"Good morning independence...or is it loneliness? I know I said I wanted this, but I have regrets. I prayed for God's will to be done...the very next day you were gone." -India.Arie "Good Mourning"
I'm a liar.
And I spin fantastic lies. I caught myself in a quite a few last week.
The greatest hits being...
1) I can afford to go to Ibeza, Spain.
2) I can have a genuine friendship with questionable acquaintances.
3) I can drink champagne on top of vodka and be perfectly fine.
4) The ATM hands out unlimited $20 bills.
This past week was a fucking EYE-OPENER.
Let's get started because... though I feel as if I'm one week behind, I realize, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. After all, how can you clean up a mess if you don't take the time to look at it?
And here's what I noticed.
There's dirt you swept under a rug that accumulated. I just used to seeing that crud on the cabinet. After some time, becomes part of the background.
But when you take the time to see it. I mean, turn on some lights and get down to the floor...you know. Just KNOW...you'll breathe better when it's gone.
Let's get started:
HOME:
I bought a book. "Apartment Therapy". It actually is a 8 week plan to turn your apartment around, which is PERFECT. Goes right along with my 8-Week "Get Right" plan.
Week one:
Buy flowers. (Sure. Easy enough.)
Write a repair list. (Check. Thought I didn't realize how annoying that loose doorknob on my bathroom door was.)
Sit In One Corner of my home for ten minutes (OK. Didn't do this yet. Just felt..silly. I'll do it tonight. Pinkie swear.
Mop and vacuum all floors: Check. Discovering I REALLY hate my mop and bucket, I bought new ones. I had to crouch because the handle was too short and THEN..try to fit a rectangle (mop) into a circle (bucket). Um...didn't I learn this when I was two? With blocks??
Rectangles don't fit in circles.
Bed, Bath and Beyond to the rescue.
RESULT: My apartment looks...BETTER. MUCH better. Bring on Week 2.
HEART*:
*No animals will be harmed in the writing of this entry.
Friends, Family and Intimate relationships.
This was hard. HARD.
Because just because you love somebody, doesn't mean they are good for you.
And so I asked that very tough question. Is there a mutual respect?
Simply put...if I respect you, it's because I love you. I love you enough to say, "You know what's best for you, I dont' have to tell you."
I try to do this with everything and everyone.
Now, respecting myself can be tricky.
Sometimes, self-gratification gets in the way of respect.
EX: Chocolate Cake vs. Treadmill
So I made it a point to listen. Not to what people wanted to tell me, but to what they were trying to hide. Who respects me, as I respect them. And I came up with some interesting results.
Family:
Paternal Sisters: There's a true breakdown here. We want to get along...but can't.
I can't blame them...it takes two to tango. KE, KE2, IE & JE are all good people.
We just need to meet on a common ground. And try really hard not focus on silly sibling jealousy stemming from...
Dad:
He's pretty damn controlling. Bossy and arrogant. It's annoying. His lack of respect for anyone's opinions or feelings drive me bananas. And everyone else around him bananas. It keeps me from being closer to him and keeps me away. Far away. Far ..far..away. I'm going to try and find a happy medium.
Friends & Intimate relationships: The old saying holds true. The friends you have now are the friends you have later. Over the past week, I've observed the respect give and take. In some, it's one sided. In others, a two way street. A comfortable ebb and flow. Some constantly respect my time and life, others are selfish as hell. Nothing has been done yet. Just an observation. A painful one.
FINANCES:
Wholly SHIT I waste a lot of money!!
For the first time in ...God knows when... I took a good, hard look at my bank statement. I highlighted "NYCE" purchase with a green highlighter, "ATM" withdrawals got a check next to it. The "bill payments" and "transportation" expenses went untouched. MOST OF THE PAGE WAS NEON GREEN.
Which means, I spend all my money...on intangible, ..bullshit. I looked
Then I notice that I take the Metro North to work ...every day.
I buy single rides, thinking I'm going to take the subway one day to save money.
That doesn't happen. So I've been dickin' myself out of "weekly" or "monthly" savings.
Lunch: Bought that bitch every day. EVERY. DAY.
Ten bucks (at least) times five.
Times four.
$200 a month in lunch. FUCKING. LUNCH.
Not to mention the mid-day "pick me up" coffee/snackwell cookies.
$10 a week. Times four. $40 fucking dollars in snacks.
Credit Cards: My interest rates are BANANAS. They need to come down. I cut up two of them.
The Gym:
I belong to the HBO gym and Crunch.
One of them have to go.
Late Bill Payment: I pay everything late, so I get hit with fees and huge lump sum payments. I'm blowing a DUMB amount of money in late fees.
And my biggest problem...
My ATM card: $20 here. $40 here. Purchase here. It stays home. If I don't have cash, I have to go old school...to a teller. Between the hours of 9 and 5. Eliminate that $20 habit I've got.
HEALTH:
The last time I was a size 4, I caught food poisoning in Brazil.
I looked fantastic. Then I ate like I normally did.
Hello size 8.
I really believe my 33 year old body only takes two-half assed work outs to get back into the shape it was in three years ago.
I believe yoga and running for 20 minutes is enough.
I sit on my ass for 7 hours daily. Do you see the madness?
Also, somewhere along the line, I told myself that drinking so much you fall asleep in last night's clothes is still cute.
It's not...but I did it last week. Oh..and I smoked. Boy, did I.
Now.
This was just week one. (WHOA.)
Just a harsh, honest look at what's going on. Not a pretty picture.
Week Two begins tomorrow.
This is where shit gets real.
HOME: Fix one thing myself. Buy flowers. Clean kitchen, top to bottom. (empty old
food...the whole 9.) Find a new recipe, cook at home.
HEART: Call one of my sisters. Just one. I'll start with DE. She's the nicest one.
Send Dad a "Thank You" card.
Delete anyone I haven't spoken to in a year from my cellphone.
Pro and Con relationships.
FINANCE: Leave Debit Card home.
Set Up Auto Bill Payment
Get C.C. rates reduced.
Bring lunch
Create a budget
HEALTH: Set up a work out plan
Work out at ONE gym this week (3x cardio/ 3x strength)
Give Away my HBO Gym locker.
(Whew. What the hell did I get myself into?)
-Nye
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Don't Know When To Quit...Do I?
"The only way to change your story is to change what you believe about yourself. If you clean up the lies you believe about yourself, the lies you believe about everybody else will change. Every time you change the main character in your story, the whole story changes to adapt to the main character."
-Don Miguel Ruiz "The Voice Of Knowledge"
So I ran a 5K, as you know. Now... had I told my twenty-four year old self that I would have done that ...when I'm thirty-three... then I would have called myself a liar.
BOLD FACED LIAR.
