At some point in the past couple months, I decided to become a runner.
This has now resulted in me signing up for two races this month, one of them this coming Saturday and the other in a few more weeks.
Now, my dear friend Sadie is coming into Charleston and staying the weekend to run this race. The Cooper River Bridge Run is a big enough deal that people come in from all over the world to run it.
Needless to say, I am slightly panicking.
Not only is the race a 10k, but there are a lot of people who run it. Granted, I have done the Peachtree Road Race (another 10k) in the past, but I didn’t know where I was going and basically asked my mom to stop and walk every 3/4 mile. It was an “Are we there yet?” scenario, but I did make it to the end in one whole piece without completely collapsing.
I think the reason I am panicking this time is because I think I am in way worse shape. Although, I have been able to run several miles lately without needing to fall down and collapse on the sidewalk after, so maybe I’m not too bad? Either way, I just know that I am going to be swarmed in the mass of this:
- I’ll be there…in that mass of people…heavily breathing…
- This look fun yet?
The claustrophobia aspect of it also freaks me out: I can barely handle being on a machine directly next to someone at the gym.
I’d also like to add that unlike other 10k’s, this one requires me to cross a bridge with quite an intense incline over a wide body of water: Continue reading
Let me paint a picture for you.
Your name is James, and you’re on a business trip in Somewhere, Pennsylvania on a Wednesday near the end of March. You’re cold, but you’re not one to complain because you’re tough. And when you’re tough, you mean business, which is why you’re there so it all works out.
However, one early Wednesday morning in Somewhere, Pennsylvania, you pull back your hotel room curtain with the hopes of a bright, sunshine-filled morning. Instead, you see this:
- A hotel view in Somewhere, Pennsylvania
A cold, dark scene awaits. Perhaps some derogatory thoughts enter your head, and you wish for home.
Miles away, your sweet financee is driving around Charleston, South Carolina to find a wedding dress for the day of your marriage. She drives with nervous anticipation, heading to a store in an unfamiliar area to search for what she hopes will lead to The One. She sweats in her car, and suddenly realizes it is not a sweat from nerves or anxiety. No, to her chagrin, the temperature outside reads this: Continue reading
This has been an extremely busy week in the world of working for me (and Jamey).
With my company’s launch of its new website and product, we have been slammed trying to keep things in order. Quiet moments are few, so it was such a delight yesterday to pop home for lunch and find this lovely package of goodies waiting for me:
Presents from Caroline.
Clearly, Caroline has been reading my blog! (Hi, Caroline!) Jamey and I perused the cookbook last night, and already we made a note of many recipes we want to try. I can’t wait for the farmer’s market to start up again, and now I yearn for constant warm weather even more.
Thank you, Caroline, for my wonderful package. It was such a mid-week treat!
Now, back to the grind.
So it happened. I had my first night of dreams about The Wedding.
These dreams were made up of a few sub-types:
- I was late to the wedding and missed it.
- I had too many drinks during the day and showed up to the church drunk. -Not sure how this would happen…
- Couldn’t find my tux. -This actually resulted in arriving to the ceremony naked…
I suppose this kind of thing is normal when the wedding is a lot of what Claire and I talk about these days, but it sure doesn’t make for a restful night’s sleep.
Every now and then Claire will say something that blows my mind.
Today’s example occurred in a brief chat:
Claire: I think I’m going to grow out my eyebrows.
Jamey: The implications of that statement boggle my mind.
I know that women do a lot of weird things to conform to the modern ideal of beauty. This is something that I know intellectually. But from time to time I’m confronted by the shocking difference between the lives of Women and Men.
This is an excellent example. It never crossed, for one second, my mind that women controlled the length of their eyebrows. I knew that there was plucking and waxing, but controlling the length? Whoa.
The implications that I referred to above are that Claire is constantly reviewing and critiquing her appearance. This review is done to such a minute degree that she’s questioning the length of her eyebrows. My mind is immediately racing:
Does everyone do this?
How can this be important?
Are MY eyebrows too long?
Luckily, Claire interrupted me.
Claire: Nevermind. According to beauty brow experts of the blogosphere, I have good eyebrows.
Taken care of!
Whatever she’s doing works.
I think she’s great.