Coming up: Settled! But where and how will the chips fall. What will remain when the dust settles with our trials-no more? Will the PTSD set in before Thanksgiving? Honors students bay and bark desperate for the sweet nectar of cidar and dark oblivion of fudge. Kias cry out in fear, as Adella grabs her microwave oven and rushes head first into the Holiday-Games. Will she qualify for Holidaze 2013? Will she even survive the test?? Ebony days call from shopping centers begging the couple to join the ranks of undead price-warriors. Will Andrew and Adella give in the call? And arches down! Adella immobilized by high arches and sniggering pains. Will she go mad at the immobility of "staying off her feet"? Or will she turn (mermaid) tail and hit the water?
All this and more...
ACome Sail A-Weigh to Sunday! -
Lest I remain negligent in my bingeing duties, let me address the weekly weigh-in immediately. I am not sure if I can count this as really a gain, since such a thing would require fixation on precision measurements beyond my scale's capacities. Ok, I'm pretty sure I can't count that. I swear, I swear I gained 0.2 pounds really! Of course, as always, my skepticism lingers about the body fat percentage part, since it seemed to have spanned several significant digits at no predictable correlative pace or trajectory.
So moral being that I'm technically at a healthy weight now and by all accounts, I have a normal body fat percentage. That's a good bit of progress. I set a goal of 145 fairly arbitrarily, so it's not horrible to slow down at this point. Of course a medically prescribed "normal" is not necessarily the same play sheet that my body is reading from. Speaking of playsheets, I somehow managed to mistime my orange barracuda-ing by a week (i.e. the progesterone pills I'm supposed to take two weeks a month... forgot to start them a week ago). I don't count gud sometimes. Maybe I just have a deep-seeded phobia of white flowing pants and beaches...
Anyways, I'm taking them now and the side-effects are mellower this time around. I still have moments of blanching and irritability, but I've found taking the orange pill with a half-glass of wine at night improves the hormonal experience drastically. In other news, that extra 10 pounds continues to serve me well in the athletic department, if not necessarily the sartorial department. Andrew and I went running yesterday, which was lovely and all, and I'll get to that. Apparently, though, I'm getting my curves back a bit, if the shimmy-shimmy-up-up-and-away of my base layer was any indication. When I say "curves" I don't really necessarily mean it in that patronizing euphemistic "real women have curves" kinda of way. I'm still of faint decolletage and Sir Mixalot would not yet get sprung, but the old waist-to-hip ratio is sorting itself out again to my previously prized perfect ratio. This also foretells the future of pants with gaping waist-bands and snug thighs! Oh boy Clothes will never fit, but the way they never fit will evolve, by golly!
Aside from running around like Daisy May with my midriff thoroughly exposed (to my jacket anyways), the run itself was quite nice. Strava - Andrew's GPS training tracker website - had the gall to challenge him to some kind of 10K Challenge. The challenge was pretty simple: run a 10k as fast as you can. Andrew sagaciously abstained from attempting to run at his fastest 5k pace. This indicates significant progress from his competitive pacing mindset of, say, two years ago. Two years ago, I think we would have found him in a puddle on the South Bay Trail oozing peanut butter power bar goo and moaning about cycle-trainers.
This time around, he decided to go slightest less insane and run "at Adella pace." This refers to the fact that I tend to stray forward of him after warming up. So "Adella pace" is something a bit faster than his normal run, but perhaps not otherwise specified. In practice, this meant "run faster than Adella for 10 minutes without realizing that she's actually having to pace with you, stay about on par for a few miles, and eventually back off a bit after getting a stitch in your side." But hey, if I wanted data on myself, I kind of sort of have some strava stats that kind of correlate to my actual pace. I think I must run around 8.5 minute miles right now. given Andrew's stats when we were running together. I can't say if I still speed up near the end of a workout, but I don't think by too much.
And naturally, Andrew celebrated his several "segment" victories and "personal firsts/thirds/seconds" by going to the gym, and then going on a ride.
The remainder of my day was spent undoing all the muscular mumbo jumbo I inflicted on my body earlier in the day with a masochistic massage.
It was all good preparation for today, which is party day. That means hosting the western honor's program winter party. I may survive... if I'm lucky.
Let the Holidaze Commence!
As foreshadowed with the rather subtle "I'll be hosting a party thing with my dad on Sunday" sub-(way banner ad)-text, I have officially been vetted for Holidaze 2013.It's a rigorous process, this vetting. A candidate for Holidaze 2013 must arrive with more than her share of pluck and wit. No number two pencil will suffice. She'd best be steeled for quantum kitchen mechanics, gastrophysics, and catering jiu jitsu. She must also darned well arrive carting her own microwave. Scuffs and scrapes are nothing. Another dent in the crumply kia courtesy of another party host should be considered par for the course. You'd best be prepared to produce fifteen plates of microwaveable hor d'oeurves and still share a soothing smile to the uneasy honors students sidling into the kitchen in search of cider.