But I did it. So I started thinking. It might be time to change some other things about myself...now that I'm sure I can do it. Change what? The things I don't like but have subscribed to.."that's just how I am." Which is bullshit.
But it starts by facing some truth. And that's scary. Besides...it just takes too much work to change. It takes commitment and determination. And the only time I have either is if you tell me I can't have something. Or can't do it. (Stubborn Aries.)
So I figure, there are four major areas of my life that I can improve upon, and you are welcome to take the journey with me.
Because I figure, if blogging the race process worked...shit. This has GOT to work.
Besides...it will ...AGAIN, give you some inside to my personal business. And I know you like to watch. I heard that about you.
THE FOUR CATEGORIES
I figure I'd start with the four categories and then break them down into sub-categories. These four? HEART, HOME, BODY, FINANCE.
All of these areas could use some serious help.
HEART
This encompasses family, friends, intimate relationships (not all intimate relationships are sexual...Nasty.) and my spirituality. Taking a good hard look at them, they are doing the same thing my credit score is doing. I'm paying the bill every month, but just the minimum. One false move and I'm in "secured credit" land.
HOME
I love my apartment. I fucking LOVE it. LOVE IT!! It's a beautiful, pre-war apartment, with high ceilings, plenty of light, overlooking the Hudson (in the winter..when the tree-leaves aren't in the way). My neighbors are friendly and fantastic. I love coming home. It's peaceful.
..until Wednesday.
On Wednesdays, all hell breaks loose. Clothes everywhere. Hair products (...this baffles me since I only use gel and a blow dryer.) Mail, magazines...Just...SHIT. EVERYWHERE. I clean once a week...Saturdays.
And I'm happy.
By Wednesday, however, if anyone just popped over for a visit, I'd be mortified.
Something must be done.
Not to mention the bedroom is only half decorated and two rooms sport "test" wall color that look like a ten year old was experimenting with a cup...a metric cup...of paint. Something. Anything...must be done.
BODY
I'm getting older. I know this. Happens every day. However, I'm not really respecting that. Things that are going into this body should be...must be ..modified. Or I'm going to look/feel like shit before I drop a kid. And I'm to understand that's supposed to be the the EXCUSE for looking like shit, isn't it? Anyway...I know the results of good living and bad. Seen em. With my own two eyes...(that aren't as strong as they used to be. HEAVY SIGH...)
Anyway. There's some fat I need to flush and some muscle that I need to gain. I know what to do. Just a matter of doing the damn thing.
FINANCE
Like I said, my credit is good, not GREAT, but hey. Apple is happy. So is Banana Republic. And Jet Blue. And AMC theaters, and Virgils and ... the list goes on.
I remember I USED to have a budget. And it was good. But one day, I got tired of feeling...poor and restricted and I scrapped the whole idea. Now, guess what? I'm REALLY poor and restricted. I saved more then, paid more bills ON TIME and had a happy...very happy credit score. Time to turn that shit around.
Also... my side hustle, which can bring in more dough. Writing.
Magazine articles. Shit like "The best way to look good in the bedroom." (Yes, writers do pull this out of their asses. You didn't fall for them in Cosmo...did you?) Anyway...speaking of Cosmo, they are paying $2 per word. Write a 250 word article and ...well..you do the math. Not a bad way to make some extra dough huh?
My fear? Rejection slips. Gonna get over that too.
SO...there you have it.
I've given myself EIGHT WEEKS to turn it all around. At the end of each week, I have had to accomplish a goal in each category. Sounds like a lot right? Sure. But hey...I ran a fucking 5K in three weeks time.
If I can do that...fixing the rest of my life should be a piece of cake, right?
...right.
THIS WEEKS GOAL: TRUTH & PURGE
This week, I have to be honest about all four areas, get rid of all the excess...and then I can start fresh.
HEART: First and foremost...any person that I deem as "poison", has to go. I can only identify these people by being impeccable with my word. The truth is always respected and through it, things will change. They have no choice. (See the above quote.)
HOME: I have to get rid of anything I don't NEED. This is going to be a bitch.
BODY: I must be honest about what I put in it. Keeping written track for this week, and being sure to work out to purge impurities.
FINANCE: I have to take a real look at my banking statement and see where I waste money. Think of ways to stop it.
-Don Miguel Ruiz "The Voice Of Knowledge"
So I ran a 5K, as you know. Now... had I told my twenty-four year old self that I would have done that ...when I'm thirty-three... then I would have called myself a liar.
BOLD FACED LIAR.
But I did it. So I started thinking. It might be time to change some other things about myself...now that I'm sure I can do it. Change what? The things I don't like but have subscribed to.."that's just how I am." Which is bullshit.
But it starts by facing some truth. And that's scary. Besides...it just takes too much work to change. It takes commitment and determination. And the only time I have either is if you tell me I can't have something. Or can't do it. (Stubborn Aries.)
So I figure, there are four major areas of my life that I can improve upon, and you are welcome to take the journey with me.
Because I figure, if blogging the race process worked...shit. This has GOT to work.
Besides...it will ...AGAIN, give you some inside to my personal business. And I know you like to watch. I heard that about you.
THE FOUR CATEGORIES
I figure I'd start with the four categories and then break them down into sub-categories. These four? HEART, HOME, BODY, FINANCE.
All of these areas could use some serious help.
HEART
This encompasses family, friends, intimate relationships (not all intimate relationships are sexual...Nasty.) and my spirituality. Taking a good hard look at them, they are doing the same thing my credit score is doing. I'm paying the bill every month, but just the minimum. One false move and I'm in "secured credit" land.
HOME
I love my apartment. I fucking LOVE it. LOVE IT!! It's a beautiful, pre-war apartment, with high ceilings, plenty of light, overlooking the Hudson (in the winter..when the tree-leaves aren't in the way). My neighbors are friendly and fantastic. I love coming home. It's peaceful.
..until Wednesday.
On Wednesdays, all hell breaks loose. Clothes everywhere. Hair products (...this baffles me since I only use gel and a blow dryer.) Mail, magazines...Just...SHIT. EVERYWHERE. I clean once a week...Saturdays.
And I'm happy.
By Wednesday, however, if anyone just popped over for a visit, I'd be mortified.
Something must be done.
Not to mention the bedroom is only half decorated and two rooms sport "test" wall color that look like a ten year old was experimenting with a cup...a metric cup...of paint. Something. Anything...must be done.
BODY
I'm getting older. I know this. Happens every day. However, I'm not really respecting that. Things that are going into this body should be...must be ..modified. Or I'm going to look/feel like shit before I drop a kid. And I'm to understand that's supposed to be the the EXCUSE for looking like shit, isn't it? Anyway...I know the results of good living and bad. Seen em. With my own two eyes...(that aren't as strong as they used to be. HEAVY SIGH...)
