Inspiration - UPDATED to note that I'm totally a pack rat, and won't throw out a 16-year-old t-shirt

I graduated from high school too long ago to still be wearing the t-shirt from my junior year, league championship track team. But I cannot throw it out. I WILL NOT throw it out.

So I've photographed the important parts - in case it someday falls apart. The front is above, the back is below. This t-shirt makes me smile.

For Sale

The summer of 2005, after I finished grad school and ended a relationship, but before I moved from the studio I'd lived in for four years to the flat I shared with a roommate, I divested of a lot of stuff. I made a couple hundred dollars off of books from grad school, and I took several loads of stuff to Goodwill. I did both a physical and emotional housecleaning that summer, and it was both healing and lucrative.

When I moved last summer, I did a little house cleaning and a trip or two to Goodwill, and I left a few no-longer-useful items on the street in front of my house. And then my enthusiasm petered out and I spent six months in cluttered chaos. But sometime in the past few weeks, the 23-month long brain fog cleared, the clutter got organized, and I seem to be on another divesting binge. This weekend, I finally sold my old kitchen table. It doesn't fit in my new kitchen, and it's been sitting - disassembled and in pieces - in my apartment since November. I've now got two dozen books listed on Amazon, and a list of things that will be photographed and put on Craigslist this week. And, yes, I'll be leaving a few free items on my sidewalk this week, once it gets late enough that I won't be hassled.

I'm not sure where this burst of energy has come from, but I'm going to run with it for as long as it lasts. I'm hoping the proceeds will fund a few fun summer adventures. Or maybe a long-overdue house warming party. At the very least, my apartment already feels so much more spacious without the table in the way. Now, does anybody want two bamboo floor runners? They're in pretty good condition, but they don't work in this apartment.

There is no me in team

In November, when I started training again, I was very concerned about doing all those long walks alone. I love time to myself, but 13-plus miles worth? I made a few attempts to hook up with an acquaintance who was also training for a winter race, but that didn't work out. I did one walk and a few workouts with a couple of friends, which was nice, but actually slowed me down a little, probably because of the novelty of being able to talk as I walked. But I covered most of that distance - most weeks in excess of 20 miles - by myself. I'm a reasonably entertaining walking partner, but after awhile, my jokes get kind of old. On the plus side, as I walk about in funny clothes early in the morning TALKING TO MYSELF, the city's homeless population pretty much leaves me alone.

To be honest, a few months into my second training cycle, I'm getting kind of lonely. And I'm lacking motivation. I've decided I'd like to join a team. And I'm not quite sure where to go to find one. None of the local running groups seem to have walking contingents, except for the local hashes, and they're not what I need right now.

I have a few friends who walk competitively, and they're wonderful walking partners, and I don't mean to discount them at all, but I want something, well, more. And bigger. And, preferably, with matching t-shirts and pre-race dinners. But I'd settle for a ragtag, mismatched group who want to be part of something larger, better organized, and infinitely more interesting, than their own training plans.

I've been pondering solutions for the past few weeks. Since resuming running isn't in the cards, I could join the Team-in-Training team, but I really can't get behind the fundraising efforts right now. I'm exploring the Nike training team for the Nike Women's Marathon. I didn't get into the race, but they run a weekly, coached training run and walk, and I could just tag along with them.

Or maybe I could start my own team. I have no idea where to start, but that would be really cool.

Age on race day: 33

I didn't give much thought to my Bay to Breakers registration until, after entering all my information, I saw that the automatically populated fields on the registration form listed my age as 33 on race day. I'm not too sure how I feel about double digits, or odd years, but I do know one thing: for my first race of this new year, on my birthday weekend, I need to live it up. Not everyone can say the entire city turns out for a huge race/party that coincides with their birthday, but I can. And I need to take full advantage of it.

I need a costume.

If you don't know about Bay to Breakers, it's an almost 8-mile road race through San Francisco, but most non-elite entrants view it as a daylong party. People dress up (or don't dress at all), prepare elaborate floats to haul along the course (most of which contain some type of rolling bar) and generally engage in typical San Francisco frivolity. And while I intend to race seriously (which probably means not availing myself of any drinks from the curb-side bars or racing kegs) I'd still like to have some fun along the way.