Oh cider, immortal elixer of the WWU honor's program. Host-Linda makes a magical potion that is the centerpiece of this party. Every year, a little different. I doubt there has yet to be eye of newt involved, but certainly there's a great deal of witchcraft, shamanistic chaffering with the spirit gods, and a few draughts of balsalmic vinegar. I believe this year's incarnation featured apple, pineapple, lemon juice, spices, cinnamon sticks, red wine vinegar, and orange peels. I believe the annual offering of cider is included in the honor's program admissions agreement.
And fudge. Linda makes the cider. Host-George makes the fudge. It is obscenely decadant and comes in traditional and vegan form. I have no certainty about the exact ingredients, although I suspect they are rich yet simple in quality. It is one of the reasons that a second microwave is necessary. That and the fact that only so many people can fit in the area adjacent to the stove/microwave. AND the fact that the microwave over the stove is virtually impossible to operate without an advanced degree in microwaveology (apparently a JD, or PhD in history will not suffice, but my Dad's MD seems to work alright).
As blatantly augered by my typing this now, I survived! I even got time off for good behavior. I am an official entrant in the holidaze madness. Just in time for round one: Thanksgiving. Compared to the honor's party, I suspect this will be a pretty breezy tournament.
But as I recover from the qualifying exam, I do have a little eensy smattering of work to do before that little tourney, though. I am highly relieved that the slated trial-madness has abated in the face of the improbable settlement of last week!
Hope all are having a lovely last week of Thanksgiving and getting on their armor for the holidaze blitzkrieg!
As foreshadowed with the rather subtle "I'll be hosting a party thing with my dad on Sunday" sub-(way banner ad)-text, I have officially been vetted for Holidaze 2013.It's a rigorous process, this vetting. A candidate for Holidaze 2013 must arrive with more than her share of pluck and wit. No number two pencil will suffice. She'd best be steeled for quantum kitchen mechanics, gastrophysics, and catering jiu jitsu. She must also darned well arrive carting her own microwave. Scuffs and scrapes are nothing. Another dent in the crumply kia courtesy of another party host should be considered par for the course. You'd best be prepared to produce fifteen plates of microwaveable hor d'oeurves and still share a soothing smile to the uneasy honors students sidling into the kitchen in search of cider.
Oh cider, immortal elixer of the WWU honor's program. Host-Linda makes a magical potion that is the centerpiece of this party. Every year, a little different. I doubt there has yet to be eye of newt involved, but certainly there's a great deal of witchcraft, shamanistic chaffering with the spirit gods, and a few draughts of balsalmic vinegar. I believe this year's incarnation featured apple, pineapple, lemon juice, spices, cinnamon sticks, red wine vinegar, and orange peels. I believe the annual offering of cider is included in the honor's program admissions agreement.
And fudge. Linda makes the cider. Host-George makes the fudge. It is obscenely decadant and comes in traditional and vegan form. I have no certainty about the exact ingredients, although I suspect they are rich yet simple in quality. It is one of the reasons that a second microwave is necessary. That and the fact that only so many people can fit in the area adjacent to the stove/microwave. AND the fact that the microwave over the stove is virtually impossible to operate without an advanced degree in microwaveology (apparently a JD, or PhD in history will not suffice, but my Dad's MD seems to work alright).
As blatantly augered by my typing this now, I survived! I even got time off for good behavior. I am an official entrant in the holidaze madness. Just in time for round one: Thanksgiving. Compared to the honor's party, I suspect this will be a pretty breezy tournament.
But as I recover from the qualifying exam, I do have a little eensy smattering of work to do before that little tourney, though. I am highly relieved that the slated trial-madness has abated in the face of the improbable settlement of last week!
Hope all are having a lovely last week of Thanksgiving and getting on their armor for the holidaze blitzkrieg!
Oh yes, I had food and photographed it too!
As you may have garnered from the multiple news stories, food shares, and splatterings of gratitude about yoru social media, yesterday was Thanksgiving in these parts.
Thanksgiving is a nice mild tradition in the Thompson family. It has previously consisted of me and my father, our food experiments and his fancy dinnerware. We can be a smidge chaotic during the cooking process. A few fingers will be sliced across cans. A few ingredients will be entirely different than the recipe requests. And eventually we'll throw recipes to the wind and boldly go where no food has gone before. Andrew makes cameo appearances from time to time, as he did this year. Wisely, he stays away from the side with the sharp things and the fire (and eventually the soapy dishes to be dried). He also wields his phone like an amulet against the evil kitchen demons while in the spottier areas of the home. With these protective measures in place, we all survived quite handily.
Thanksgiving is a nice mild tradition in the Thompson family. It has previously consisted of me and my father, our food experiments and his fancy dinnerware. We can be a smidge chaotic during the cooking process. A few fingers will be sliced across cans. A few ingredients will be entirely different than the recipe requests. And eventually we'll throw recipes to the wind and boldly go where no food has gone before. Andrew makes cameo appearances from time to time, as he did this year. Wisely, he stays away from the side with the sharp things and the fire (and eventually the soapy dishes to be dried). He also wields his phone like an amulet against the evil kitchen demons while in the spottier areas of the home. With these protective measures in place, we all survived quite handily.