Anyway. There's some fat I need to flush and some muscle that I need to gain. I know what to do. Just a matter of doing the damn thing.
FINANCE
Like I said, my credit is good, not GREAT, but hey. Apple is happy. So is Banana Republic. And Jet Blue. And AMC theaters, and Virgils and ... the list goes on.
I remember I USED to have a budget. And it was good. But one day, I got tired of feeling...poor and restricted and I scrapped the whole idea. Now, guess what? I'm REALLY poor and restricted. I saved more then, paid more bills ON TIME and had a happy...very happy credit score. Time to turn that shit around.
Also... my side hustle, which can bring in more dough. Writing.
Magazine articles. Shit like "The best way to look good in the bedroom." (Yes, writers do pull this out of their asses. You didn't fall for them in Cosmo...did you?) Anyway...speaking of Cosmo, they are paying $2 per word. Write a 250 word article and ...well..you do the math. Not a bad way to make some extra dough huh?
My fear? Rejection slips. Gonna get over that too.
SO...there you have it.
I've given myself EIGHT WEEKS to turn it all around. At the end of each week, I have had to accomplish a goal in each category. Sounds like a lot right? Sure. But hey...I ran a fucking 5K in three weeks time.
If I can do that...fixing the rest of my life should be a piece of cake, right?
...right.
THIS WEEKS GOAL: TRUTH & PURGE
This week, I have to be honest about all four areas, get rid of all the excess...and then I can start fresh.
HEART: First and foremost...any person that I deem as "poison", has to go. I can only identify these people by being impeccable with my word. The truth is always respected and through it, things will change. They have no choice. (See the above quote.)
HOME: I have to get rid of anything I don't NEED. This is going to be a bitch.
BODY: I must be honest about what I put in it. Keeping written track for this week, and being sure to work out to purge impurities.
FINANCE: I have to take a real look at my banking statement and see where I waste money. Think of ways to stop it.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
A New Respect For Pink
"Uphill, horse shit and the finish line is no where in sight...great."
-Thought on the final mile of the run
DID SHE FINISH THE RACE?: You damn right she did.
DID SHE STOP ...ONCE?: Nope!
COME ON, TELL THE TRUTH..: I did not stop...I did not. I wanted to ...
I wanted to.
Especially when I thought...(see above quote).
So...how did it go?
Here's how it went.
9AM
So I'm there...and I'm feeling the love. Part of a huge club where nobody speaks to each other...they just all smile...because you're one of them. Your matching shirt and bib number proves this. Aside from the fact that you are all "10+ Mile'rs".
I made sure to find this crowd, my group..the 10+ Mile'rs, and right behind us, pressed against those metal parade side-line gates, were the "walkers", anxious to get their easy-step on.
Yep. I could glass half-empty this...but I'm not. I was IN FRONT of the walkers...which meant, I was a RUNNER.
Yes..the slowest in the category...but STILL ...a runner. I had a BIB. (That's runner speak for that tag with the number on it.) I was number "20941".
And I pinned this number right below the "Race For The Cure" logo on my shirt.
Yes, it's real Jr. High of me.
Like... wanting to wear your work badge on you every single day when you get your first job...Jr. High.
But am not ashamed, because I was proud of myself. Damn proud. And as I beamed...excited and doubting I'd be able to finish...a small woman asked,
"Excuse me? Can you pin my number to the front?"
Sure.
Her name is Marcella. (My aunt's name. This is FATE!) But call her "Marcy". (My aunt's nickname! It really is fate!) She's from Venezuela, and her family is no stranger to pink ribbons. Most of the women in her family have been afflicted and she's serious about this run.
She's rocking pink eyeshadow...that kind of serious.
She offers me an energy bar, and I accept. She asks if I'd like to be her running buddy. SURE! We smile, joke..and anxiously await the race.
9:22AM
And then somebody starts wailing the national anthem...we get all patriotic and the horn blasts!! AND.....
We wait.
Because there's a stupid amount of runners ahead of us and we can't even get a slow jog on till they get some yards on us.
But finally, Marcy and I are able to get a nice slow ...slow jog going.
"Is this your pace?" she asks.
My pace? Oh no. She's serious.
"Yes, for now. I'll pick it up later." I say, slightly embarrassed, but not stupid enough start bookin' like a roach in a newly lit kitchen. Slow and steady...
Thirty seconds later...I begin to feel bad. REALLY bad. People are passing me. Lots of people. Um...EVERYONE...is passing me.
Marcy isn't doing so well. She's breathing heavy. Like...already-did-2-miles heavy.
This is not good.
"Is your back pack too heavy?" I ask.
"No...(gasp ..gasp...) I'm fine..."
But she's not fine. Don't lie to me Marcy...tell me the truth! We can get through this!
But she didn't. Now when her posture began to resemble a person with lower back pain...I knew I'd have a decision to make. Either stick with her (she gave a energy bar for goodness sakes...) or leave her.
By the time we get to the first mile (marked by a sign, cheerleaders from some high school somewhere and a water table,) Marcy is a memory. She'd huffed that she was going to walk and drink a bit of water...that was the last time I saw her.
Because I wasn't fucking stopping.
I didn't blog all this for nothing. Gotta keep going.
So I do. And right around mile two, I see the people on the side line that everyone told me about. Thank GOD! They were there to cheer me on and keep me going, right?
Wrong. This is New York.
They were there to check us out. To stare. NOBODY was cheering. They just...stared.
If you need encouragement, get your own. Tough city.
Right then, some twenty-something jocks are holding a normal conversation, laughing and running backwards. They pass me...with a stride that says "We do more before 9AM than most people do all day..." and I don't hate. I just laugh at their jokes..and keep going. OK. I'm jealous. A little.
There is no marker that says you're at mile three. I just know. Not because there are signs that say "72nd Street" is ahead. But because that's when my body tells me I'm crazy. I'm tired and I should stop. But nobody else around me is stopping. So I shouldn't. I can't. I want to but...
"Do or do not. There is no try."
I don't.
And then, the hill of death.
THIS the part of the movie...where the hero falls, or may not make the jump...or land the ending...whatever.
And I know I'm doomed...because it's uphill and the hill is mostly covered with horse shit.
For a second, I wonder why it's there, then I see the horse-drawn buggy on my right.
Gotcha.
The smell is unavoidable. It's the kind you taste. And you DO taste it, as you're gasping for air.
I would have stopped, but stopping meant walking AMONGST the shit smell...and that just wasn't going to happen.
Just when my eyes teared and I thought...there's no end...I hear house music.
THE FINISH LINE...
I can't see it, but I know it's there. It's coming up. I can hear the music.
Then I hear the crowd...but I can't see it...and I can't see it..and I...
turn the corner..WOW. It's right THERE.
