Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Naked Running

Clever video of a Nike shoe ad involving naked runners at a nudist running camp. Which begs the question...would anyone ever do this?
video
I couldn't run completely naked myself because I have to wear sports bras to keep my DDD boobs in place. But what if I didn't need to?

No...I still wouldn't. I'm not an ugly person standing still. But I am an UGLY FUGLY runner. I once saw a picture of myself taken at an 8k race in Virginia Beach during their Shamrock Fest runs on St. Patrick's Day. I looked like a wildebeast chasing its prey in slow-mo. I really couldn't believe I was that hideous. So yeah, I'm an ugly runner with clothes on. I can only imagine without clothes on.

On the other hand, it does get really hot with clothes on sometimes. Sports bras, hats, shirts. If I had an amazing body I would def be one of those girls that takes her shirt off mid-run through and folds it perfectly and sticks it in the back of my shorts. Personally, I don't think you should run in a skimpy outfit unless you have the bod to pull it off. I don't care if you are 20 pounds skinnier than me, if your stomach fat is still extensive enough to be girating down the street towards me -- its inappropriate --and you should refrain from such lack of attire. After all, we live within the conservative-esque confines of the District's civilization. Not a nudist camp.

Speaking of nudity, I went to see the Vibrator Play at the Woolly Mammoth Theatre last night. The theatre company's motto is "Defy Convention" and boy did they ever. They were doing one of their "Pay What You Can" shows where you wait in line for an hour or so and then you pay what you can for an otherwise $40-$80 ticket. I paid $5 which is pretty sweet so I really can't complain about anything I witnessed, nor am I offended by nudity besides. The play was about the origins of the vibrators back in the days when they were used as medical devices performing electric massage therapy to cure women patients with "hysteria" whatever that means. There were a lot of fake orgasms and a naked man at the end with I'm sorry to say the smallest penis I've ever seen. The show was specified as for only ages 16 and up but I'm surprised there wasn't an additional notification to the public that announced there would be full frontal male nudity. I know its "art" after all but some people are offended by nudity more than others. Makes me want to be European, particularly Dutch, and have Americans finally get over all this sexual prudishness and just be comfortable with it all.

I could talk about nudity all day couldn't you? But I'll finish by promising that I'm about to head out on my required Week 9-- 3 mile --Tuesday run mostly so I can look better naked. Look, we all need to find motivation somewhere.

Monday, August 23, 2010

SLOG IT OUT: the 13th mile marker of hope

And this one phrase appeared as I began to struggle. SLOG IT OUT. SLOG IT OUT. Just 9 more songs. Just 5 more songs. SLOG IT OUT. I wasn't even sure what "slog" meant. I searched my vocabularly for the meaning of the word and found nothing. But I still knew what it meant for me. Just push through. Struggle through. Make it through.

And that is what "slog" actually means. Which somewhere in my literary unconscious I'd heard or read before and kept for safe keeping. To use then. When I really needed inspiration from somewhere - to pull me through.

I looked the definition up later: (1) to hit hard: BEAT (2) to plod (one's way) perseveringly especially against difficulty (2) to plod heavily : TRAMP (as in slogged through the snow) (3) to work hard and steadily: PLUG. Another form of the word is slog-ger. Examples of SLOG could be: He slogged away at paperwork all day. She slogged through her work. We've been slogging for hours. They slogged their way through the snow.

It's the perfect word. It's the way I've been feeling about everything lately. My job. My life. My friendships. My family. PERSEVERE. PLOD. WORK. step. step. step. Though heavy, though difficult, though slow and steady. step. step. step. slog you slogger, slog it out.

So slogging my way around the shady curves of Rock Creek Parkway yesterday and down beside the water and around and around the imposing monuments, I actually ran 13 whole miles. And tried not to think about how sweaty and chubby and bent over I must look. And tried not to care how slow I was going. And tried to enjoy the scenery and sunshine if only for a moment. And very slowly, and with a little walking, I covered 13 miles in less than 3 hours.

And today I am EXHAUSTED. My legs don't want to work and I feel half asleep. There are blisters and chafing unattractive and unpleasant. And all I want to do is eat chocolate. Not that the latter sensation has anything to do with running since all I ever want to do is eat chocolate. But still I did it.

I don't feel happy per se. I would like to tell you I do. It feels silly not to be. But I still don't have any answers to anything that I've been trying to work through. I still don't have any truly good reason to explain to Scarlett or anybody else why I'm actually running all these miles. I still don't believe I'm going to be able to finish this stupid thing, slow and heavy and undertrained and totally clueless as I am. And then what? How to explain to all the people I've bugged with all this training and all my pride and all my hopes? How to believe I can do anything at all ever again in life if I can't do this when I've worked so hard for it.

It doesn't even feel like I've accomplished anything. Even though covering such a distance, as I've never done before in my life, surely a long haul for anybody whatever their fitness level, should feel like something special. Should bring me joy.

