January 17, 2014

Adventures in Neti Pots

Once upon a time I rarely got sick. Now it seems that I've beaten my immune system to a measly, ineffectual pulp of white blood cells. It's like my macrophages are just regurgitating what they are supposed to engulf and destroy.

Anyways, 9 days ago I got sick. I ran on consecutive days a 5k, 10k, half-marathon, and marathon. Yes, while sick. I know it's not what one's supposed to do when under the weather, but I paid far too much money to run those races so run them I did, fever and all. None of them were great races given the circumstances, but lo and behold I managed to PR the marathon (I'm not that fast; don't get too excited).

So I can PR a marathon after running 22.4 miles on consecutive days pre-race while being sick. That should be awesome news but what it really means is I now owe to myself to see what I can do with a marathon when NOT sick and on fresh legs.

If you don't know me, let me explain one thing. I don't really like marathons but I've run six of them. I guess I feel like I have something to prove. Heaven help me if I think I need to do an Ironman.

Anyways, back to the neti pots. For 9 days I've been dealing with this ghastly head cold and a transient (thank goodness) fever. And for 9 days my brother has been swearing that neti pots are the way to go to give yourself a few good hours of breathing.  I purchase a porcelain neti pot from my local pharmacy and head home to try it. I boil and cool some water so as to avoid putting any amoeba in my sinus and perhaps by proxy, my brain.

Lesson 1: cool water to excess. What felt fine pouring over my fingers felt like a reign of fire in my nostril.

Then an hour later I try again and immediately the water pours into the back of my throat through my nasopharynx accomplishing nothing. I lean forward a little more and try again, taking deep breaths in and out of my mouth. Nothing happens. I tilt the pot a little more and it starts to flow out the top of the pot and nothing through my nose. Hmm. Try the other side. Same deal. Contact brother. Repeat ad infinitum until pot empty.

My nose is completely obstructed. I basically poured water in and out the same nostril repeatedly achieving nothing so much as a messy sink.
Obviously I'm totally fine with embarrassing myself. 

August 18, 2013

Productivity Champion

I. Am. Awesome.

In case you didn't know.

But don't get me started on the paradox of being awesomely single.

Here are a few snap shots

10 miles on the Huckleberry on Sat; 6 on Sunday
A new place for keys and post!

 Homemade peach liquor
 Bacon and egg cups for brekkie
 Plum tomato marinara x2
 Roasted beets and green peppers
 Ginger martini with candied ginger
I also made beef and corn tacos, nectarine buckle, blueberry-lavendar-coconut ice cream, caponata, roasted spaghetti squash, and stuffed patty-pan squash. I cleaned the house, did laundry (5 loads!), and grocery shopped for the week. I watched Safe House with Ryan Reynolds (swoon! but the movie was meh) last night while enjoy my true love beverage: basil haven martini (triple swoon). 

August 17, 2013

Another Embarrassing Post

I wanted to title this post:

Don't Sweat The Small Stuff On Your Students

but it won't let me use any special font effects in the title.

I chose to go for a quick 7 miles before ICU rounds this morning so that I could squeeze in another 3 after and have 10 in before it got wicked-southern-summer-hot (although it never did but I can't predict the weather and the meteorologists seem a bit off lately). This meant that I went into ICU a little sweaty* (but I did wear my white coat! #dresscode). We decided to remove a patient's IV catheter that had been causing her a bit of distress and it was no longer needed. I am working on said patient's catheter while Student is holding legs to prevent getting my wrists scratched open when I notice a bit of sweat dripping on Student's hand.


Of course I apologize and try to adjust things to eliminate this fiasco of a shenanigan. And of course Student says "oh, it's fine!"


Dear Student, it is not fine that your professor sweats on you. Sincerely, Professor P.

*In fact it was only a little compared to my usual sweat-fest. The weather was unseasonably cool.

June 23, 2013


This happened.

"There are no tricks. Run because you have to. Run because you love it. Run because you want to be fast. Run because you want to be skinny. Run to find some quiet time. Run to sweat. Run to eat. Run to hear your heart pound in your ears. Run because you're a runner. Run because you gotta keep the streak. Run because you don't know why the hell you're running. Run because you fought with your partner. Run because your job is shitty. Run because you got no money. Run for the sunrise. Run for a race. Run because it's impossible. Run because it's easy. Run instead of doing the laundry. Run instead of watching TV. Run because no one else understands. Run because the cool kids do it. Run because you're tired of talking. Run for numbers. Run for feel. Run to prove something. Run because it hurts. Or don't run. If you got something better to do." JEFF EDMONDS 

May 29, 2013

Confession #21

Confession #21: I ate red onions and banana frosting together. On purpose.