After reading some idle blog I'd written, my father mentioned that he had never heard of amaranth or chia, so I decided to work both of those into our meal. My entree was an amaranth polenta ragout. Despite the omission of cilantro (called for in the recipe, but not apparently in our shopping lists), it was a nice southwesterney sort of flavor. And for the chia, I made cranberry-blueberry-chia jam. That needed something to put it on, so I also made beer bread with some killian's irish red and flax/craisins/almonds. The bread was received with ambivalence, but the chia jam was a hit. I added some ceylon cinnamon, apple juice, and ginger, so it has this really nice tart holiday flavor.
And today is the dark Friday of yore. As is my next tradition, it's time to scour the house for things I don't need so I can donate them. Then I shall help my mother do the same. By god, we shall downsize our possessions and purge our material not-so-goods!
And Happy Official Countdown to Christmas madness! May your souls be hearty and hale!
Adios Noninovember -
We've survived several flippant excursion trial madness and congested holiday-lite parties. We sat at a table with turkey. We gave thanks. And I have even purchased my fist "lightening deal" on amazon's flash deals site. No more blinders: it is the holidaze season.
Technically, I begin my observance of Christmas seasonality on the first day of Advent (conveniently contemporaneous with December 1st, and thus every secular advent calendar containing nummy chocolates, this year). When I was younger, Advent really captured that sense of quiet hope and expectation. Not just of teeny milk chocolates, although that was a big draw each night. Through the month, convened before dinner, read a small portion of the little Advent book with appropriate quantity of candles lit. There was an ethereal sense of pending change, expectant rebirth. Aaaaand more chocolate. But chocolate is kind of a metaphor for all that other stuff, right?
Yesterday, we purged our possessions with pinache. You can tell we've been through this Black Friday rehaul several times, now. It was a few hours and several bags, but that beats the entire day and several carloads of Black Fridays, prior.
I haven't mentioned yet, but I have been limping and semi-incapacitated this whole week. There's something awry in my arch that tweaked last Saturday and didn't like my usual treadmill work routine on Monday. So I have been attempting to "stay off of my feet." This hasn't been a roaring success, since I spend most of my time pacing about or standing by default. I've been mixing up moderate physical stir craziness with blatant disregard for my own self-advice. On Thanksgiving, I was on my feet most of the day with the cooking and the cleaning. Yesterday, there was some more of that on-my-feet nonsense. Nonetheless, not walking for seven to eight miles has been an improvement. There's still some occasional "ooooh maybe not better," but I'm hopeful.
In the meantime, I've been far less active, so I've been enjoying getting to eat like a normal person. Ok, not really like a normal person. I'll never quite eat like a normal person. But maybe a normal amount of caloric intake. I'm reverting halfway to old habits, with some minor tweaks from my months as a super-eater. Since I'm planning to try lap swimming (DUN DUN DUUUUUUN, this should be interesting, since it's been over three years since my last splash in the lanes) in lieu of our regular DINK run and workout, I'll be adjusting my diet a bit to compensate for the speedo-ed flailing about to take place.
And then, then it will be Advent and there will be... chocolate.
Technically, I begin my observance of Christmas seasonality on the first day of Advent (conveniently contemporaneous with December 1st, and thus every secular advent calendar containing nummy chocolates, this year). When I was younger, Advent really captured that sense of quiet hope and expectation. Not just of teeny milk chocolates, although that was a big draw each night. Through the month, convened before dinner, read a small portion of the little Advent book with appropriate quantity of candles lit. There was an ethereal sense of pending change, expectant rebirth. Aaaaand more chocolate. But chocolate is kind of a metaphor for all that other stuff, right?
Yesterday, we purged our possessions with pinache. You can tell we've been through this Black Friday rehaul several times, now. It was a few hours and several bags, but that beats the entire day and several carloads of Black Fridays, prior.
I haven't mentioned yet, but I have been limping and semi-incapacitated this whole week. There's something awry in my arch that tweaked last Saturday and didn't like my usual treadmill work routine on Monday. So I have been attempting to "stay off of my feet." This hasn't been a roaring success, since I spend most of my time pacing about or standing by default. I've been mixing up moderate physical stir craziness with blatant disregard for my own self-advice. On Thanksgiving, I was on my feet most of the day with the cooking and the cleaning. Yesterday, there was some more of that on-my-feet nonsense. Nonetheless, not walking for seven to eight miles has been an improvement. There's still some occasional "ooooh maybe not better," but I'm hopeful.
In the meantime, I've been far less active, so I've been enjoying getting to eat like a normal person. Ok, not really like a normal person. I'll never quite eat like a normal person. But maybe a normal amount of caloric intake. I'm reverting halfway to old habits, with some minor tweaks from my months as a super-eater. Since I'm planning to try lap swimming (DUN DUN DUUUUUUN, this should be interesting, since it's been over three years since my last splash in the lanes) in lieu of our regular DINK run and workout, I'll be adjusting my diet a bit to compensate for the speedo-ed flailing about to take place.
And then, then it will be Advent and there will be... chocolate.
Happy Holidaze, Best Wishes to November, and TIME FOR SOCKMAS 2013 TO COMMENCE.
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