my triumphant return

"Triumphant" may be overstepping a bit, since I'm so sore I can barely walk after my walk. And "return" might be jumping the gun, since I've only gone on three walks since Thursday. I think the real issue here is that this is as much as I can see of my feet, and I have three months to go. Also, my belly appears to be lopsided. Is the baby's bum just sticking out a little on the right? Or am I going to have one of those wonky bellies that I've seen on a few pregnant ladies?

The scoop is: I haven't laced up for a power walk (read: pregnant waddle) since before Hawaii. At my last appointment, the doctor commented on the size of baby, noting that he seems to already be over a pound. I think this was her subtle mallet to the head way of saying "Hey Jess, move yo ass."

When I finally dragged myself out there at about 6:30 on Thursday morning, my first thought was, Man, this is nice. It was a beautiful temperature, a deserted street, and the sun was just peeking over the hills near our complex. Fast forward 1/4 mile, and I'm about as strained as any one of these

It's taking a lot of angry Joan Jett and buoyant MGMT (<----I'm 110% positive that music video is meant to be enjoyed while under the influence of heavy narcotics...) to propel me in a semi-forwardly direction. 

When all is said and done, it is a nice way to start my day. I came up with over a month's worth of excuses to weasel out of exercising after work, so 6:30 in the a.m. is my remaining option. I know if I don't find my groove before the true heat of summer begins (already starting...I'm going to die.) then I'll somehow work in some concern over heat stroke to justify not getting out there. And anyway, if I don't concentrate on how a 4 degree incline is making me sweaty, or that my shadow profile is looking like Alfred Hitchcock's, it really is a serene piece of time for myself.

Sidenote, I just went to go wake Sean up for work, and as he was giving me a hug he commented that "hugging [you] is taking up more of the real estate in my arms." Ah.

here's your 'grammed proof (from yesterday) of my belly's real estate. 26 weeeeeeeeks

should auld resolutions be forgot and never brought to mind?

if my history is any indication: yep.

But hear, hear. Fresh year, fresh delusions. Let's try again shall we? The Jessie of 2013 hereby cements these resolutions into blogdom, to be thrown in her face if(when) they haven't been accomplished by this time 2014. Please note that my resolutions and Jordan's resolutions align on a couple of occasions. She doesn't know yet but she's gonna find out.

1. Exercise. Ew.
You know how I feel about it.. What you don't know is I've been on exercise sabbatical for about two months. A sabbatical? yes. Because it was a distinguished leave of absence while I daintily *stuffed my face* over the holidays thereby ensuring maximum weight gain. Efficient and methodical-like.

On January 2nd I rededicated myself to physical pain and anguish and suffering and drama, but this go-'round I'm wising up. I found myself hating running with every fiber of my body mass index, and getting frustrated at my utter inability to get accustomed to the awful or to even noticeably progress (unless we're allowing not  dry heaving at the stop light 1/8 mile from my home to be "progress"). This made it oh so easy to give up and not look back for two months. So, I'm lowering the bar. Yes lowering. We, my limited athleticism and I, have decided that power walking for half an hour is more our speed. And yep, I look as ridiculous as the term "power walking" sounds. I'm starting here and working my way up the intensity and duration chain. The last of the Jordanweight must depart from its long-time home of Jessie-thighs&belly. Commence eviction.

2. Potty train.
Think about potty training.
Let the phantom menace of the idea of potty training linger on some remote precipice in the sub-subconscious.
Fine.


3. Cut the Crap.
I've already been trying to eat cleaner, and rawer and fresher too. This is not a new new year's resolution. My Achilles are sweets of any variety but I stand immovably firm on never ever ever not on your life buying any type for this apartment.  I haven't passed this memo to my coworkers, however, who pepper my innocent path to the file room with chocolate roadblocks perched invitingly on their cabinets, or who insist on being thoughtful of each other's birthdays by commemorating the occasion with cake. Who do they think they are? Enablers.