It was sort of on purpose. They were on the same plate and they got all mixed together since the icing fell off the cupcake. Rather than waste good onions and icing I decided to eat them together and see if by some crazy chance it would be amazing.

It was not amazing.

May 28, 2013

Confession #20

Confession #20: Instead of running my double, I ate donuts.

I had/have grand plans to start a running group. It's not going well and everyone backed out today, myself included. Part of the reason for the group was to convince me to start running doubles, which I'll need to prepare for my future crazy-person race(s). Instead of running a few miles in the late spring heat with other like-minded individuals, I ate a few donuts; more than making up for the calories I didn't burn. I'm going to chalk it up to carb loading for the half-marathon this weekend so that I don't get too depressed over the whole thing and just finish the bag.

Cathartic Confessions of A Lazy Blogger

Aliteration - one of my favorite types of rhyming. Yes, it is rhyming. If you don't believe me, go back to 6th grade English.

Confession #1: I am in love
Confession #2: It is with a martini

I posted those exact words moments ago (5 minutes according to FB as I type) and already one person per minute has 'liked' my status. I ponder.

Confession #3: I am a bad blogger.

The first rule of blogging (or so I'm told) is to post regularly. My last post was in February 2013 about eating enough for 17 people in one sitting. This has absolutely nothing to do with the current post about my confessions. Which brings me to the second rule of blogging: be consistent. My topics of choice are not consistent to the naked eye, unless that eye is mine. And my eye is always naked.

Confession #4: I don't wear the glasses that were prescribed for me.

That's why my eye is always naked. I bought colored contacts two years ago so I could "try on" green eyes. I could not put them in, even with coaching. #FAIL My freshman year in college I decided I had visual deficits and required glasses. Both my parents needed glasses in college and so I did too...probably. The board was sometimes blurry and I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that for that entire year I ate 600-800 calories a day and ran 1h+ per day. I also thought that maybe by looking smarter I might get asked out more. I was plenty smart (still am), just never got asked out (still don't). Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm TOO smart. Statistically speaking I'm smarter than 99% of the world's population. Or maybe 98%. But seriously, who's counting (I'm totally counting)?

Confession #5: The martini I'm in love with is healthy and totally consistent with the principles of Crossfit.
Confession #6: Confession #5 is a baldface lie.

The martini I'm referencing does have cucumber juice (homemade by yours truly) and lime juice (hand squeezed by yours truly) so that counts as healthy, I'm sure. The liquor to juice ratio is a hefty 3:1. That's got to be some kind of standard. Compared to a shot or whisky on the rocks. There ain't no juice in that bidness. Unless it's a whisky old fashioned. Then you get maybe 100:1.  See, standards.

Confession #7: I'm a terrible liar.

This is why Confession #6 had to promptly follow Confession #5. If I try to lie, you will know. I'm terrible at it. I have also been told I'm honest to a fault. Bastard.

Confession #8: I don't know what a "sprig" is and I am too lazy to look it up.

My beloved martini calls for a sprig of basil. What is a sprig? I don't know. I didn't look it up. I still won't look it up because it doesn't matter since what I've been calling a sprig has been producing a delightful martini.

Confession #9: I hate people.
Confession #10: I miss people.

I know. It doesn't make sense. People annoy me and yet I want to be around them more. Preferably in the company of my beloved martini. A margarita would be an OK substitute and certainly less expensive.

Confession #11: I love running.

I hated running when I started but my goal was to look "like a runner." Guess what? I still don't look like a runner but I enjoy my slow runs out and about and have run 5 marathons to date. Now I have a personal trainer and am trying to get into Crossfit so I can look like a beautiful-fit-woman-that-every man-wants-to-be-with-and-every-woman-wants-to-be. Don't worry, I recognize my delusion and am well-prepared for the fact that I might one day be able to lift a tetraplegic Great Dane over my head, but I still won't be able to attract said man.

Confession #12: I miss my dog.

I have 2 dogs now and they are mine, but they aren't MY DOG. MY DOG is gone and not a day goes by without his memory first in my mind.

