So far my true love has gifted me with several lovely intems, but the Sockmas excitement has only begun!
On the Fifth Day of Sockmas, my true love gave to me... snifling date-night(!), melting credit cards, a holly jolly head cold, one sock-saucy simian, and a loris in a pear tree.
As a complement my victorious once-a-decade return to swimming, last night I dog-paddled up from the depths of slimey-sludge into a semblance of presentability for DATE NIGHT with Mr. (W)right. By presentability I mostly mean in pants and drool-minimal. Nothing's too good for my baby!
We tried El Albanil, a Mexican joint across from Taco Time. It was both old and new. While we'd never been to El Albanil before, we had once patronized the IHOP that preceded it. El Albanil did not do much to distance itself from prior days of pancake diplomacy. There's a fresh paint job and some merry mariachi music, but the basic structure remains eternally IHOP. Oh, I guess they do mostly serve Mexican food. More tostadas and less toast and jam, but medium-priced food in an benignly unexceptional greasy spoon is medium-priced food in an benignly unexceptional greasy cuchara.
When Andrew and I first started dating, we snuck up to Bellingham for a race. It was pre-publicity on the relationship, so we capitalized on every one being out of town and shacked up in stealth. Except, we went to IHOP and met my first Bellingham friend, an old classmate who worked there. We'd met a few of Andrew's friends and eaten out together in Seattle, but it was the first mixing of my Bellingham world and the new relationship. While a very strong Sophie did bear hug my sweetie to a few cracked ribs, we otherwise we survived the stronger for it!
And so we returned. The heavy-set senor who called us amigos for a short spell was not quite the same as Sophie, but he did in a pinch. And again, several years later we emerged unscathed (and far less ebulliantly bear hugged) for a much shorter drive to the our cozy home. Where I could, once again, re-submerge in the muck, mire and very warm fleecies for an evening on the couch. But only after splitting our Advent chocolate. Ole!
Let the holidaze madness alight on my head in future times, but for now the holiday lights can nap by the fire just as I plan to soon enough.
On the Sixth Day of Sockmas, my true love gave to me... arch-saving shape-ups, snifling date-night(!), melting credit cards, a holly jolly head cold, one sock-saucy simian, and a loris in a pear tree.
Sketchers shape-ups have to be some of the most misunderstood shoes. I've worn them on and off for years, although I'd stopped due to their emerging scarcity in the wake of that class-action law suit (wait, putting on a pair of shoes won't suddenly make me a fitness model??). I get why they went with the "shape up" angle as hard as they did, but it seems a bit misleading to me. These shoes actually have a purpose, and this purpose is entirely obfuscated in the vasoline haze of half-hearted promises legalistically disavowed in the same breath with which they are made. The rocker bottom shoes (FREEBIRD!!), esepecially with the extra padding in the shape-ups are fantastic for people who are on their feet a lot or those with the sundry of discomforts that come with having high arches. They do put some strains on the knees and ankles for some people, but fortunately I'm not of their number. I guess Sketchers Arthritiplanterortho Shoes doesn't have the same snazzy ring to them though.
Since I am lazy and mostly buy my shoes at Freddy's, I stopped buying them when they weren't easily acquired. But with the recent arch pain, I did remember my affinity for the pair and mused aloud that perhaps they might help. My mom, whom I had turned onto the shoes for her lingering chemo after-effects, brought in a pair of her casual sketchers for me to try out. They have definitely made a difference. I managed to walk and work like normal yesterday. Won't be mad enough to try running necessarily, but I think that acquiring a new pair of these for the office wouldn't be such a horrible idea.
While they are great for my footsies, they are not particularly magical. Not only do they not suddenly amp my fitness level, they also do not cure colds. But time seems to be working on the latter issue, so I will withold my law suits for now. And besides, a slight head cold lends itself well to this weather and to the extraordinarily festive netflix feed on tongue in cheek horrorish stories centering on bad-ass chicks who kill undead things. Midway through my very tardy catch-up with the Buffyverse only ten or fifty years after the fact. And Andrew and I had missed the second of the Resident Evil movies in our Halloween marathon, which is conveniently the only one of the sequels available on Netflix. I know, we are brimming with holiday cheer! I swear, I wore a santa hat in my brain and we totally did eat our Advent truffle (strawberry cream).