And I start running like a bat out of hell.
I jump up...slap the "FINISH" sign...and start the walk.
Petey was there to greet my tired ass and I was so glad somebody was.
I said, "Wow...I just ran a 5K".
Petey smiled and said "Yes...you did. Congratulations.."
After grabbing as many freebies as we could...time to go.
And I walked around with that BIB on all day. ALL DAY.
Yes...very Jr. High of me. But I was proud of myself.
And from all of your phone calls and emails, you guys were proud of me too.
Thanks for reading!!! Thanks for the encouragement, jokes, smiles and support.
(Cue inspirational music...)
Love you all...
-NYE
(Will insert Pic Here...when I get home from Florida...)
OH..and remember when I said I hated pink? I take that back.
Pink has never been a more powerful color for me.
Thanks for reading.
...and roll credits...
-Thought on the final mile of the run
DID SHE FINISH THE RACE?: You damn right she did.
DID SHE STOP ...ONCE?: Nope!
COME ON, TELL THE TRUTH..: I did not stop...I did not. I wanted to ...
I wanted to.
Especially when I thought...(see above quote).
So...how did it go?
Here's how it went.
9AM
So I'm there...and I'm feeling the love. Part of a huge club where nobody speaks to each other...they just all smile...because you're one of them. Your matching shirt and bib number proves this. Aside from the fact that you are all "10+ Mile'rs".
I made sure to find this crowd, my group..the 10+ Mile'rs, and right behind us, pressed against those metal parade side-line gates, were the "walkers", anxious to get their easy-step on.
Yep. I could glass half-empty this...but I'm not. I was IN FRONT of the walkers...which meant, I was a RUNNER.
Yes..the slowest in the category...but STILL ...a runner. I had a BIB. (That's runner speak for that tag with the number on it.) I was number "20941".
And I pinned this number right below the "Race For The Cure" logo on my shirt.
Yes, it's real Jr. High of me.
Like... wanting to wear your work badge on you every single day when you get your first job...Jr. High.
But am not ashamed, because I was proud of myself. Damn proud. And as I beamed...excited and doubting I'd be able to finish...a small woman asked,
"Excuse me? Can you pin my number to the front?"
Sure.
Her name is Marcella. (My aunt's name. This is FATE!) But call her "Marcy". (My aunt's nickname! It really is fate!) She's from Venezuela, and her family is no stranger to pink ribbons. Most of the women in her family have been afflicted and she's serious about this run.
She's rocking pink eyeshadow...that kind of serious.
She offers me an energy bar, and I accept. She asks if I'd like to be her running buddy. SURE! We smile, joke..and anxiously await the race.
9:22AM
And then somebody starts wailing the national anthem...we get all patriotic and the horn blasts!! AND.....
We wait.
Because there's a stupid amount of runners ahead of us and we can't even get a slow jog on till they get some yards on us.
But finally, Marcy and I are able to get a nice slow ...slow jog going.
"Is this your pace?" she asks.
My pace? Oh no. She's serious.
"Yes, for now. I'll pick it up later." I say, slightly embarrassed, but not stupid enough start bookin' like a roach in a newly lit kitchen. Slow and steady...
Thirty seconds later...I begin to feel bad. REALLY bad. People are passing me. Lots of people. Um...EVERYONE...is passing me.
Marcy isn't doing so well. She's breathing heavy. Like...already-did-2-miles heavy.
This is not good.
"Is your back pack too heavy?" I ask.
"No...(gasp ..gasp...) I'm fine..."
But she's not fine. Don't lie to me Marcy...tell me the truth! We can get through this!
But she didn't. Now when her posture began to resemble a person with lower back pain...I knew I'd have a decision to make. Either stick with her (she gave a energy bar for goodness sakes...) or leave her.
By the time we get to the first mile (marked by a sign, cheerleaders from some high school somewhere and a water table,) Marcy is a memory. She'd huffed that she was going to walk and drink a bit of water...that was the last time I saw her.
Because I wasn't fucking stopping.
I didn't blog all this for nothing. Gotta keep going.
So I do. And right around mile two, I see the people on the side line that everyone told me about. Thank GOD! They were there to cheer me on and keep me going, right?
Wrong. This is New York.
They were there to check us out. To stare. NOBODY was cheering. They just...stared.
If you need encouragement, get your own. Tough city.
Right then, some twenty-something jocks are holding a normal conversation, laughing and running backwards. They pass me...with a stride that says "We do more before 9AM than most people do all day..." and I don't hate. I just laugh at their jokes..and keep going. OK. I'm jealous. A little.
There is no marker that says you're at mile three. I just know. Not because there are signs that say "72nd Street" is ahead. But because that's when my body tells me I'm crazy. I'm tired and I should stop. But nobody else around me is stopping. So I shouldn't. I can't. I want to but...
"Do or do not. There is no try."
I don't.
And then, the hill of death.
THIS the part of the movie...where the hero falls, or may not make the jump...or land the ending...whatever.
And I know I'm doomed...because it's uphill and the hill is mostly covered with horse shit.
For a second, I wonder why it's there, then I see the horse-drawn buggy on my right.
Gotcha.
The smell is unavoidable. It's the kind you taste. And you DO taste it, as you're gasping for air.
I would have stopped, but stopping meant walking AMONGST the shit smell...and that just wasn't going to happen.
Just when my eyes teared and I thought...there's no end...I hear house music.
THE FINISH LINE...
I can't see it, but I know it's there. It's coming up. I can hear the music.
Then I hear the crowd...but I can't see it...and I can't see it..and I...
turn the corner..WOW. It's right THERE.
And I start running like a bat out of hell.
I jump up...slap the "FINISH" sign...and start the walk.
Petey was there to greet my tired ass and I was so glad somebody was.
I said, "Wow...I just ran a 5K".
Petey smiled and said "Yes...you did. Congratulations.."
After grabbing as many freebies as we could...time to go.
And I walked around with that BIB on all day. ALL DAY.
Yes...very Jr. High of me. But I was proud of myself.
And from all of your phone calls and emails, you guys were proud of me too.
Thanks for reading!!! Thanks for the encouragement, jokes, smiles and support.
(Cue inspirational music...)
Love you all...
-NYE
(Will insert Pic Here...when I get home from Florida...)
OH..and remember when I said I hated pink? I take that back.
Pink has never been a more powerful color for me.
Thanks for reading.
...and roll credits...
Friday, September 08, 2006
Peeking Behind The Curtain
"I just wanted to call you back and tell you that I can't wait to see you.
You made my day."
-Charles Emory Jr
Yesterday's goal met: Oh yeah.
