia, cat ladies and 20-something professional women commuting in flip flops.


Good grief, I give up for the day. Too many late nights and early mornings. Today better be my rest day because even if I made it to the gym, all I’d be doing is plodding along on the treadmill.

So I’m skipping! And eating gluten-free waffles! Which I bought accidentally! With Smart Balance!

Last night I came across an anti-healthy living blog for the first time. Well, the blog itself wasn’t focused on being anti-healthy living bloggers, the blogger just wrote a critical post about them. Weirdly, this is the first time I’ve seen anything like that. There are about five healthy living bloggers that I read on a regular basis, and half the time I just skim. I can only look at so many bowls of oatmeal, you know? But there is a part of me that really revels in the day-to-day minutiae of it. I like detail! Plus those bloggers usually post at least three times a day, and with my schedule (which involves a lot of 2-5 minute breaks throughout the day) constantly updated blogs can really help time scoot along.

What surprised me the most is that I agreed with a lot of the criticism the blogger put out there. It feels weird to acknowledge that I don’t like people I’ve never met who aren’t overtly rude or crude or bad people. There’s just this subtle feeling that in real life? We probably wouldn’t get along.

Of course, I’m never going to meet these people, so it doesn’t really matter. But it was still odd to realize that people whose every meal I at least skim daily are people I might not like to spend a lot of time with.

p.s. the subject line is a joke. Although some of these bloggers have such faithful legions of fans that it wouldn’t really matter if it wasn’t a joke.

Out of sorts.


Weird disrupted energy today. I ate a really small lunch but a decent-sized snack after work, but I felt terrible after 20 minutes on the elliptical. I struggled to make the 30-minute mark, then lurched upstairs and lay down on my apartment floor. Was it food related? Dehydration? Was I tired? It’s rare I can’t make it through at least 40 minutes of light cardio. I skipped yoga, too, because I felt like I was going to fall over. Ate some almonds and took a shower.

I feel a little better now, but still not 100%.

Am reading Home: A Memoir of my Early Years by Julie Andrews and loving it. So many English gardens and London theaters and socks with holes and tortured stepparents! Also, Andrews manages to write modestly about her enormous musical talents at an early age. She portrays herself in her youth very realistically. It’s so familiar, in a way, to read her memories of her own thoughts because I had so many of the same ones. They must be standard young girl thoughts (like trying to force yourself to pay attention to nature even though it’s not your natural inclination, or being completely unaware of one’s own body until someone else annoyingly points it out).

So much online shopping to return. Let’s face it: I should never order from Ann Taylor Loft again. Their sizes are so skewed, and even though they offer good discounts much of the time, the material always feels flimsy.

I’m officially out of workout pants for tomorrow. Oh well. Still too out of sorts to bother doing laundry.

So I’ve been going on and on to everyone I know about how YOGA!* has changed my life and YOGA! is so transforming. Not from a spiritual standpoint or anything, but a physical one. Wedding-related stress resulted in a gigantic knot between my shoulder blades and neck pain. YOGA! wiped it out. I can push my shoulder blades together for the first time in years! I was bored of crunches on the ball and too lazy to explore any other ab options. YOGA! gave me semi-defined abdominal muscles for the first time in, well, ever. Then there were my biceps. I’ve never had particularly defined biceps before, but now the teeny tiniest bulge is starting to appear in each flexed arm and I have nothing to thank but YOGA!

Basically, I was convinced YOGA! had made my body stronger and leaner and everyone should do it.

Yesterday my mom and I were at the gym and instead of TRX, which is how we’ve been strength training when I’ve been home since September, we just lifted with free weights. It was boring and I hated it, which is why I don’t life free weights on my own. Ever. I can do ball and bar, Bosu, TRX, YOGA!, whatever, but free weights bore me to tears.

And today? I cannot lift my arms. And my quads are screaming. And I actually had to take aspirin so that I could do to the gym this morning for cardio without pain. So much for strength training with my piddly little YOGA! My muscles are weak and I am sad.

* My version of yoga is just yoga podcasts. I practiced yoga for four years before, but can’t afford a studio at this time (plus my schedule is a little too crazy to insert 90 minutes classes anywhere right now), so I rely on for 20-30 minute podcasts that I do about five times a week. This is not a standard YOGA! practice and I know it. I’m not claiming otherwise.