A recent trip to the dentist revealed.....five cavities......Ih, I know. I assured the dentist that I floss frequently (I actually do!!), brush at least twice a day (duh!!) and gargle on occasion. He in turn assured me that I have genetically soft teeth (thanks ancestors) making it super simple for bacteria to mosey on in to my molar crevices but muy difficult for my toothbrush to excavate it all. So, in honor of good health and delicate pearlies, let the detoxing begin. 

4. Binky Wean.
I'm really not looking forward to this one. Not-at-all. Jordan's collection of binkies is the ultimate cure-all and they diffuse pretty much every potentially hazardous situation.

 Crisis: who can say. Probably just found out she doesn't have eyebrows.

Antidote: almighty paci

These, and her family of blankets and boardbooks keep Jordan playing happily in her crib for up to an hour after I hear her first morning chirps. But apparently binkies can adversely affect mouth development, and heck, it's just wouldn't be an aesthetically appealing face accessory by the time she turns 4, and that's about how long I'm anticipating this battle to last. Best get started.

5. Don't be so naive.
I turn a nasty shade of chartreuse every time I happen upon posts about fatty foods and treats written by itsy bitsy tiny bloggers. It's truly not fair. But then I realize: Jess, these ladies probably kick their skinny bottoms working out to maintain and improve their physique (see my commitment to item 1). Or, just as likely, they don't actually eat this food that they've photographed. They take this picture, so as to demonstrate to their followers that "they're just like us!", then savor the idea of the flavor, and pull it up on their phones whenever they get an urge to binge. But really, they only consume zucchini and the occasional tofu nugget (see my commitment to item 3).

6. Don't let fame and glory go to your head
even if, thanks to Grace, checking yesterday's stats immediately triggers the Chariots of Fire theme song in my brain and made me feel like this

all day. (I've never seen this movie, featuring Cher, but the poster is the first thing that pops into my head when I think "stoked.")

Rest assured, please, that my head is not in danger of being inflated. I have a husband who inadvertently keeps my grounded. When I was bubbling over about pageviews yesterday, Sean responded, "That's awesome! You seem really excited. I guess I can tell you now that sometimes, when you would get down about your traffic, I would refresh you blog page like 20 times."
And then I think about all those times I only got 24 pageviews.

This concludes my 2013 goals. An ambitious year, surely. The fact that I'm posting resolutions no less than 9 days after the commencement of 2013 should tell you something of my impetus as it stands now, but hey, a girl can change. What else are new years for?

That'd be the natural progression of time, Jess.

It's About that Time

You know the one. It's the holidays, so I'm thinking I'm not the only one double-fisting peppermint bark and ginger cookies right? *cricket* Midway into the season I have to take a long, hard, painful look in the mirror and reassess, regroup, and consequently redouble my efforts to live a sat-fat-free lifestyle.

Here I go again on my own...

I would finish that isolationist lyric were dieting and/or healthy eating the only road I've ever known. But in my belly of bellies I must admit to having known -quite recently in fact - roads constructed of eggrolls; roads paved in German Chocolate cake; roads embellished with toasty dip touting spinach and artichokes as the main ingredients, when one forbidden, irresistible taste will confirm beyond any doubt shadow that they are actually sour cream and mayonnaise. I guess Sour Cream-Mayonnaise-HeartAttack Dip doesn't have the same appealing ring. But clogged arteries never tasted so good.

My place of business this time of year is fraught with the aromas of my coworkers' baking endeavors; our brokers' efforts to buy our affection with chocolate (I can't decide if it's working yet....maybe one more 4 pound box of See's please?); Christmas cookie exchanges; attempts on my life via overeating.

Basically, this has been me:

I'm the duck.