***I'm going to try to be as sensitive to men as I can in this one...but if you ever feel grossed out...feel free to move to the end.***
I realize that time-management isn't one of my strengths, so I've strived to improve this by drawing a pie-chart of my workday...each slice representing what I should be doing in that hour. Sort of like "Nanny Jo" from Super Nanny..."Nyree..if you don't follow the SHEEEDule..you're going to be put on the "naughty chair". My "naughty chair" is staying at work...way longer than I should. Way longer.
So yesterday, as I held a heating pad to my lower belly...rocking on the floor of my office in fetal position, I knew that my new pie-chart shhhedule was pretty much a wash. Yes...My body is amazing. It produces children, milk for the children, and cleans itself out like clockwork. Well...almost clockwork.
For some odd reason, the clock got set to daylight savings time without my knowing... and had I known what was going to happen, I WOULD NOT have rocked a really light color skirt. (Umm...I sorta fibbed about that chocolate PF Aaron. I would have told the truth, but I didn't want to ruin your lunch.)
So while on the floor, I thought...there's NO WAY. NO WAY I can run today. I can't even walk. How am I going to run...three miles.
...later on...
I'm frazzled. I've got a week's worth of work to push out in two days...and thanks to my forced time-out, I don't have a lot of time left.
"Hey Hon...how you doing."
"Good Dad...what's up?"
"So...are you still coming?"
Shit. I forgot to give him the flight itinerary. "Yes, I'm sorry...I've just been..."
"Are you OK?"
Wait a fucking second. Didn't I just talk all that shit about "zen" and calming down? All it took was my Dad to ask me if I'm ok....that's all it took for me to remember to...
"Breathe...OK Hon? OK. Love you. I'll see you Tuesday." Wow. Talk about moments of zen.
Later...HOURS later. The pie looks like what happens when you set it in front of a two year old.
I'm REALLY frazzled.
I've bitten off WAY more than I can chew. Gotta learn to say no. I've gotta...OH SNAP...IT'S 6:45!!! And I haven't run. I have to. I have to. I have to.
Just do your best Nye. It's all you can do at this point. Nobody will be mad.
In the gym...after I shocked the shit out of myself by running...4 Miles, my co-worker tells me the story of her battle with "whooping cough".
No lie. Her illness was out of the 19th century. And now, this Sunday...she's doing the Lance Armstrong Ride for life.
I tell her about my run...and she smiles. She then takes her breast cancer bracelet off...and gives it to me. "Think about me, and I'll think about you."
Deal.
Shout outs...
God/Universe/Higher Power/Jehovah/Allah/Nature.... for giving me some unexpected strength, inspiration, beautiful friends and some kick ass lessons. (And pushing that cycle up FIVE whole days. Whoa.) When I say shout out...SHOUT OUT.
ALL OF YOU... for following my progress, encouraging me and being so damn generous.
I love you all. You know I mean it too. Again...from the bottom of my heart, thank you guys. You're the shit.
..and on Sunday, I run for you as well. And even if I don't finish, I get a real live hug from my daddy on Tuesday. And as any "daddy's little girl" knows, if he says "That's OK Hon. I'm proud of you."...so let it be written, so let it be done.
..but I'm gonna finish. Beleee-dat.
-Nye
Tomorrow's goal: Easy 1 mile run. Early. An lots of pasta and sleep.
Hot beat for last leg of training montage: Your favorite song.
You made my day."
-Charles Emory Jr
Yesterday's goal met: Oh yeah.
***I'm going to try to be as sensitive to men as I can in this one...but if you ever feel grossed out...feel free to move to the end.***
I realize that time-management isn't one of my strengths, so I've strived to improve this by drawing a pie-chart of my workday...each slice representing what I should be doing in that hour. Sort of like "Nanny Jo" from Super Nanny..."Nyree..if you don't follow the SHEEEDule..you're going to be put on the "naughty chair". My "naughty chair" is staying at work...way longer than I should. Way longer.
So yesterday, as I held a heating pad to my lower belly...rocking on the floor of my office in fetal position, I knew that my new pie-chart shhhedule was pretty much a wash. Yes...My body is amazing. It produces children, milk for the children, and cleans itself out like clockwork. Well...almost clockwork.
For some odd reason, the clock got set to daylight savings time without my knowing... and had I known what was going to happen, I WOULD NOT have rocked a really light color skirt. (Umm...I sorta fibbed about that chocolate PF Aaron. I would have told the truth, but I didn't want to ruin your lunch.)
So while on the floor, I thought...there's NO WAY. NO WAY I can run today. I can't even walk. How am I going to run...three miles.
...later on...
I'm frazzled. I've got a week's worth of work to push out in two days...and thanks to my forced time-out, I don't have a lot of time left.
"Hey Hon...how you doing."
"Good Dad...what's up?"
"So...are you still coming?"
Shit. I forgot to give him the flight itinerary. "Yes, I'm sorry...I've just been..."
"Are you OK?"
Wait a fucking second. Didn't I just talk all that shit about "zen" and calming down? All it took was my Dad to ask me if I'm ok....that's all it took for me to remember to...
"Breathe...OK Hon? OK. Love you. I'll see you Tuesday." Wow. Talk about moments of zen.
Later...HOURS later. The pie looks like what happens when you set it in front of a two year old.
I'm REALLY frazzled.
I've bitten off WAY more than I can chew. Gotta learn to say no. I've gotta...OH SNAP...IT'S 6:45!!! And I haven't run. I have to. I have to. I have to.
Just do your best Nye. It's all you can do at this point. Nobody will be mad.
In the gym...after I shocked the shit out of myself by running...4 Miles, my co-worker tells me the story of her battle with "whooping cough".
No lie. Her illness was out of the 19th century. And now, this Sunday...she's doing the Lance Armstrong Ride for life.
I tell her about my run...and she smiles. She then takes her breast cancer bracelet off...and gives it to me. "Think about me, and I'll think about you."
Deal.
Shout outs...
God/Universe/Higher Power/Jehovah/Allah/Nature.... for giving me some unexpected strength, inspiration, beautiful friends and some kick ass lessons. (And pushing that cycle up FIVE whole days. Whoa.) When I say shout out...SHOUT OUT.
ALL OF YOU... for following my progress, encouraging me and being so damn generous.
I love you all. You know I mean it too. Again...from the bottom of my heart, thank you guys. You're the shit.
..and on Sunday, I run for you as well. And even if I don't finish, I get a real live hug from my daddy on Tuesday. And as any "daddy's little girl" knows, if he says "That's OK Hon. I'm proud of you."...so let it be written, so let it be done.
..but I'm gonna finish. Beleee-dat.
-Nye
Tomorrow's goal: Easy 1 mile run. Early. An lots of pasta and sleep.
Hot beat for last leg of training montage: Your favorite song.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
A Moment of Zen
"You have to live in the moment, and not worry about the future."