When the topic of racing in costume came up a few months ago, a friend suggested wearing regular race clothes with a sign on them that says "birthday suit." I kind of like that idea, but I'm still thinking about my options. I do this race each year with a few friends, and we call ourselves Team Highlighter because we always wear bright yellow tops and black bottoms. So I've got a color scheme. And I'm sure I've got a ton of options, I just don't know what they are. Anybody have a suggestion?

Assistance in the allergy aisle, please

As I sat in Walgreens last night waiting for my prescription to be filled, I must have heard that announcement over the loudspeaker 10 times. Since CA (and many other states) passed a bunch of laws putting anything with meth-making properties on lockdown in the pharmacies and grocery stores, it can take 20 minutes to get a bottle of decongestant off the shelf.  When I'm sick, I hate to go into the pharmacy, because getting what I need is such a production.

Thankfully, last night's trip only involved sitting down - for about 20 minutes - until my prescription was ready. I am indeed sick again, and not just allergic, though I'm also pretty allergic. And pissed about it too, but putting my energy into being mad won't make me feel better. I will say I've had two head colds and now this virus since Thanksgiving. On top of the nine month mono odyssey. I think it's safe to say I have no immune system.

The nurse practitioner I talked to yesterday was awesome, and she gave me some interesting and out-of-the-realm-of-traditional-medicine ideas. She also wrote a prescription and reviewed my allergy and asthma meds and made sure I would take care of getting better first, before I tried anything else. So I'll be here this weekend, sulking on my couch, while the rest of the city takes advantage of the most beautiful weekend we've had in months. Please wear sunscreen. It's supposed to be bright out there.

Maui on my mind

Taken from the top of a hill somewhere near a Boy Scout camp upcountry.

Trapped

I have some pretty bad allergies. Carry an epi-pen, always have Benadryl on hand, avoid springtime kind of allergies. Spring was in full swing in NY, and it was beautiful. But I was miserable.

I felt lousy, but more than that, I couldn't go outside. I could travel between the house and the car, or the car and whatever destination was on the other end, but that was it. There was no opportunity to walk. No thought of sticking to my training plan. It would have been dangerous. And walking laps around Target on Saturday morning really didn't cut it.

So I lost a whole week of training less than two months before my races. I'm a little unhappy about this, especially since the allergies caused a cold, and I'm not really sure I feel well enough to push myself right now. But the Garmin's charged and I'm hoping to dodge the raindrops for a walk this evening.  On the bright side, I feel pretty well rested, and since spring has already sprung in San Francisco, breathing the mostly pollen-free air has made me feel much better.

A very happy tenant

In my previous apartment, repairs were completed by the landlord. He was not a contractor. He had no real skills. But he repaired everything - without an appointment and without seeking permission before entering our apartments. This is illegal on several levels. When he did need to seek help for work he couldn't pretend to do himself, he hired guys off the streets of the Mission District. None of them were licensed or bonded.

When I got home Sunday night to find water dripping through the light fixture in my bathroom ceiling, I immediately left a message with my property manager. I told him I'd stay home on Monday morning to greet the repair guys. I didn't hear back from him on Monday morning, and just as I was sending a follow-up email, my doorbell rang. It was a contractor - a real, licensed contractor, here to inspect my ceiling.

He worked for about two hours, taking apart the light fixture and tearing holes in the ceiling trying to determine the sight of the leak. But there wasn't a leak, just an overflow from the sink or tub or toilet of the unit above mine.

Problem solved, except for the two holes and missing light fixture in my ceiling. The contractor gave me his contact information (printed on a business card with his license number and everything) and told me to call him if I saw any water falling from the ceiling. He promised to be back with members of his crew by 9 am today to repair the holes.

At 9:15 his crew showed up, and they're working in my bathroom as I type this. They've covered the bathroom in tarps so nothing gets damaged, and they'll clean up after themselves just like they did yesterday. And I'm pretty confident they won't return through my bathroom window to steal all my stuff.

Today, I think I'm the happiest tenant in this city. I even sent my property manager a thank you note.

Photos!

