Ahhhh, Mornings.

This morning, like many mornings, began with the sound of smallish feet thumping down the stairs.

Actually, back up.  The first time the morning started, it ended shortly thereafter with a pillow being chucked at an annoying cat.  Fortunately, Kramer got the message that 6am was not an appropriate time to caterwaul for food and shut up after that.  Ahhhh...another half hour of blissful sleep.

So, the second time the morning began, I awoke to the sound of feet pounding down the stairs.  (Note:  Neither J nor I sets an alarm any more.  No reason to do that - the kiddos are unfailing in their wakeup calls.) 

B got downstairs first, and crawled in bed to snuggle.  It was his turn, after all.  When I asked him if he slept well, he said "yeah, really well!  Except I didn't get to finish a good dream 'cause my alarm went off."  I have to agree, that does kind of suck.  When I asked him what the dream was about, he said he couldn't remember because of the alarm.

So we snuggled for a few minutes, and I started composing a post in my head about how awesome it is to start the day snuggling with a kiddo.  I was thinking about enjoying the quiet moments before the day gets insane, appreciating how fast time is moving and wondering how many times I have left that a kiddo will come straight downstairs to snuggle with me.  I was feeling quite sentimental.

And then the girl came down the stairs.

And then everything went to hell.

Sigh.  Why is it that an almost 5-year-old, who has been taking turns nearly her whole damn life, can so easily forget how the concept of "taking turns" works?  I didn't end up kicking anyone off the bed this time, which I suppose was a win for me.  But J did end up carrying the girl up the stairs for time out in her room; she was screaming and kicking the whole time.  He might have been a bit more sympathetic if she hadn't been so damned adamant about absolutely not wanting to snuggle with or even next to daddy, "only mommy." 

That sentimental mood I referenced above?  The kind that doesn't hit me very often?  Vanished as fast as B's dream when his alarm went off. 

And instead of a post about warm fuzzies, you get a post about a morning that started with tears, snot, and screaming.  And the damn cat waking us up at 6am.  Which is better than the 4:30am schedule he's been on since we got back from vacation.

Welcome friggin' home.

Quote for the Day

I read this on another blog this morning and enjoyed it.  It seemed like a good way to start a rather dreary and chilly day.

I learned this, at least, by my experiment:  that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours…  In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness.  If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost: that is where they should be.  Now put the foundations under them.

Thoreau

Back To Reality

Vacation is over.  Back to the grind.  I'm trying to get organized and figure out what this week holds.  Didn't sleep well last night, woke up with a headache, and things aren't quite clicking along just yet.  I'm hoping it'll get better as the day goes on.

Hoping to get a more substantive post up later today...but at any rate, we're back.  Whew.

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream...

I'm having trouble sleeping tonight, I'm not really sure why. It's been a long time since I've been this awake at midnight and not had caffiene to blame!

I had an interesting dream last night that has been rattling around in my head all day. I'm fairly certain it was inspired by the book I was reading before I went to sleep. I downloaded Roseanne Cash's autobiography from the library before we left for vacation, pretty much on a lark. It turned out to be a good read.

The chapters I finished up with last night were about her personal growth as an artist. She waxed poetic about words and concepts that generally don't get much play in the more logical thinking, pragmatic business crowd I'm often a part of. New age stuff doesn't get much stock in the courtroom, in case you didn't know. Just the facts, ma'am.

In the middle of one of her chapters, she referred to Jung and his apparent statement that people could have up to five "big dreams" in their lifetimes - dreams that signified a change or shift in consciousness or in patterns of thinking. I thought it was a fascinating thought, and it reminded me that I have one of his books at home that I've been meaning to read for ... well, several years now. May need to pick it up when I get back home. Anyway. She applied that statemenet to a dream that she had at one point that allowed her to move on to a new phase in her life.

I don't think my dream last night was anything of the sort, although it was still riddled with enough typical "dream" symbolism that it stayed with me after I awoke this morning. I dreamt of finding additional rooms in our house that had been there all along but I had somehow missed. Empty space to fill in a house that could certainly use it.