- Carrie Bradshaw's Zen teacher
"...However, he died penniless and alone..." - Carrie Bradshaw
Yesterday's Goal Met?: No. One mile short.
Yes, I realize that my love of "Sex And The City" makes me a walking New York City cliche,
especially since I happen to be at home right now, writing on my laptop. Yikes.
But there's something soo damn true about the lessons Carrie and the gang have so
graciously lived out for us for six whole seasons. Gems like "the fuck buddy", "Mr. Big" and
"The rabbit."
But I'll get back to that in a minute. Your here to see how my progress is going.
As good as it's going to get...and I say that in a very optimistic way, believe it or not.
At the start of this thing, I could barely kick out a mile. On a few days, given some
well wishes, amazing stories, and countless ponytail holders, I've
managed to kick out more than I ever thought I could in such a short period of time.
Which gives me no choice but to believe I will finish this race...by running.
Now, here's the part where I bitch about my body breaking down.
My shins, my ass and my lower back are all...killing me. I mean, like whoa.
Each day I have to run becomes something I love and dread at the same time,
but I'm starting to realize that once I get pass the fourth song (guess which one it is...)
I kind of go into "zen" mode.
I feel my legs going, without thinking about it. I'm aware that I'm breathing hard. Damn hard.
But I'm not. I'm beginning to love when my mind goes is into this place of calm that tells me that right now...
in this perfect moment, everything is cool.
Life, love, the world...it's all shit I subscribe to, it's all shit I choose to bring energy to and spend energy on.
While I'm running, I'm unwillingly forced into taking all the energy I expend on bullshit,
and put it into my thighs for another rotation. Oh. And I'm forced to breathe. You would think a girl would remember to do
that. Nah-uh. Not so simple.
And it's not that next song that keeps the legs moving...it's that moment.
PF Lito said "It's all in your mind...", meaning ...the moment I think I'm tired and can't kick
anymore out. And he's right. It really is.
Because my mind really isn't used to not worrying about something. SOMETHING.
The most pressing topics: The zits on my forehead (...they are bananas right now..) my nephew and his issues...
my job, my relationship, the gym shorts which love to ride up between my legs, my music being too loud,
the fact that the gym is small and quiet, so everyone can hear/see me mouthing/huffing ... "I'm bringing sexyback.."
It's not easy to tell your mind to shut the fuck up...unless you're doing something that makes that command necessary.
Now I see why people like to run. It's the moment of zen. (That, and the fact that my clothes are getting too big for me, instead of the other way around.) It's the only time you can tell yourself to shut the fuck up...and actually have no choice but to do it.
So on today's day off...it's cross-training and not with weights. It's yoga.
After a few downward facing dogs mixed in with a bit of warrior 1 & 2, I'm breathing again..and I'm there.
Moment of zen. Focused. Quiet. Perfect.
Because really...it's not that deep, is it? I kicked out 2.5 miles yesterday (on an incline), and yes..that was perfect.
And you know what...come to think of it, Carrie and the gang were always taking some yoga class. It takes them six seasons to finally get it ("it" meaning "life") together, but they do. Co-winkie-dink?
(Carrie also quit smoking, then lit up whenever "Mr. Big" gave her drama, dated a Russian, dumped her fuck buddy and moved ...twice. Sans Barishnikov, this show is pretty on point.)
-Nye
Tomorrows Goal: 3 miles and some zen.
Hot Beat For Tomorrow's Training Montage: God Shiva - Me'shell N'degeocello
PS. And if you were really reading between the lines, you'll know for a fact, I'll be on DAY TWO
on the day of this run.
- Carrie Bradshaw's Zen teacher
"...However, he died penniless and alone..." - Carrie Bradshaw
Yesterday's Goal Met?: No. One mile short.
Yes, I realize that my love of "Sex And The City" makes me a walking New York City cliche,
especially since I happen to be at home right now, writing on my laptop. Yikes.
But there's something soo damn true about the lessons Carrie and the gang have so
graciously lived out for us for six whole seasons. Gems like "the fuck buddy", "Mr. Big" and
"The rabbit."
But I'll get back to that in a minute. Your here to see how my progress is going.
As good as it's going to get...and I say that in a very optimistic way, believe it or not.
At the start of this thing, I could barely kick out a mile. On a few days, given some
well wishes, amazing stories, and countless ponytail holders, I've
managed to kick out more than I ever thought I could in such a short period of time.
Which gives me no choice but to believe I will finish this race...by running.
Now, here's the part where I bitch about my body breaking down.
My shins, my ass and my lower back are all...killing me. I mean, like whoa.
Each day I have to run becomes something I love and dread at the same time,
but I'm starting to realize that once I get pass the fourth song (guess which one it is...)
I kind of go into "zen" mode.
I feel my legs going, without thinking about it. I'm aware that I'm breathing hard. Damn hard.
But I'm not. I'm beginning to love when my mind goes is into this place of calm that tells me that right now...
in this perfect moment, everything is cool.
Life, love, the world...it's all shit I subscribe to, it's all shit I choose to bring energy to and spend energy on.
While I'm running, I'm unwillingly forced into taking all the energy I expend on bullshit,
and put it into my thighs for another rotation. Oh. And I'm forced to breathe. You would think a girl would remember to do
that. Nah-uh. Not so simple.
And it's not that next song that keeps the legs moving...it's that moment.
PF Lito said "It's all in your mind...", meaning ...the moment I think I'm tired and can't kick
anymore out. And he's right. It really is.
Because my mind really isn't used to not worrying about something. SOMETHING.
The most pressing topics: The zits on my forehead (...they are bananas right now..) my nephew and his issues...
my job, my relationship, the gym shorts which love to ride up between my legs, my music being too loud,
the fact that the gym is small and quiet, so everyone can hear/see me mouthing/huffing ... "I'm bringing sexyback.."
It's not easy to tell your mind to shut the fuck up...unless you're doing something that makes that command necessary.
Now I see why people like to run. It's the moment of zen. (That, and the fact that my clothes are getting too big for me, instead of the other way around.) It's the only time you can tell yourself to shut the fuck up...and actually have no choice but to do it.
So on today's day off...it's cross-training and not with weights. It's yoga.
After a few downward facing dogs mixed in with a bit of warrior 1 & 2, I'm breathing again..and I'm there.
Moment of zen. Focused. Quiet. Perfect.
Because really...it's not that deep, is it? I kicked out 2.5 miles yesterday (on an incline), and yes..that was perfect.
And you know what...come to think of it, Carrie and the gang were always taking some yoga class. It takes them six seasons to finally get it ("it" meaning "life") together, but they do. Co-winkie-dink?