But I'm just jogging through runs like a slogger just like I'm walking through my life like a zombie. And I just want to reach a finish line for once. I just want things to work out. But I don't know how to get there. I only know I'm moving forward. step. step. step. Telling myself quietly and repeatedly and hopefully: SLOG IT OUT.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Don't Nobody Else Get Crazy

A new female comedian I'm obsessed with is Angela Johnson a former Raiderette cheerleader who is simultaneously gorgeous while also being unpretentiously girl-next-door cute-as-a button. I would totally hate her if she wasn't so hilarious and seemingly nice. Check out a clip of her doing an impression of a ghetto flight attendant's introductory remarks to her passengers.


video

Speaking of nobody else getting crazy...Here's an update on 5 men who got a little rude and crazy with me this weekend.

1)Friday night a significantly attractive Marine who hit on me at Front Page Dupont (which I am really starting to not want to go to anymore because of douchebags like this) asked me to dance then asked me to have sex with him to which I replied: "Nah, I didn't really come out tonight to hookup with anyone. Sorry." To which he angrily replied: "Don't come to a 'hookup bar' unless you are here to hookup." Okay.

2)Saturday night drunk dial text at 1:35am from a former guy friend who got me really drunk a couple of weeks ago in order to trick me into having sex with him, which he'd been wanting to do for about 7 months, who won't stop calling me even though I clearly don't want to talk to him ever again. I wonder why?

3) Saturday night group drunk dial phone call and voicemail at 2:54am which said: "I am not dialing drunk. I am not dialing drunk. We are not dialing drunk." From the three guys who hit on me, Scarlett and Jersey at James Hoban (which is definitely a less-douchey, more chill, step up from Front Page). However, the one guy who talked to me for an hour was NOT the one who actually asked me for my number and then called me later, though the other boys were in the background. Did they think I was going to hookup with any of them let alone all three of them? Hmm.


4) My sort-of guy friend who I was having semi-obligatory brunch with this morning cancelled because he was way too hungover from last night. He didn't even remember how he got home. I understand that kind of hangover misery. But I was really looking forward to ACKC and since eHarmony has already established I'm an undateable bitch reject I might as well act like one so I can say for certainty this guy is ugly and awkard and he stood me up which is really saying something.


THE ONLY, AND I MEAN ONLY, THING THAT ANY MAN SAID TO ME THIS WEEKEND THAT MAKES ANY OF THIS ANY BETTER...is that a very very very gay man shouted out his car window last night that he loved my shoes. Fabulously green stilettos. Thank you very much.


So for now, slightly hungover, mildly depressed, full of ennui and wondering whether I should go eat eggs benedict and drink mimosas by myself, I can only advise other men in my wake not to get crazy...because I...WILL...CUT...YOU.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Suck it eHarmony


Apparently there isn't one, single man within 30 miles of Washington, D.C. and the surrounding metropolitan area that is a suitable match for yours truly. What I've always secretly believed to be true has been officially confirmed by the so-called "#1 Trusted Online Dating Site for Singles". Based on a scientific approach to matching highly compatible singles using 29 DIMENSIONS to match couples based on features of compatibility found in thousands of successful relationships, I am apparently the right girl for...drum roll please...NO ONE.

How is this possible? After all, eHarmony's sole business is to find you a date and moreover a mate, and yet I am such a poor candidate for romantic success that they've gone and declared me UNDATEABLE. They've rejected me. WTF?
eHarmony boasts over 20 million registered online users. Surely, some significant portion of 20 million users live and date in the expansive and populated District arena. Am I wrong?

My feelings of inadequacy are increased by my awareness of the many cretons, yes cretons, that my friend Scarlett has gone out with via eHarmony matches. The guys that get sloppy drunk half way through the date or the intolerant bastards that gay-bash the GLBT community, women that work, or homeless people for hours oozing sickening social entitlement. Or even the guys that lie about their height and age and everything else that they embody, e.g., when they are in fact 5'10 instead of 6 ft'1 and 42 years old instead of 35. Or they say they like the arts but haven't been to a museum in Washington in 5 years. Are you kidding me? Are...you...kidding...me!! These liars and posers are more dateable than moi? Me, a reasonably attractive, educated, generous, genuine, vivacious young woman? How can this be? I'm beginning to feel like Medusa.

In Greek mythology, Medusa was a beautiful and fair-cheeked maiden, so sought after by the aspiration of many suitors, that Athena, the goddess of war, in an enraged jealousy transformed Medusa's luscious locks into serpents and made her face so terrible to behold that the mere sight of it would turn onlookers to stone. Medusa became hated and feared by all mortal men and was doomed to live a life of alienation and desperation and loneliness.

