Monthly Archives: March 2011

“Jessica, who becomes engaged to Todd, is desperate for her twin’s forgiveness. But Elizabeth never wants to see her, or Todd, ever again.”

The interwebs told me something incredible today.

There is a new Sweet Valley book out.  With grown-up 28 year old Jessica and Elizabeth.

The reviews all say that it is terrible.  That we could forgive it for being insipid trash, but can’t excuse it for being poorly thought out and riddled with errors (both of grammar and of consistency in the story line).

But I don’t care.  I pledged an allegiance to those books that goes deep.

I half way imploded waiting to download this book onto my iphone and am now trying to snort a few words at time, like the crack cocaine that it is.

In the short bit that I’ve read, I learned that Elizabeth cried after every orgasm when she was sleeping with some dude.  And, ahh…  Now I feel a little weird.  The Elizabeth that I knew didn’t have…. um.  Orgasms.  She had the library.

I will proceed with caution.

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Filed under Book crave

the forces of good and evil collide

The official race photos came out.  I was super excited to see them.  Because zomg!
I ran a half marathon!

But then I saw them.  And then a lotta self-beat-uppery commenced.  I could rant and rave an ocean of vitriol about these pictures, but suffice it to say, I’m appalled by the fatness.

This is somewhere in between 9 and 10 miles, I think.

Look!  You smiled!  And you waved!  And seriously!  LOOK!  That is you.  Doing this crazy scary thing that you didn’t think you could.

But it’s like I can’t properly look.  I can only see the bad parts.

I think part of what appealed to me about all the running was that it’s like shirking this woe-is-me fat girl personae.  And I hate that lady.  She’s embarrassing.  I would rather either a) not be fat or b) pretend that I’m not.  So I don’t like talking about her.  I’m not even feeling so confident about writing this right now, because it feels like such a big admission.  I hate that fat lady.

I don’t want to dwell on her.  So let’s move on.  That’s enough looking at the pictures.  I’ll just use this to try and re-focus on efforts of not-fatness, and now that I’ve released this little snarl, just be nice to myself.


Filed under Chubby girl

Thirteen point one

Yesterday, I participated in the 2nd annual Oakland Running Festival by running a half marathon.

A half what?  A half.  MARATHON.  Like, one of those things that crazy people do.

For weeks leading up to it, it was pretty much all I could think about.  People would ask how I was and I’m all “Yeah.  I’m freaking out.  Half marathon.”  Meeting someone for the first time, it’s “Hi, I’m Maggie.  I’m running a half marathon for the first time.”

The day got closer and closer.  For perhaps the first time ever in my life, I was dreading the weekend.

I had dreams about runs that would never end.

We ate some pasta on Saturday night, went to bed, got up at 7 in the morning (although I woke up much earlier and then had restless, pseudo-snoozy time).  We ate whole wheat English muffins with almond butter and banana, drank some water.  I had to pee about 4 times before we left.  And then still had to pee some more when we got there.

We wore the long sleeve tech race shirts that we got at the expo/packet pick-up the day before.  It was cold waiting around, but it all started pretty promptly at 9 am and then I wasn’t cold for long.  In fact, I had to take the shirt off and tie it around my waste around mile 5 or so.  Which means that my bib number isn’t visible and I may miss out on some of the official photos, but David kept his on and we were together throughout, so that’s probably good enough for picture finding purposes. Which is really the whole reason I did it, you know.  For the official race photos.

There was a countdown from 10, which made me insanely nervous, even knowing that it would probably be another 3 to 5 minutes after the start time before we’d be crossing the line.  But the fanfare and hoopdy of the countdown and the exploding confetti all added to the surrealness of it all.

There were over 4,000 people running the half, so once the race got going, it felt like we were just being swept along in this current.  Don’t know where we’re going, where to turn, how fast we’re going, just going.  We were towards the back of the pack, so the current wasn’t super speedy, but probably faster than I would have gone on my own.

We went ALL over Oakland, zig-zagging this way and that.  I kinda liked not really knowing where I was going, since it meant I couldn’t anticipate and create ideas in my head about how much was left or what parts were good or easy parts.  There were all different kinds of bands along the way, including a taiko drum group.  There was a ring of fire to run through.  People from the A’s and the Raiders were there, including some sassy Raiderettes right at the finish line.