(Carrie also quit smoking, then lit up whenever "Mr. Big" gave her drama, dated a Russian, dumped her fuck buddy and moved ...twice. Sans Barishnikov, this show is pretty on point.)
-Nye
Tomorrows Goal: 3 miles and some zen.
Hot Beat For Tomorrow's Training Montage: God Shiva - Me'shell N'degeocello
PS. And if you were really reading between the lines, you'll know for a fact, I'll be on DAY TWO
on the day of this run.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Crunch Time
"You want fame? Well fame costs. And right here is where you start to pay...with sweat." - (Debbie Allen as) Lydia Grant - Fame
Day Before Yesterday's Goal Met?: Hell yes. And my running outfit stayed on.
You couldn't read that without seeing Debbie in that leotard...walking around the dance studio with that big ass stick...could you? And when we got to the "right here" part of that quote...you actually SAW/HEARD her bang that stick on the ground...twice. Didn't you?
Me too. I saw it as clearly as I saw myself passing that finish-line.
What I don't think I'm ready for, is the emotion-fest that's about to go down on that day. Women...lots of women will be emotional. Anyone who knows me well knows I can't stand to be around a whole bunch of women. My quota is three. (Not including myself.) If there are more than three women around, I will excuse myself and find some men before the Borg assimilates. I'm not sure why, but I've always been that way, which is why you will NOT see me hanging around a gaggle of chicks cooing over lipgloss. It won't happen. I just think more than three women in the same space is just...too fucking much...especially when sometimes I can't even stand my own estrogen. And speaking of which...
I also don't think I paid close attention to the date. Because on the day of the race, there's a good possibility I'll be on...DAY TWO.
Women: DAY TWO goes without saying. You know what it means. Tea,pain-killers, heating pad, LifeTime television, a couch, and the "leave me the fuck alone" force field that even wild animals observe.
Men: If you are still with me after the mere insinuation that DAY TWO might mean what you THINK it means,(it does, not only are you a trooper, but you are prime husband material. You're the kind that slides the Godiva near the couch and backs away slowly...aren't you? Awww..she's so damn lucky.
Now, for the men and the post-menopausal women who are reading this and don't remember (Ma...no laughing), just so you know, there are are small children who wouldn't be able to survive the physical and psychological chaos of DAY TWO.
It's not just about feeling like...(Think Brad Pitt in "Interview With A Vampire" right after Tom Cruise drained him of almost all the blood in his body. Did you see the way Brad was just flappin' around, eyes rolled all back in his head, wishing for death? Now, as a side note, remember when Tom Cruise just sat there and watched Brad, unaffected like "...damn. That's fucked up. Need some help?" Yeah, that's how we see anyone in the room WITHOUT a box of Godiva. And as soon as we get some blood back in our bodies...we are going to try to kill you. So you should just leave...or give up the chocolate.)
With this said, the idea of running on DAY TWO makes me wants to hum "Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee..", dig in to some triple chocolate thing and get my Valerie Bertinelli on. And given my wardrobe malfunctions... OK. I'm not even going to go there.
Let's just say that even though I'm right on track...running 3 Miles all this week...the odds, DAY TWO and Tom Cruise, are definitely against me.
-Nye
Today's Goal: 3.25 (on treadmill)
Hot Beat For Today's Training Montage: Sexyback - Justin Timberlake (Sorry. But this song is responsible for getting me to this point. He deserves the double mention...)
Oh..and all jokes aside...
R.I.P. Steve Irwin. I really liked that guy.
Day Before Yesterday's Goal Met?: Hell yes. And my running outfit stayed on.
You couldn't read that without seeing Debbie in that leotard...walking around the dance studio with that big ass stick...could you? And when we got to the "right here" part of that quote...you actually SAW/HEARD her bang that stick on the ground...twice. Didn't you?
Me too. I saw it as clearly as I saw myself passing that finish-line.
What I don't think I'm ready for, is the emotion-fest that's about to go down on that day. Women...lots of women will be emotional. Anyone who knows me well knows I can't stand to be around a whole bunch of women. My quota is three. (Not including myself.) If there are more than three women around, I will excuse myself and find some men before the Borg assimilates. I'm not sure why, but I've always been that way, which is why you will NOT see me hanging around a gaggle of chicks cooing over lipgloss. It won't happen. I just think more than three women in the same space is just...too fucking much...especially when sometimes I can't even stand my own estrogen. And speaking of which...
I also don't think I paid close attention to the date. Because on the day of the race, there's a good possibility I'll be on...DAY TWO.
Women: DAY TWO goes without saying. You know what it means. Tea,pain-killers, heating pad, LifeTime television, a couch, and the "leave me the fuck alone" force field that even wild animals observe.
Men: If you are still with me after the mere insinuation that DAY TWO might mean what you THINK it means,(it does, not only are you a trooper, but you are prime husband material. You're the kind that slides the Godiva near the couch and backs away slowly...aren't you? Awww..she's so damn lucky.
Now, for the men and the post-menopausal women who are reading this and don't remember (Ma...no laughing), just so you know, there are are small children who wouldn't be able to survive the physical and psychological chaos of DAY TWO.
It's not just about feeling like...(Think Brad Pitt in "Interview With A Vampire" right after Tom Cruise drained him of almost all the blood in his body. Did you see the way Brad was just flappin' around, eyes rolled all back in his head, wishing for death? Now, as a side note, remember when Tom Cruise just sat there and watched Brad, unaffected like "...damn. That's fucked up. Need some help?" Yeah, that's how we see anyone in the room WITHOUT a box of Godiva. And as soon as we get some blood back in our bodies...we are going to try to kill you. So you should just leave...or give up the chocolate.)
With this said, the idea of running on DAY TWO makes me wants to hum "Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee..", dig in to some triple chocolate thing and get my Valerie Bertinelli on. And given my wardrobe malfunctions... OK. I'm not even going to go there.
Let's just say that even though I'm right on track...running 3 Miles all this week...the odds, DAY TWO and Tom Cruise, are definitely against me.
-Nye
Today's Goal: 3.25 (on treadmill)
Hot Beat For Today's Training Montage: Sexyback - Justin Timberlake (Sorry. But this song is responsible for getting me to this point. He deserves the double mention...)
Oh..and all jokes aside...
R.I.P. Steve Irwin. I really liked that guy.
Friday, September 01, 2006
BA-DE-AH! SAY THAT YOU REMEMBER...
"And like um...hey. Period. Point blank. End of conversation."
-Loretta
Today's Goal Met?: Wanna jump back and kiss myself. HEEEY!
(I apologize for the lack of font changes on this entry. I'm on a Mac tonight and there aren't any font options for Mac...sadly.)
OK. Let's begin.
But first, a big-super-dooky shout out to my "younger" (can't call her "little" even though she is..) sister Shervon.
She's moving out on her own for the first time.
