Monthly Archives: February 2012


I do a lot of running.  4 or 5 days out of the week.

As little as 30 minutes at a time.  Sometimes 2 hours or more.

In the dark.  On a sunny day.  On a treadmill.  Next to the bay.  Around and around the lake in my neighborhood.

Consistently for 2 years now and intermittently for 5.

And I hate it.

Every time.  The whole time.  I am filled with dread preparing to do it and I am not getting high when it’s over.

So why, then?  Why do something that I hate?

I have an uncanny ability to force myself to do things I’d rather not do.
Hate is not as much of an impediment for me as you’d expect

More importantly, I have a big dedication to exercise.  And not just that banal pleasantry of “keeping active,” I mean sweaty ass exertion, it doesn’t count if it doesn’t suck.
The fitness element is, of course, important, but exercise also keeps me in check across the board.  When I’m in a regular habit of exercising, my eating is more healthful.  If I take a week off, then my eating habits slide.  Into a bucket of cheesecake caramel swirl ice cream.

So, because I value not being in a constant state of inflation, I choose to subject myself to exercise.

And running?   Why does it have to be the absolutely most torturous form of exercise?  (Other than rowing.  Rowing can suck it.  Sorry.)

Primarily, it’s the calorie burn.  Weight loss is always foremost in my exercising mind.  And if it’s not loss, then for pete’s sake, it’s at least non-gain.  Pretty much nothing beats running when it comes to good old cardio.  Except cross country skiing.  Which blows in San Francisco.  I do not recommend.

That running easily sets you up for specific goals is a really close second reason, though.  Road races happen every weekend.  There is a 5K, 10K, half marathon, full marathon option to shoot for whenever you feel like shooting.  Committing to an event on the horizon means that you have to train in order to complete the event.  There’s a constant sense of plan and purpose.  And the races themselves are actually kinda fun.  A weird sort of fun that is over as soon as I start running (but comes back once I cross the finish line).  It’s the anticipation and the crowd and the ceremony of it all that’s compelling.

Sure, maybe there are a few other options that might meet these criteria, but those require owning a road bike and/or being a competent swimmer.  Even so, there wouldn’t be nearly as many opportunities for event participation in those sports.  (And then there’s the sunshine.  I shun it.  Those people on bicycles are always out there in the vampire killing sunlight.  It’s heinous.)

. . . . . . . . . . . .

I kept waiting to catch the running bug, like people said I would.  It didn’t happen, but I’m open to the idea that it still could.  Maybe as I get faster, fitter, stronger.

But it doesn’t matter.  I’m going to keep doing it.  And even if I hate it, every time, I do love that moment when I’ve finished and I can say to myself with grim certainty, “I fucking did it.”


Filed under Running, the bitch goddess

what’s a solo, but not single, girl to do?

My valentine is going to be in Argentina this year.  Without me.  That is not a location I anticipate being in on February 14.

After too many years of sad, sad singleton-ness in my days of yore, I like a little Valentine’s hoopty.  Not a lot.  But a nod of gratitude to having, when I am well familiar with the wallowing of have not.

I fear that I might succumb to a small amount of irrational wallowing next Tuesday, despite actually *having* a Valentine, so I’ve cultivated a plan to celebrate solo.

1.  I’m going to light candles around a framed portrait of The David, drink a bottle of wine, and sing Muffin Top.

Just kidding.

1.  Hour long massage and foot reflexology treatment.

2.  St Agur cheese.

3.  Pyjama pants and television programming intended for females aged 18 to 24.

I’m pretty sure that is going to feel like some really good hoopty to me.

Getting a massage pretty much trumps anything, but going to see The Vow by myself with a popcorn companion was a close alternative.

Anything tempting on your agenda?



Filed under Holidays, Up to Stuff

valentine’s present for your fella

Who says the fancy lingerie gifting is for women only?

Get your guy a man-panties & tank set!  The orange and green stripes say he’s sporty.  The bulge-y bits say he’s sexy.


Filed under Holidays, the interwebs

you eat one piece…


I don’t do a lot of baked good making.  I already spend enough time in the very small kitchen making the meals that are necessary for the daily hoopty.  And if you’re gonna eat some snacktastic calories, it’s cheese, people.  Cheese.

Most meals we make leave behind a lunch or two’s worth of leftovers.  But baked goods? Weeks of tempting treatlets to consider.  If you don’t eat the whole kitten at once.

And yet.

Make this cake anyway.

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Filed under Foodery, Uncategorized

cry me a river

The David and I have been seeing a couples counselor once a week for about 7 months.

We’ve been together going on 4 years now and still aren’t really sure about some of the big questions… are you the one?  do we want to get married?  or have kids?  how do we reconcile you giving off the heat of a thousand suns with my charming propensity to get sweaty in my sleep?

Counseling is supposed to help with all that.

But me being me, it mostly feels like a medieval device engineered specifically to drive me to the highest levels of torment.  There’s a lot of “Can you make space for David’s trigger points?” and “How does it make you feel to hear Maggie share something like that?”  Her master plan is that if there’s oodles of communication, then there will be closeness and it will be “yummy.”
In all fairness, The David seems to like it.  He’s much more sensitive than I am, so he really gets into having these opportunities to open up.  But I’m wired differently; I will share information and I’m pretty straightforward and honest, but I don’t need to talk about feelings so much.

Last night was our last session before The David leaves for his month-long trip to Argentina and she wanted to talk about how we felt about this pending separation.

And it went a bit like this:

Maggie:  I feel sad about it.

Counselor:  What does that sadness feel like?  Do you feel it in your body somewhere?

Maggie:  Mostly in my eyeballs.  Like I want to cry.

Counselor:  Why don’t you cry then?

Maggie:  It’s silly to cry about something that hasn’t even happened yet.

Counselor:  Isn’t it judgmental to call your feelings silly?  You should be allowed to cry.  Why don’t you zero in on these feelings?

I try to zero in on feeling sad.  Sadness ensues.  A few leaky tears escape.

And then I don’t even know.  Something like:

Counselor:  You feel sad?  How sad?  Really sad?  Are you really *feeling* the sadness?  Breath into it!  Look at David!  Let him feel your sadness!  Really really sad?

Until I am full on sobbing.  And snotting up a storm.  Wadded up tissues are piling up ridiculously.  No matter how much I toot and squirt, I can’t breath through my nose.  So I am mouth breathing.  I can’t talk without gasping and squeaking.  My nose is on fire from the scratchy sub par tissues.  My eyeballs feel about 3 sizes too large for their sockets and I’ve got a low thrumming headache.

I am tapping on David’s hand in a far fetched wish that I knew Morse code, that David knew Morse code, and that I could beg him to get me out of there.

And she is telling us how beautiful this is and how much love she is seeing.

Love is not the thing I am feeling.

But The David is feeling touched by just how sad I am that he’s leaving and protective that I’ve been all vulnerable.  And he didn’t have to talk about feeling sad about anything, so it’s all fine over there.  I’m the only one on Planet Insanadoo.

I guess I was supposed to feel better after having a good cry.  It should be cathartic?  And I feel all connected because I exposed my sad, sad underbelly?

Instead, I am exhausted and defeated and should clearly be lying quietly in the dark somewhere with chilled pads on my eyes.

And realizing that a month long separation from The David comes with a wonderful gift:  a month off from couples counseling.


Filed under Dating, The David