So, the event itself was really cool  There were a ton of people out to cheer the runners on and a lot of Oakland pride.

And the running?  Well…. it was definitely fine at first.  I still didn’t LIKE it, and it was pretty quick to start feeling like I was slogging through the hard work of it.  But it was being ok.  Doable.

After about 4 miles or so, I started to get some hot spots on my feet.  Those just got worse and worse.  I started to get a bit of a pain in my hip, but it was fine.  Just for “fun” or something like it, I decided to speed up and do a little sprint to the mile marker when i could see the 5 marker, the 7 and 9.  But I knew that that 9 mile marker was the last one.  That’s where it started to just be really rough.

The last 3 miles were dreadful.  I just really, really wanted to stop.  And just to be ridiculous, there was a stupid hill right at the end.  And then I couldn’t believe it was happening.  The end was coming.  The whole thing, that I’d been so incredulous of, so full of dread for, it was going to be over.  It was going to be finished.  Coming through the finish line, I started to get the choke of hysteria.  Relief?  Pride?  Exhaustion?  I’m not sure.  But I was feeling emotional and too tired to process anything.

And then it was over.  2 hours and 35 minutes.  Which was about what I had been expecting.

I learned that I really do not like Gu.  Seriously.  Grosso and a half.

Also, the advice that I’d gotten from people that it would all just be fine since I’d done a 10 and a 9 mile run?  Fart on you, I say.  Yes, I did finish those last 4 miles, but it was like zombie jogging.  Worse than I had imagined.

I didn’t start training soon enough to do as well as I might have been able to… in the weekends leading up to this, we did a 6 mile run, then a 7, then a 10 and a 9.  Then we bailed on the 8 mile run that was supposed to happen.  So in total, I’ve done 4 “long” runs in my whole life.  I think I should have gotten in more of them, and probably some that were a bit longer.  10 miles is NOT just like 13 miles.

So now what?

I’m not sure that I want to do one again.  Maybe?  Maybe if I train more?  But the training would still involve these hours and hours of running.  And that’s kind of a drag.

Maybe I want to work on improving my 5K time next.  I’d really like to break that 30 minute mark.

And, I have to admit, somewhere in the deep dark recesses, there’s a wee worm with a taste for 26.2.


Filed under Running, the bitch goddess

That of which I have not spoken

The idea was cultivating well over a month ago.

I had a vague leaning towards a decision.

I coughed up the $93 to commit.

I will be running a half marathon in 9 days.  In fact, in exactly 9 days, I will still probably have about an hour to go before it will be over.

I fear saying much about it because I still can’t believe this is happening.

Who the heck am I?  And why did I ever think this was a good idea?  Even an idea worth considering?

Boys and girls, I do not like running.  I did not pick up my pace and find a true love of exercise.  I’m pretty sure that I still hate running.  I may feel glad to have completed the task at hand, but I also feel a little glum that it wasn’t as good or as fast as it could have been.  I don’t get that runner’s high thing that people talk about.  So there’s that question again?  Why am I running this half marathon?

I seriously don’t know.

But I am a stubborn crotchety biznatch if nothing else, so I know that I will do it, most likely “bah humbugging” to myself the entire time.


Filed under Running, the bitch goddess

It’s an Irish thing?

Last weekend, the meat booth at our farmer’s market was selling corned beef.  They had a sign to tell us that it was Special! and everything.

The David thinks this is a good thing and stops to get one, but they’ve run out.

The next day, in the ferry building, we stop at the butcher there, but they’ve only got humongo slabs of corned beef and don’t want to cut them into smaller slabs.  So we skip it.

Later, we’re planning out our meals for the week and we’ve got everything we need for corned beef and cabbage on our shopping list.  At Whole Foods, we successfully acquire a 2 pound non-humongo slab of corned beef.  Hurrah!

So, later this week, I’m discussing with David how we’ll have to plan to have our corned beef on Thursday.  It needs 3 hours to cook and that takes a little foresight to incorporate into your week night, because the damn dinner-cooking fairies I ordered off of Amazon got waylaid in customs or something.