(A few words of advice sis... RENT IS REAL. You can borrow my copy
of the movie and sing the title number loud and angry...as I do every time the first of the month lingers near.
"WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY...WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY...WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY...LAST YEARS RENT! THIS YEAR'S RENT!
NEXT YEAR'S RENT!...RENT! RENT! RENT! RENT! RENT!...WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY RENT!...CUZ EVERYTHING IS REEEEEEENT!!"
..and then you'll pay it. And you'll bitch about it. But before you go..dig in Mommy's deep freezer and stuff as much as you can in a backpack without looking suspicious. Get them can goods too girl. Start from the back of the cabinet and move all the french cut string beans to the front. Don't think and don't ask any questions!!...for the love of Sharpton's Press-n-Curl, just do it!!)
So after PF Aaron took me out to lunch today, (and since neither of us know how to say, "None for me, thanks. I've got to get back to work"), we had not one, but two Caprihina's. (Shout out to Brazilians. Sugar, cachaca and lime. Brilliant.) Glassy eyed and feeling like a Nina Simone tune, overheard in Paris (gotta be a good feeling, huh?), I head back to the job...breathing fire, yet fully aware I've got to kick out three miles at least. (Why look back?)
When I return, my fear of getting busted is quickly quelled. Most offices are dark. Just about everyone has already slid down the dinosaur tail screaming "yabba dabba doooo...", but I've still got at least an hour of work to do.
Oh snap.
If they are gone, then the fitness center is probably... (number punch..ring..ring...ring..."Hello. You've reached the Fitness Center. Nobody is here to take..)
Shit.
That's OK. I should run outdoors anyway.
Hop on the first thing smoking back to Spuytin Duyvil, immediately change clothes..and go.
But nothing can be simple with me, can it?
Halfway to the Henry Hudson parkway...I notice my shorts are slowly...slipping down my hips.
Pull em up...keep going...
Slipping ...slipping... eff it. Keep running. Hold em up.
I get sudden flashbacks of a very embarrassing moment in fourth grade, which I'll keep to myself, but it's scarred me.
Despite my wardrobe malfunction, I manage to make it further than I've ever run before. I ran for 45 minutes, and though I couldn't track my actual mileage, 45 minutes in hilly-ass Riverdale is impressive. I'd give myself at least 3 MILES.* (Give or take a tick-tock move or two while the light changed).
Returning home, I'm feeling good. The weather is changing and it's ...SEPTEMBER. Gotta play it.
This reminded me of Loretta. She's responsible for my love of music and every Friday night, it was "album" night.
Earth, Wind and Fire. Marvin Gaye, The Stylistics, The Manhattans, Teddy P, Luther, Natalie Cole, Chaka Khan, and that weird African song you'd play on Ester Satterfield's album...all in all... good shit.
There's nothing else to that. Just wanted to say thanks for the home training Mom. I know the difference between good music and bad thanks to you. But Shervon, seriously. Get them canned goods. Seriously.
Have a great holiday everyone...
-Nye
Hot Beat for Today's Training Montage: September -E.W.&F / Your The One For Me - D. Train
** Did the most non-scientific measurment on earth...and the distance was two approx 2 miles. I'm still proud. Cheese.
-Loretta
Today's Goal Met?: Wanna jump back and kiss myself. HEEEY!
(I apologize for the lack of font changes on this entry. I'm on a Mac tonight and there aren't any font options for Mac...sadly.)
OK. Let's begin.
But first, a big-super-dooky shout out to my "younger" (can't call her "little" even though she is..) sister Shervon.
She's moving out on her own for the first time.
(A few words of advice sis... RENT IS REAL. You can borrow my copy
of the movie and sing the title number loud and angry...as I do every time the first of the month lingers near.
"WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY...WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY...WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY...LAST YEARS RENT! THIS YEAR'S RENT!
NEXT YEAR'S RENT!...RENT! RENT! RENT! RENT! RENT!...WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY RENT!...CUZ EVERYTHING IS REEEEEEENT!!"
..and then you'll pay it. And you'll bitch about it. But before you go..dig in Mommy's deep freezer and stuff as much as you can in a backpack without looking suspicious. Get them can goods too girl. Start from the back of the cabinet and move all the french cut string beans to the front. Don't think and don't ask any questions!!...for the love of Sharpton's Press-n-Curl, just do it!!)
So after PF Aaron took me out to lunch today, (and since neither of us know how to say, "None for me, thanks. I've got to get back to work"), we had not one, but two Caprihina's. (Shout out to Brazilians. Sugar, cachaca and lime. Brilliant.) Glassy eyed and feeling like a Nina Simone tune, overheard in Paris (gotta be a good feeling, huh?), I head back to the job...breathing fire, yet fully aware I've got to kick out three miles at least. (Why look back?)
When I return, my fear of getting busted is quickly quelled. Most offices are dark. Just about everyone has already slid down the dinosaur tail screaming "yabba dabba doooo...", but I've still got at least an hour of work to do.
Oh snap.
If they are gone, then the fitness center is probably... (number punch..ring..ring...ring..."Hello. You've reached the Fitness Center. Nobody is here to take..)
Shit.
That's OK. I should run outdoors anyway.
Hop on the first thing smoking back to Spuytin Duyvil, immediately change clothes..and go.
But nothing can be simple with me, can it?
Halfway to the Henry Hudson parkway...I notice my shorts are slowly...slipping down my hips.
Pull em up...keep going...
Slipping ...slipping... eff it. Keep running. Hold em up.
I get sudden flashbacks of a very embarrassing moment in fourth grade, which I'll keep to myself, but it's scarred me.
Despite my wardrobe malfunction, I manage to make it further than I've ever run before. I ran for 45 minutes, and though I couldn't track my actual mileage, 45 minutes in hilly-ass Riverdale is impressive. I'd give myself at least 3 MILES.* (Give or take a tick-tock move or two while the light changed).
Returning home, I'm feeling good. The weather is changing and it's ...SEPTEMBER. Gotta play it.
This reminded me of Loretta. She's responsible for my love of music and every Friday night, it was "album" night.
Earth, Wind and Fire. Marvin Gaye, The Stylistics, The Manhattans, Teddy P, Luther, Natalie Cole, Chaka Khan, and that weird African song you'd play on Ester Satterfield's album...all in all... good shit.
There's nothing else to that. Just wanted to say thanks for the home training Mom. I know the difference between good music and bad thanks to you. But Shervon, seriously. Get them canned goods. Seriously.
Have a great holiday everyone...
-Nye
Hot Beat for Today's Training Montage: September -E.W.&F / Your The One For Me - D. Train
** Did the most non-scientific measurment on earth...and the distance was two approx 2 miles. I'm still proud. Cheese.
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