But let's consider:
 

a) Healthy Roasted Zucchini  

• zucchini: 36 calories for a whole cup. throw in cancer prevention and cholesterol lowering agent. 
• olive oil to your taste: bolsters immune system
• kosher salt to your taste: in proper doses, good for blood cell and vessel preservation
• ground black pepper to your taste: improves digestion

4 measly ingredients popped in oven at 450° for ten minutes, turning once to cook evenly = scrumptious, healthful, low-cal, Jordan-approved snack (as evidenced by her signed "PLEASE" belly-rub for seconds and thirds).

but look at this and tell me truthfully that you're not dabbing drool out of your lap:

b) Not Healthy Chewy Ginger Cookies

• 2 1/4 cups all purpose flour: starch, starch, starchity 
• 2 tsp. ground ginger: ok alright, a natural remedy for colds 
• 1 tsp. baking soda: um, when mixed with vinegar it's a good cleaning agent?
• 1 tsp. ground cinnamon: oh look, more health boosters in this recipe - antioxidants!
• 1/2 tsp. ground cloves: hey now, this recipe is lookin' up - antioxidant and anti-inflammatory!
• 1/4 tsp. salt: not so much that it'd hurt anybody
• 3/4 cup butter, softened: (wa, wa, waaaa)
• 1 cup white sugar: plummeting downhill at breakneck speed...
• 1 egg: trying to redeem the recipe...
• 1 Tbsp water: no harm, no foul
• 1/4 cup molasses: better than sugar or corn syrup, worse than chia seeds or green beans
• 2 Tbsp. white sugar for later: kick this recipe while it's down

If you beat the butter and sugar until fluffy, then add the egg, water and molasses, followed gradually by all the dry ingredients sifted together, you'll get delicious cookie dough which you must roll into balls and douse repeatedly with the 2 tablespoons of sugar (which in my case, turned into like 1/2 cup of sugar). Then you should bake them in an oven at 350° for ten minutes. 

 

Then, you should do what Sean does and pretend not to be interested and wait until I leave to put the laundry in the dryer then STUFF YOUR FACE. When questioned about it, just look at me and whimper "They taste like Christmas..."

So truthfully, if you were me, what would you choose? Wouldn't you concede that there's merit to both? For right now, I must choose the path of most resistance in recipe A. But at least it's still tasty, it's just not a ginger cookie damn it.

If you need me, I'll be the one in the middle, except Mickey-Sean will be splitting a zucchini into thirds, not a piece of carb-loaded bread, thank you. And if you've seen Mickey and the Beanstalk, then you know I'll eventually go mad with hunger and try to spear a live cow with my fork.

Running on Empty

Alright. I need to talk to you guys about exercise. It hurts me bad. The thing with exercise is the mental game is just as horrible as the physical anguish. Allll day I sit in my cubicle and my brain casts around for things that could occupy my time between 5:05 when I walk into my apartment and 5:45 when my husband and baby walk into my apartment. I know there's a good solid 40 minutes there which would be perfectly utilized by pounding the pavement in some form of physical exertion. But....oh but shouldn't I alphabetize Jordan's expansive library that she might find the book she needs more easily? or perhaps I could call the President and discuss with him the secession of Texas? how about recounting all the times I wore my older brother's button-up shirts when I was homeschooled? All preferable options to running.

But then there's my conscience. She's sleek and fit. She looks like this

She talks a good game about how much better I'll feel after a run; how it only takes a few runs to get into the swing of exercising; how attainable a perfect body is. She's obnoxious.

Then my running self looks like this

and feels like this.

And she's pretty persuasive too. She reminds me that there are chocolate chips in the pantry, and that I didn't skimp and get the off-brand this time. There are real Nestle's in there.

All 26 minutes of my run, my Monster running self bargains with my Aeon Flux alter ego conscience. Runner says "Ok, at this corner *huff, huff* I get to take *dry heave* a breather" and Conscience silkily reasons, "You know you've only been on a decline since you started running 95 seconds ago." They have some friendly banter while my legs carry my body reluctantly and spasmodically forward until we all reach

The Greatest Hill That Ever Was

sometimes referred to as

The Cliffs of Insanity

In reality it only takes 62 Mississippis (or 62 "one-thousands", whichever your counting preference is. Or do you not count like you're in 2nd grade anymore?) to reach the crest of The Greatest Hill That Ever Was. But it might as well be 600 Mississippis, and Alabamas for good measure. Because by the top of it my running self swears to....my running self that she'll never put her through that again. And the only way I get through the 1/4 mile that remains after the G.H.T.E.W. is to promise Running Self chocolate chips and to ignore sleek Conscience's snide remarks.

Thus the reason "exercise" leaves my body in stasis.