Last night I dreamt that I went to Finland. It was all soft whites and hazy blues and fuzzy greys. I don’t remember anything that happened. On the way home, we stopped at my future mother-in-law’s house. She was throwing me a baby shower. I received three strollers, all different.

What I want to know is this: How on Earth was my brain able to come up with three totally distinct stroller styles, colors and brands?

Maybe I read too many mommy blogs.

One long whine.


So my schedule is a little weird, but it’s not completely insane. I don’t work overnight or anything. Every morning I wake up at 5:45 a.m., shower and prepare my food for the next nine hours, get to work by 7 a.m., work until 3:00 p.m., commute home, go to the gym/do yoga from 4-5:15 or so. I usually eat around 6 and then I try to get stuff done. Laundry, ironing, vacuuming, reading my books, whatever. I’m in bed by 9:30 or 10 p.m. most nights. So why does it feel like I never have any free time?

The other thing is: I am only one person. I only cook, clean and do laundry for myself. I am one not very large person. I live in a studio apartment. Everything about me and my life is small, therefore it doesn’t take that long to clean up or prepare.

I can’t even imagine living a life with a house or children or, I don’t know, a hobby. In the past couple years, I’ve stopped doing any creative writing because I simply don’t have time. Don’t get me wrong: my creative writing blows. I am terrible at fiction. Any time I try to write fiction, I end up doing three hours worth of research just to figure out what kind of shoes a female character in 1940s France might have been wearing. So I’m not an efficient writer, nor am I very creative. But I like to do it!

Now if I have free time at all, I spend it catching up with friends or my sister or hanging out with my fiance. It’s not like these are crazy time commitments or anything. I go some weeks without hanging out with any friends outside of work. So where does all my time go?

For a long time I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t doing anything creative because my job was so mentally taxing. And it is. It’s detail-oriented, deadline-driving, word-focused work, which I enjoy. But it’s not more mentally (over)stimulating than anyone else’s job, particularly here in D.C. My job is diddlysquat compared to a lot of people’s jobs in D.C.

I’ve been thinking all this for a solid two years. It’s nice to get it out in one long whine. Done now!

On Sunday we did something we hadn’t done since November! We ran outside. And by run, I mean, we used the Galloway method to great effect for the first time ever outdoors. Adam doesn’t belong to a gym, so he basically just works out with me when he’s over on the weekends. So two cardio sessions a week. But let’s face it. My gym is in my apartment building. It’s a well-lit shoebox with about eight really nice cardio machines (with TVs in them) and some free weights that I’ve never touched because I like to think I get all my strength training in via yoga podcasts. I’m not apologizing either because I can finally see my bicep muscles!

Anyway. We ran a total of about three miles and walked another four. It was a little damp outside and really muddy, but it felt great to be back out in Rock Creek Park. Neither of us mentioned it, but I couldn’t help thinking about how the Park was where Adam originally planned to propose. Another story for another day though!

After we ran/walked our seven miles, we felt victorious. And worthy. And deserving. We decided we needed lunch. So we walked (another two miles!) down to Open City,  home of the most delicious veggie burger in D.C. And fries. And a large Greek salad split for two. And on the walk home … we may have stopped for chocolate croissants. Suffice to say, not a vegan kind of day. Also, I was not nearly virtuous enough to require all that food. Particularly after eating dessert both Friday (chocolate-covered pretzels) and Saturday (peanut butter pie).

Today I am trying to eat like a normal, non-sugar-obsessed person. It’s amazing how sugar hooks you though. I’m normally not one to crave sugar but I have been going crazy for it all day long. Here’s my food breakdown for the day:

Breakfast: Oatmeal (made with almond milk) and a spoonful of almond butter.

Lunch: Trader’s Joe’s frozen Channa Masala with one piece of whole wheat naan, an apple.

Snack: Um, two cups of peanut butter puffins.

Dinner: Spinach/pineapple smoothie made with almond milk, avocado sandwich on whole wheat bread, carrot sticks.

Then I did 30minutes on the Stairmaster (I never thought I’d say this, but MTV’s “Summit on the Summit” documentary was really motivating, even though I was climbing on a large metal and plastic machine and not Mt. Kilimanjaro), another 20 on the elliptical, and 20 minutes of Core Yoga for good measure. I already feel better, cleaner, than I did when I woke up.

Unfortunately, I suspect the only cure for a peanut butter Puffin habit is finishing the box…