Confession #13: I'm writing a book.

It's true! I have all of 3 sentences written! And 3 sentences is the minimum to constitute a paragraph (return to 6th grade English if in doubt (poetic license excepted)). My book writing goes about as well as my blogging. Possibly less so, but to be fair I knew I couldn't start book-writing until I had a real job. I didn't have a real job until mid-2011.

Confession #14: I have spent upwards of $20 on Candy Crush Saga.

This game is fun and infuriating. I am not sure why I have such an obsession.

Confession #15: I read Twilight. All of it.
Confession #16: I read Fifty Shades of Grey. All of it.

Twilight was abysmal. I read it because one of the 2 people I respect most in the world read it. He read it (and hated it) because his wife read it (she loved it). I read Fifty because of all the hype. Everyone knows why you read those books and it has nothing to do with the quality of the written word (which is subpar). I kind of liked the actual plot of the book while hating the main character, Anastasia Steele (I had to Google the book to remember her name).

Confession #17: I didn't really READ Fifty Shades of Grey. All of it.

I listened to it on Audible.com which made for really entertaining running. The ending was read in a baby voice and I thought I was going to die from the horror of it. I did not.

Confession #18: I lose faith in humanity when I see a spelling or grammatical error that clearly was not a typo.

It's true. Spelling and grammar are important. Even on Facebook.

Confession #19: The fact that I made it to first chair bassoon all-state orchestra in 1998 was an accident.

I don't know what happened, but the day of the audition, which was blind, I totally rocked it. I played better than I have in my entire life - except for one day in practice in high school I was late for class and had just put the reed to my lips when my solo started. I rocked it that day too. When I went to Appalachain or wherever it was in the NC mountains for the weekend of musical torture mastery, I gave away all my solos to the second chair bassoonist. The only other thing I remember vividly about the weekend (aside from hating it) was the first oboe - her name was Wendy and she was uber skinny, nerdy, and a bit snooty. I liked her but she would not be my friend because I was not as adept at double reeds.

That is all the confessions for the evening. I feel bad about stopping at #19 but that is just the way it is tonight.

February 11, 2013

Skinny girl gone rogue

I'm thinking of renaming my blog to the above title. Why? Let me tell you...

I'm not a big person. I'm short, on the petite side, and I don't weigh a whole lot (but definitely don't have abs of steel - big-time sad face over here - and you're about to read why).  But I have pretty much no self control when it comes to having tempting foods in my house.

I turn into a self that I simply call The Fat Girl.

I eat ALL of the "bad" food. I mean all of it. It's a threat to my sanity waistline (I don't even know which of those is more proper to scratch out); as long as I know it's there, it haunts me. I must eat it so that it's gone and I can get back to being the healthy, compulsive, obsessive crazy person that I am. It's borderline hilarious the precautions I take to try and train myself into better food-related behavior and then what I do to deliberately sabotage these efforts (and yes, I have such deep food issues (that's another story) that I actually get to claim to have a "relationship with food" and "food behaviors" and "food issues").

For example, the other day I ordered pizza (OMG I LOVE pizza!!!). I won't divulge the whole Fatty-McFatterson-pizza-ordering-and-eating-the-moment-it-arrives story just yet but I will tell you that with the leftovers (this is rare!) I had the brilliant, self-control-engaged plan to freeze 2 slices each in freezer bags. The concept being, obviously, that when I wanted pizza I would reheat just the 2 slices (thin crust, light cheese, lotsa veggies...still fatty) and have it with a big salad to make a somewhat balanced meal. Sounds perfect, right?

Well, The Fat Girl is so much smarter than those damn freezer bags. When she got the hankering for pizza tonight after a crap day (totally craptastic run - knee pain, back pain, ankle pain - WTF 33 is NOT that old!?!), she attempted to be reasonable and reheat 2 slices along with a big side of veggies. And then she reheated 2 more. And then she reheated 2 more. And so the story goes until the leftovers were no more. The Fat Girl's sister calls and is all Braggy McShowOffPants about having run 6 miles in 50 minutes. OH yeah! Well I just ate one piece of pizza for each of those miles Biotch (which, hilariously wants to autocorrect to biotech)!

And then I ate the 3 chocolate chip cookies that didn't fit in the gift bag.

Cause that's how The Fat Girl rolls.