The conversation goes something like this:

Me:  “I think I’ll try to put the corned beef on to cook on Wednesday night and then start on regular dinner.”

David:  “Ok.  How come on Wednesday night?”

Me:  “Because then we can have it ready for Thursday.”

David:  “What’s on Thursday?”

Me:  “Saint Patrick’s Day?”

David:  “So?”

Me:  “Saint Patrick’s Day and corned beef and cabbage.”

David:  “Is that a thing?”

Me:  “Uh.  Yeah.”  Obviously.

David.  “It’s an Irish thing?”

Me:  “Yes!  That’s what you eat on Saint Patrick’s Day!”

I realize that David wasn’t wanting to get corned beef for any special occasion, but just because we’ve been seeing signs for it and mention of it everywhere.  And it’s becoming clear to me that David, as a British person, is woefully uneducated on what it means to be Irish*, a topic we Americans pursue with passion.

*Apparently, corned beef and cabbage is not Irish at all.  The Irish may have prepared something sort of similar combining back bacon (not streaky like the kind Americans eat) with cabbage.  But the “traditional” corned beef and cabbage dish is not Irish.

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Filed under Foodery, The David, these are the days of my lives

Here’s what happened

I’m coming up on my 4 year anniversary at my current job, so I made a book that shows the progression of my photography from when I started.

It’s hard to be objective about my own photos, but I think you can see where I started trying things, where I did a little learning and then a little testing of my own.

I still mess up a lot.  I still kinda don’t know what I’m doing.  But I am amazed at how much I think my photography has changed.


Filed under Photography

a conversation

Chad:  Do you think you could try to do this?  (he demonstrates)

Me:  No.

Chad:  Ok.  I don’t want to pressure you.

Me:  Cool.

Chad:  How about just a little?

Me:  <grumble>

Chad:  Point your nose down!
Do it again!
Toe edge!

Me:  OOF.  <kersplat and tumble onto the ground>

Chad:  You have to listen to me!

Me:  <grumble>  roughly translates to “I hate you.”


Margaret Edith takes a snowboarding lesson.


Filed under Up to Stuff

a four hour lunch

On the tails of a post in which I confess that I am eating like a warthog (obviously, that means in copious quantities) and of another post in which I generally poo-poo the pricey B & B we went to the weekend before, I’m just going to briefly say that we went to The French Laundry for lunch on Saturday.

Yes, the Thomas Keller restaurant commonly referenced as one of, if not THE, best restaurants in the world.

This wasn't even my food.

We weren’t even planning to go or anything.  It was all spur of the moment.

Because that’s just how we roll, you know.

I will be much less snobby in the near future.

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Filed under Foodery

draggin’ behind the wagon

I am so that girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead.  I’m either very, very good or I’m horrid.

No gym.  Fast food.  Smoking.

5 workouts a week.  Conscientious, wholesome eating.  Smoke free.

But lately, I’ve been doing something weird.  I’m not riding along on the wagon.  But I’m also not slothing out in my log cabin.  It’s more like I’m hanging on to the back of the wagon being dragged along behind.  I’m still working out diligently.  3 runs per week.  3 x boot camp.  1 Body Pump class.  1 spin class. So yay.  That’s good work.

But.  Oh, but.

I’ve been a scarf monster.  The treats I’ve indulged in!

And it’s so dumb.  I’m gulping down enough that I’m negating the impressive amount of exercise I’m doing.

It could be worse.  I could be eating too much AND wimping out on my workouts.  But I do fear that this bad behavior is a slow slide in that direction.

I have been making myself get on the scale each week.  Just to see.  And I think that’s a wise move.  So much easier to let it slip in blissful ignorance.  Instead, I scowl at myself in informed knowingness.

And then?  I don’t know…. maybe writing it down here will matter.
Hello, Blog-Maggie.  It’s me.  Real-Maggie.  I just wanted to tell you about how I’m struggling with my will power lately.  But I would like to do better.  So keep an eye out for me.  I hope that I can report something good back to you soon.

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Filed under Chubby girl