Give It Up For Amenorrhea

See all these awesome running shoes? Well, I've actually worn a pair of them twice this week.

What is that you say? Impossible? Gina, doesn't run... Well, you're wrong.

As of Saturday, I'm addicted to running. Yep. Addicted. So on Sunday, I laced up my running shoes (Mizunos) for the first time in... well, I'll just say it's been a long time... and ran. Sure, I could only actually run a few minutes at a time before I started sucking wind and had to walk. But hey, at least was doing something.

The impetus for this magical transformation was an article I read in GQ. It was written by a newspaper reporter who hated his job so much that he faced his ill content by developing a raging running habit. Only it was so bad that it really was detrimental to him. (Hence the word "addiction".) He was even sneaking off to do it so his wife wouldn't hassle him about running several times a day.

During this addiction his resting heart rate and body fat percentage plummeted, and he became faster (in his mid-30s) and stronger than he'd been in his whole life. Not too shabby. In the end he was debilitated by a knee injury and was forced to stop. But he did eventually leave the paper for a new gig. (And apparently got a freelance assignment from GQ.)

So what's the best way to convince myself to start running? Just say I'm addicted to it. If I'm addicted, then I can't make excuses because, well... I'm addicted and addicts have to have their drug.

The benefits will be many. In addition to a stronger heart and body, I hope that my resting heart rate and body fat lowers while my stamina and strength increases.

As a special bonus, I'm hoping that my new leaner, meaner body results in amenorrhea, not an uncommon problem among (elite) women runners. And you know how awesome that would be!

P.S. Cassady is a camera whore.

Go Steers, Yee-HAW!

Last night I went to the Longhorn Rodeo at U.S. Bank Arena.

Let's just say it's no PBR. (That's Professional Bull Riding for you city folk.)

I went to the PBR last year and it was awesome. I was instantly a huge fan, especially after interviewing one of the riders and having someone to root for.

But the Longhorn Rodeo didn't have nearly the talent of riders the PBR did, and they had lots of dog and pony show stuff that was annoying to sit through. Like a really annoying clown and tiedown roping, which was kind of disturbing after this little calf got his leg lassoed and started wailing to get away. So I cheered for the steers and the calves.

Still, Saturday at the Rodeo... Good times.

Festivus for the Rest of Us

George Costanza's boss hangs out at O'Bryon's.

I saw Mr. Kruger last night - K-UGER! Like one of those old time car horns - hanging out at the bar, playing the juke box and, in festivus tradition, challenging people to feats of strength. Or just drinking at the bar and playing the juke box.

He had some younger, lacky kid with him. And I saw him chatting up what appeared to be a Seinfeld fan, but other than that, Mr. Kruger was pretty low key. Had I had my camera, I would have taken my picture with him. You know, for the blog.

A quick IMBD searchs shows that Kruger is from Cincinnati and has been in just about everything, from Seinfeld to Silence of the Lambs, usually playing cops and generals.

K-UGER!

The Florence Mall, Y'All

Just call me Tiffany.

Last night I learned that the dance studio where I take lessons will be participating in the Dance for Heart for the American Heart Association. My tap class will be the only adult class dancing. The rest will be the cute little kids and teens.

Very cool, I thought. Until I learned that it's at the mall. As in the Florence Mall.

How humiliating.

What's worse is because I didn't go to class last week as they started making adjustments for the new song and missing people, my line spot changed.

So when I used to be in back, now I'm in front. When I used to shuffle left, now I shuffle right. When I used to start second, now I start first. Everything about the dance I've practiced over the last few months is now reversed, and I have three weeks to learn it again to not make an ass out of myself. (Which is impossible because no matter how well you dance or how many steps you nail, it's still dancing at the mall!)

And I'm sure my neighbors are thrilled to hear my tap shoes ringing against the tile.

Friday the 13th

Today I had my first $110 lunch. Not including tip.

Jen and I had three courses (almost) at Jean-Robert at Pigall's. Last month Jean-Robert started serving lunch on Thursdays and Fridays, affording people (like me) the opportunity to eat at a four-star restaurant with a little less severe price tag.

We both had wine (I'd recommend the Riesling). Jen had the rock shrimp and sea scallops while I got the warm goat cheese with dried fruit and the baked chicken. And we shared some sort of apple desert with cappuccino.

Sort of sounds like we were on a date...

But what I'll most remember from the $110 lunch had nothing to do with the food.

First, Jen found a cat hair in her rock fish, which we guessed was probably from the waiter's shirt.

Second, one of the hosts dropped a plate, shattering it by the table next to us and also shattering the illusion (as with the cat hair) that jacket required, four-star restaurants are pristine beyond reproach. I was even a little nervous going in... Unsure of what fork to use, when to tip, what to order - basically of showing my blue collar roots.

And the third was another host we met who told us that Hamburger Mary's is changing its name and won't be affiliated with the chain anymore; that Phillip Seymour Hoffman better win the Best Actor Oscar for his performance as Truman Capote; and that Brokeback Mountain isn't nearly as good as everyone keeps saying it is.

"It's all mountains and rivers and scenery," he said.

On our way out he and I discussed the differences between the book In Cold Blood and the movie Capote. Jen confessed to never having read the book.

While crossing the street on her way to get the book tonight, she got hit by a car. A minivan, of course. Thankfully she wasn't hurt, but it knocked her back and scared her. I told her to get the book and head home ASAP.

It's Friday the 13th, after all.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
— Robert Frost

A Resolution... of Sorts

I have no intention of becoming a better person this year.

No weight to lose. No catching up with long lost friends (Ok, maybe one). No ambition to run any marathons, climb any mountains or learn any new skills.

But I did buy this journal.

Though I've kept a real journal for decades (and have piles of old ones filling my dresser), I've been lax over the last few years. So I bought this journal, with one page per day, with the hope that each day I will write something.

No monumental feelings. No petty bitching. Just a one page record. Things like what I did, maybe what time I woke up, what I ate, who I talked to. Small things.

I've been good so far.