At any rate, so grateful to have a generous mom with the right pair of shoes, as I trod on to the weekend and our first slew of official holiday parties.
On the Seventh Day of Sockmas, my true love gave to me... furry feline footsies, arch-saving shape-ups, sniffling date-night(!), melting credit cards, a holly jolly head cold, one sock-saucy simian, and a loris in a pear tree.
One full week down and two full weeks to go before we go mad with noggy noel passions. Having hobbled through to a semblance of functionality motility, I'm not sure I'll be hobbling through a run today. Not that I don't enjoy capering across glaciers in the frozen over remnants of hades, but I think today I may need to nurse my convalescing arch. As you can see, it's still quite spotty. Peradventure the kitties will feel up for a bit of a swim later today. Or maybe they're more cardio-kitties. I am married to Mr. (W)right, so I don't think we're getting through a Saturday without some kind of activity.
The slippers are part and parcel of the amazing amazon gifting binge. They came along with our humidifier and my regular groceries. So, by "gifting" I apparently mean "self-gifting." No, I swear, at least 60% of my "Christmas" shopping has been for other people. Really! Like Andrew. I'm sure he loves seeing my feet warm and feline. Yeah. I'm amazingly selfless, aren't I?
And festive! Why, yesterday I came home arms brimming with light strings and light timers fully intending to decorate our happy home. Turns out that despite the fairly sporadic placement of heavy duty picture nails strewn about walls (and possibly ceilings) our home lacks the little nails and whatnot characteristic of a home that has ever held Christmas lights. Ordinarily, I'd figure some ad hoc way of tying lights into shades and/or pooling them in various corners - possibly just giving up and dedicating all my resources into the trainer and bike that Andrew has left in the corner. I can't tell you how much I want to turn that into "our tree" for the year - an angel on the seat post, ornaments on the frame, and lights on all the spokes! Maybe some piney garlands for the handles.
Normally I would have done something, but I mostly left a half exploded box of lights sitting on the window sill. I call it Deconstructed Xmas and will be charging five-hundred dollars for my new installation.
On the Eighth Day of Sockmas, my true love gave to me... a cardio tiara, furry feline footsies, arch-saving shape-ups, sniffling date-night(!), melting credit cards, a holly jolly head cold, one sock-saucy simian, and a loris in a pear tree.
My Native American name is Dances With Ellipticals...
Our less-pacific weather pattern remained keenly algid under the Saturday sun. This snippy, sassy little cold snap was a good enough pairing with any concerns about my hobbled arch to encourage a full on cardio-queen jaunt to the gym! Oh mmmm heated indoor areas! Oh mmmmmm grunting sweaty men giving birth! Oh mmmmm the possibility of bringing my music without the flailing ear-bud fatalities appurtenant to my usual running.
Yes, first Andrew rose to the ranks of cardio royalty. Now he has brought me along for the (elliptical) ride. Yippee Kayeee, Cardio Peons.
A few lessons learned:
1. Andrew does not do well with elliptical machines that have the moving arms. I'm not going to say anything hugely amiss occurred before he gave up and moved to the treadmill, but Buster Keaton would have been taking notes.
2. My newer, better, less laundry-logged and far pinker heart rate monitor works swimmingly, even when it isn't actively swimming.
3. Follow up: I still have a heart and it appears to still beat.
4. There is little I love more putting on a good playlist and working myself into a trance, regardless of the specifics.
5. Those moving arm things are probably a good idea for me. I think they exist to keep me from full on getting jiggy with the happy tunes in my ear. Not that they didn't stop the occasionally interesting upper body groove or the on-going head-bob.
Other than my disco dance party on the elliptical, or due to it, I gave myself a smashingly wearying workout and cleared out a few dusty nooks in my brain. As the bats fly about in these newly cleared spaces, I've been hatching some very diabolical holiday plans. Beware... oh beware my cardio minions.
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