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If Only Dithering Burned Calories!

To run or not to run… is not really the question. How’s that for hacking Shakespeare? I guess it’s kind of a cliche, but here is something else that has become something of a cliche (I don’t know how to add an accent, so my computer is underlining it. How embarrassing) at least in the context of this blog: I am dithering.

The subject of my dithering is the Reindeer Run 5K, part of the Christmas in Little Falls festivities this Saturday. I have participated for several years. It is a very run run: nice people, interesting course (I love Little Falls), and you end up at Ed & Bud’s, where you can get a Tom & Jerry, a traditional Christmas drink. Why, you may well ask, am I dithering?

Well, sad to admit, I have not been running enough. I have been running; I’m not a complete slug. However, it has only been maybe three times a week: Saturday, Sunday and usually Wednesday. And when I have worked Saturday overtime, it has not been Saturday. I am in shape, but only because I maintain that round and puffy is a shape. I am not in 5K shape.

One could argue that this does not matter. People run 5Ks and even longer runs without properly training or training at all. Your body can put up with a one-time great effort. I, personally, can usually count on my stubbornness to keep me going when my body is not actually up to the challenge. It is really a question of how ate-up I will feel afterwards

I do not want to feel ate-up. I want to enjoy all the fun things going on in Little Falls this Saturday! I don’t want to spend the whole run feeling completely horrible. I want to enjoy myself!

These arguments are really very spurious. I will no doubt enjoy the run even if my body does spend the whole time complaining. I feel I am being highly entertaining with my whining. For example, on one run, I passed a couple of ladies pushing strollers.

“There would be room for me in that stroller!” I said. “That kid could shove over!” I got a laugh, or a least a smile.

Additionally, even when I am in the best of shape, I often finish these runs feeling completely ate-up. I like to, as an admired drill sergeant used to say, leave it all on the track. I run faster than I normally go (my Garmin attests to the fact), start my final sprint too early, and run just as hard as I can at the end. it’s more fun that way! And even when it’s not, I just can’t seem to help myself.

I think I must admit that it is my own laziness and depression that are trying to talk me out of signing up for this run. I will feel really bad if I do not participate. Is the dreaded FOMO rearing its ugly head (ooh, there’s a cliche: “rearing its ugly head”) (and it is “its” not “it’s,” I’ve known that since seventh grade and with others knew it as well)? I don’t know if I am succumbing to a recently documented Facebook disease, but I know that if I do not do the Reindeer Run, I will, in fact, Miss Out.

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“Shapewear” Is So A Word, Computer!

Breathing is not overrated.  That is what I tell myself at times like this.  You see, when I get stressed, I forget to breathe.  Then I take a deep breath and it’s like, “Oh yeah, oxygen.”

When I was in the army learning how to run, and I ran into difficulties (see what I did there?), I would tell myself, “Breathing is overrated.”  Eventually I learned how to run and breathe, but first I learned how far I can actually run while gasping and choking in a most unbecoming fashion.  However, this is not a post about running.  I would probably feel a good deal less stressed if I had taken the time for a short run or walk.  However, that ship sailed, to resort to cliche (it is less of a cliche if you point out that you are using a cliche; another technique is to add the word “proverbial,”as in “that proverbial ship has sailed.  Then you sound all self-aware and post-ironic) (but I digress).

Another deep breath, which I need after that last paragraph.  I am working through my last-minute fluster attack before leaving for dress rehearsal for Morning’s at Seven, the play I am in at Ilion Little Theatre.  I believe I have mentioned it once or twice.

After work, and a convoluted drive back to Herkimer, due to congestion and construction, I stopped at the store to get the pantyhose and underwear I mentioned earlier.  I am a little worried, because the only pantyhose (they are, in fact, tights, but let us not quibble over semantics) in the color I wanted (off-white) were control top. YES, I have a top to control.  However, when I attempt to do so, I experience extreme torture for very little result.  What a cruel hoax shapewear is!

And look at me, 300 words and I’m not late.  Yet.  Happy Thursday, everyone.

I wonder if wine is overrated.

 

 

Some Kind of Halt

I gradually realized what my problem is.  I started to put “suddenly realized” but the fact is I do not do anything quickly these days.  Yes, it is the heat.  If you are one of those people who worship summer weather and feel chilled when the mercury drops below 75,… I don’t know where I was going with that sentence.  After all, people have the right to like whatever kind of weather suits their fancy.  To each his own, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow (I stole that expression from  friend).

I have mentioned in this space that I melt in the heat (alas, not literally; my weight-loss goals continue to elude me).  My body slows down and my brain comes to a grinding halt. Is that a cliche, “grinding halt”?  Perhaps I could come up with a more imaginative term.  Let’s see, what kind of halt has my brain ground to?  Did it, in fact, grind?  Or was it something… gooshier?  It did not slosh, because that implies more movement than I have recently experienced.  More of a drag.  My brain dragged along in a discouraged fashion and at last reached an ominous stillness.

Ominous?  Perhaps so, because it may never start again.  Still, “ominous” implies that my brain is actually doing something, namely threatening unspecified consequences.  Only it is not.  It is lying there, thinking nothing, offering nothing, doing nothing.

I wrote the preceding during my nine o’clock break at work.  When I read it over at lunch time, my brain thought, “complete halt.”  Of course, “complete halt,” I realized.  That is what I meant.  Perhaps not evocative, but more accurately and less cliche-edly what happened (yes, I know, “cliche-edly” is not a work, but it is exactly what I mean).  It was some few minutes later that I realized for my brain to think “complete halt” it clearly was not at one (yes, it took some minutes, moving slow in the heat, remember?).

If only I could think of an unrelated yet clever-sounding title, this could be a Non-Sequitur Thursday post.  However, I have no time nor, as observed ad nauseum, brain for such a thing.  I must get ready for a performance of Much Ado About Nothing at Benton Landing in Little Falls at 6.  I am quite nervous but of course looking forward to it.  Happy Thursday, everyone.

 

No Use Crying Over Lame Posts

Well here we are once again on Lame Post Friday and I am feeling even more lame than usual (insert peanut gallery type remark of your choice here).

I do have just one thing written earlier this week, a random observation about an old cliche:

It’s no use crying over spilled milk.

I’m not crying because I think it’s going to HELP! I am having an honest emotional reaction to an upsetting event. Can you please cut me a small break? I will look for the paper towels in a minute.

The problem is: before making today’s post I checked out Facebook, as is my usual habit. What should I find but a link to another blog I follow about, you guessed it, crying over spilled milk. They do say great minds run around in the same circles (wait a minute, that is what I say; “they” put it a little differently).

Only, that post was not lame. It was a heartfelt essay about a new mother coping with real problems.

So now here I am writing a post about how inadequate I feel writing my Friday Lame Post.

Only, let’s be honest: I don’t feel any more inadequate today than any other day. For Heavens’ sake, I KNOW there are better writers than me and writers writing about more important things than I write about. It’s no reason to stop writing.

I typed that last sentence and then stopped. Just to put a little irony in your diet (one of my favorite jokes). I will close with the link to my friend’s post, so you can compare/contrast and discuss amongst yourselves. Happy Friday, everyone.

http://megactsout.blogspot.com/2013/02/crying-over-spilt-milk.html