While flying across the country earlier this week, I spent a few hours sorting through the photos of my trip to Hawaii. Since I landed, I've been pretty much trapped indoors due to dangerously high pollen counts, so I organized about three years worth of shots I've taken all over the place. While I'm moaning about my inability to go out and play, I decided I'd relive some fun, pollen-free days. Now please, go stand in the sun for me. I'll be sitting inside. Maybe wearing a face mask until Summer.

 The Golden Gate Bridge at Sunset.

Bubbles floating down from a second story window.

The Grand Canyon at sunrise.

The USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor.

Wiping out on Lake Berryessa.

Not on top of spaghetti

Growing up, it was not unusual to walk into one of my hometown's myriad delis or pizza places and order meatballs. Not on a sub or on a pizza or mixed in with spaghetti, but just plain meatballs, served in a pint container with some sauce. They were usually excellent meatballs. They were quick and easy to eat, and I'm pretty sure they often fueled most of the winter track team.

So I didn't think twice about going into a local Italian place by my office the other day to order a few meatballs. I had leftover spaghetti in my office, and I wanted some meatballs to go with it.

And when I placed my order they looked at me like I'd asked for boiled eyeballs.

First, the woman I ordered from had to ask the manager. Then he had to ask me if I really wanted just meatballs. It took five minutes to figure out how to charge me for them. A line was starting to form. The people in front of me hadn't been served yet. The cashier kept asking if I really wanted only meatballs.

And did I want them cooked, too?

At this point I was getting a little frustrated. I'd just walked four miles of intervals. I'd waited - in my workout gear - for 10 minutes. And I was really hungry.

Yes, I replied, I wanted to those meatballs cooked. Just like they'd be if they were going to be served with spaghetti, BUT WITHOUT THE SPAGHETTI.

"Oh, then do you want some sauce on them?"

At this point I really wasn't sure what to say anymore. Did I walk out empty handed? They were slated to make a $3 profit on these stupid meatballs because they had a $5 minimum on debit card charges, I didn't have any cash, and they were only going to charge me fifty cents a meatball. YES, I WANTED SAUCE ON THEM!

Now I realize I'm not patient when I'm hungry, but really, 15 minutes for four sub-par meatballs? I have learned my lesson and will be making them from scratch. And perhaps if I'm laid off I'll set up a meatball cart outside their store, and make a niche for myself, complete with sauce.

Aspirations

My apartment is a mess these days - piles ready to go to Goodwill in the middle of the floor, laundry hanging to dry in the corner, and just the general disarray as a result of never having fully moved in. I aspire to have an organized home, but I don't really see that I have to ability to follow through on that lately.

I feel like I have a lot of aspirations that are hanging above me these days, close enough to see and smell and almost touch, if I stand on tip-toe and reach my arms painfully high above my head. I've spent the past few weeks thinking about those aspirations, and how I can go from futilely grabbing at them to seizing them.

It started innocently enough, with the goal of going to bed earlier in order to get up and work out several mornings a week. I was spurred to do this because a morning swim or bike ride makes my work day so much more tolerable. I also used to really like early mornings, and the mono took them away from me. I've kept a 9 pm bedtime most days the past few weeks, and I feel awesome when I wake up (sometimes before the alarm!) around 6:15 am. I'm more motivated throughout the day, I get to hit the road or the pool before the crowds swarm, and I'm sleeping really, really well.

How I went from sleeping better to revamping my resume to sending out a bunch of job applications, I'm not entirely sure, but I've been much more motivated in several areas of my life lately. Maybe I was just a little sleep deprived. Maybe the final haze of mono is really finally wearing off. Maybe I'm just annoyed by tripping over stuff in the middle of my floor. But I'm cleaning and organizing and generally getting stuff done.

And in the midst of all this, when my neighbor - yeah, that neighbor, the one who I first met when she showed up at my front door at 1 am to tell me my friend, sister, and I had woken her up - announced that the building was too noisy and she was moving out of her one bedroom apartment, I checked in with our landlord about the rent on her unit, figuring I could talk up the building (which is not nearly as loud as she claimed) among some friends, and perhaps get somebody I know to move in.

And the landlord got back to me with a rent range identical to the one for my much smaller studio. Now, he could have been mistaken, and perhaps he'll get back to me this week with a much higher rent, but if he was correct, I hope to move into the unit across the hall. I've always aspired to live in more than one room, and knowing that it might maybe possibly happen is pretty exciting. And if it doesn't, I'm already on my way to make my little apartment much more livable.