Is this my fate? Am I such a commitment phobe or such a workaholic or so emotionally sensitive or too energetically overwhelming that no man anywhere could ever appreciate my individual gifts and strengths and charm? Am I destined to be alone because there truly is no one out there for me anywhere that could stand to put up with me or want to be with me for any given length of time?

This is an incomprehensibly depressing thought. I'm still reeling from the rejection and dejection of it all.

And I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to recover from this massive blow to my feminine ego. But until I figure that out, the only thing left to say, to the evil relationship prophecies that be, is:

Suck it eHarmony. Suck It.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Running and Romance: Part I


Scarlett (who's own brilliant blog can be found @ http://www.thescarlettletters.com/ convinced me over coffee today that I didn't just have to write about running (even though the origin of this blog was intended solely to keep me accountable in my training program, mostly to myself, but yes to the entire universe as well I guess). "Write about whatever you want," she said. "Including dating?" I asked. "Sure, why not," she replied.

It is true that running and dating are the two things that take up most of my free time, besides hanging out with my friends and watching an unhealthy amount of reality tv. "But what does dating have to do with running?" I wondered.

Now the similarities between training to run a marathon and finding true love, or simply dating in general, whatever your ultimate goal may be, might not seem obvious. But in reality, they have a lot in common. For example, they both require commitment and dedication. A commitment of time and energy, physical, mental and emotional, to go on training run after training run or date after date-- to have a bad run or a bad date-- yet take it in stride and go out on the next date or the next run as soon as possible.

Running and dating also both require patience for sure. Patience with oneself. Patience with others. Patience to wait for the desired end result. The knowledge that physical fitness doesn't come over night. In my case, it took me the last six weeks to have a run where I didn't struggle once. It took six weeks to get to the 7 mile run I ran today where I finally felt unstoppable and just flew faster and faster down the streets. It took almost as many weeks before I could run 3 miles without having to stop to walk and rest. Comparably, it takes patience, when dating, to know that it might take kissing a few frogs and going out on a few bad dates (where the guy tries to impress you by drinking eight Guinesses OR doesn't pay OR shows up late OR ends up being 7 years older than he says he was). More literally, it takes patience, to get through a date, when the conversation doesn't flow freely, or when waiting for a man to call you, or when you can't wait to go out with someone but its three days from now and let's face it you actually have to work for a living and fill your time some other way than thinking about it. It takes the patience to wait for Prince Charming. Or at least Prince "Not-A-Fuckface." And, "He" is out there. And nice guys worth spending time with in the meantime can be found too. But sometimes they are in more demand than others. And you just gotta wait out the current dry spell until it's raining men again.


Running and dating equally require a sense of humor, if only to maintain one's sanity. Okay, so maybe I do look a little like a "dorky bumble bee" as my mom lovingly (we hope) says about the way I look when I where my black running shorts, white tank top and a running belt with four neon yellow water bottles strapped around my waste. But I can't spend time worrying about how I look to people walking by me or in their cars when I run in the public domain. I'd never run. Really I wouldn't. I'm sure I look just a little bit chubby and maybe my shorts are riding up and I know my hair is always amiss, but it's the running that's important, not how I look doing it. And it has to get done. There's no time to feel stupid or ugly or like a dorky bumble bee. I just have to laugh off my short comings. The same goes for dating. I doubt the need for humor in single society really needs an explanation to any one out there who has ever been on a bad date or had a dating debacle. How else do you get through moments where you had lipstick on your teeth or tripped on your way-too-high high heels and fell on your face and scraped your knee while out and about with a new beau? (And yes the latter did in fact happen to me while on a first date not too long ago).

Running and dating also both require financial investments (hello appropriate attire!), confidence (yes you can run 10 miles/yes you can go on a blind date with a perfect stranger) and self-awareness. How far can I push myself today? How does my ankle feel? Am I drinking enough water? Am I the type of person that can run in the morning or not? Can I run on an empty stomach? Can I run hungover? Am I attracted to short men? Can I date a much younger man? A much older man? Can I date someone who doesn't have a good relationship with their family?

There are many more parallels between running and dating, but the last one I'll mention is faith. Both running and dating require a whole heck of a lot of faith. Faith that good things really do come to those that wait. Faith that hard work pays off. Faith that our dreams and goals are attainable. Faith that I can in fact run 26 miles and 385 yards. Faith that "Not-a-Fuckface" is out there. Faith that all of this running and dating is worthwhile; that it is worthwhile because they both improve your quality of life on this planet, your enjoyment of your life on this planet and help you to be a better person than you were the day before. Faith that a more complete, confident, self-aware, strong, happy, satisfied, accomplished version of yourself is evolving every time you lace up your sneakers and fight your own demons or put on your peep-toes and see yourself reflected in the probing new eyes of another.

I really hope I can run a marathon and I really hope I find a "Not-a-Fuckface" sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I'll hit the roads and hit the bars and try to be committed and try to be patient and most importantly, try to have a whole heck of a lot of faith in myself.