Life, she moves so fast sometimes

This is me with my brother in the summer of 1982.  My mom probably took that photo, and it's one of my favorites.

This is that same brother (I only have one) in the parking lot of the grocery store in 2006, wheeling out all the beer for my dad's surprise birthday party. Brothers are handy for things like that, and also for repairing coffee tables and offering to beat up boys who break your heart. He turned 28 on Tuesday, and even though he doesn't participate in the blogosphere  I'd have been remiss to not give him at least a little shout out for his birthday. I hope his late 20s are as much fun as mine were.

In my Easter bonnet

The week leading up to Easter was incredibly stressful. Between the chaos at work and more rumors of layoffs coming THIS WEEK, or NEXT WEEK, or maybe REALLY SOON, and extra choir rehearsals and four straight days in church, I was a little burnt out.

But on Sunday afternoon, after some time to rest, I got a little dressed up and went to an Easter brunch. I haven't dressed up for this holiday in years. As a little kid, I got a new Easter bonnet every year and a little spring dress to wear for Easter Sunday. Starting in early March, every time my mom and I were someplace that sold Easter hats, we'd browse through the selection and she'd make me try on all the funny ones. I may not have enjoyed this, but I don't look too bad in a wide-brimmed hat. As an adult, I've been known to slip into the ladies' hat section at Macy's in early spring and mug for the mirrors wearing silly hats.

The weather was miserable on Sunday - wet and bone-chillingly cold, so a cute spring dress and straw hat would have been impractical. But I wanted something different. And just before I left my house, I realized I had the perfect hat. And matching scarf. My mom made them a few years ago and I never wear them.

But this ensemble was perfect for Easter, and all my friends wanted to try on the hat. They all commented that it looks a little like a big blue Easter egg. Which is perhaps why I don't wear it every day.

Crystal clear

In grad school, I stopped wearing contacts. The recirculated air in my classrooms really aggravated my eyes, and my constantly-changing prescription thanks to some serious eye strain made glasses just easier. And the early part of this century afforded me options in glasses frames that I'd never had before. I went from boring and ugly frames to fashion-plate eye wear with ease. I even had two pair of glasses for awhile. I've worn only glasses for the past 6 or 7 years, and I'd never thought twice about it. I've got nice frames, terrific sunglasses, and that's that.

Until I started taking yoga classes. And swimming a lot. And then my glasses fell out of my backpack while I was away a few weeks ago, and I wandered around blind (and thankfully escorted) for 12 hours until my glasses were located. Happily, somebody had turned them into lost and found. But the situation could have been much more dire. I no longer have a spare pair of glasses, because another set of lenses is not covered by my insurance and is just too expensive.

The disappearance of my glasses - which fell out of my bag after I'd put on my sunglasses and was rummaging around in my backpack for some other items - got me thinking about maybe shelling out the money for a back-up pair of glasses, something I'd never had to worry about when I wore contacts, but also always had a pair of glasses.

On Saturday, I picked up a few trial pair of disposable contacts from Costco. I don't intend to wear them all the time, but I'd like to sometimes have the option. My prescription definitely needs to be updated, and it's much more obvious with contacts than with my glasses that I'm not seeing as well as I should be. And my right eye was irritated all afternoon. And I felt like I couldn't really see everything as clearly as I usually can. But I figured I'd try a few more times before giving up and getting a second pair of glasses.

This morning was the first real test. I put them in and went swimming. And my eyes weren't uncomfortable. And I could clearly see the lane markers! And the wall! And I could tell that I was approaching the wall before I hit it. Because, without my glasses on,  I have no depth perception. And, just as I was studying the tiles six feet below me on the pool floor, and the gum stuck to one of those tiles, the woman who had been sharing my lane swam in front of me on her way out of the pool. And, because I could see her I stopped short before causing a collision, and I didn't ram my head into her torso. Even if I might have wanted to because she made a really unsafe lane change right in front of me.


And for my next test of amazing eyesight, I will put in my contacts and see if I can finally apply eyeliner in a straight line, instead of looking like a three year old went wild with crayons on my left eye.