Now, when I say dream symbolism? You know I'm not talking about predicting the future here, right? Just sayin.

There are, however, symbols that show up in dreams that have been interpreted over time to mean certain things - classic test anxiety dreams, dreams of teeth falling out equating to an insecurity in personal appearance, tornados suggesting internal turmoil, among many others.

Anyway, I could be totally wrong, but I think the house is often symbolic of the self, with different rooms being symbolic of different aspects of your personality or pieces of your life. Taken a step further, dreaming of discovering a new room in your house is sometimes equated with finding new aspects of your personality, new traits or talents, exploration, things in that vein.

I'm fairly certain that the dream came from the book - she has lived a very different life from me, one dedicated to artistic pursuits, with music burned into her soul from the beginning. But more than that, she has a love of words, and her life's work is devoted to teasing out the right words, the right lyrics, the right phrase. How cool is that?

I've always loved words. God knows I use enough of them. But sometimes in the cacophony of everyday life, it's easy to forget how much I truly enjoy them, how awe inspiring it can be to read something that reshapes the way you look at life. Or a phrase that literally sings to you from the page. Phrases that are so amazing that they make you almost sad, because how could anyone ever write it better than that? I'm fairly certain the dream related to a love of words, and the amazement words sometimes brings me.

Or it could just mean I feel like we need a bigger house. Who knows.

Anyway, I just feel at loose ends tonight, and I've spent the evening with words, in one form or another. Apparently my brain needed to throw everything together and jumble it up and spit it back out before I could sleep. Fabulous. I'm sure I'll be thanking my brain in the morning when I read back over this and wonder what the hell I was thinking. Oh well. My space, my words.

Quick Recap...

OK, so mostly hiatus.

A few quick bullets:
* Traveling with a 4.5 year old and a 6 year old is infinitely easier than traveling with younger kiddos. It's maybe no less exhausting, but certainly less frustrating.
* No matter how much I try to take pictures, I'm just not the picture taking type.
* I slept for nearly 10 hours last night.
* The kiddos have learned about all sorts of new transportation on this trip: planes, trains, autobmobiles, monorails, and boats!
* Is it a just a pop culture thing that whenever someone says "monorail," I automatically hear the citizens of Springfield break into the "monorail" chant?
* Up today: Final day at Magic Kingdom. There's still quite a bit we haven't seen.
* The girl likes roller coasters. Who knew.
* The boy likes nearly everything. Big surprise.
* Coolest ride so far? No idea. The Trial Track at Epcot was wayyyy cool because of the speed you get on the course, but the Thunder Mountain roller coaster at the Magic Kingdom was also pretty cool. I'm sure we're missing a bunch of stuff, but whatever.

Hiatus...

Spring break. Touch and go Internet. Tired kids. Send wine.
Back next week.

Tired Legs, Crazy Schedule

Man. What a weekend.

This morning, I got up to a house that was empty. J had to work, the kiddos spent the night out, and the only thing on my agenda was a 7 mile run and A's t-ball practice at 1. I managed to finally drag my butt out of the house around 9 and hit the trail around the lake.

The first mile was HARD. At first, I wondered if maybe I still wasn't recovered from the LR Half, and that may be a little valid. But then I thought about how busy yesterday was, and realized that my legs should absolutely be tired. This was yesterday's schedule:

7:30: wake up.
8:00: go to bagel store.
9:30: finish making pizza dough, prep toppings;
10:45: round up kiddos and go watch J play a singles match.
12:15: eat lunch out with family.
1:15: haul ass back to house, throw on tennis clothes, grab rackets and water, prep for tennis match.
1:30: hit the road for tennis match.
2:00: warmup for tennis match.
3:00: tennis match.
5:00: arrive back at house, get cleaned up, finish pizza toppings prep, preheat oven, start putting together pizzas; put together 6 pizzas over next few hours, sit down maybe once.
9:00: everyone leaves. Collapse. Play guitar for a few minutes. Try to play word with friends.
10:00: give up trying to keep eyes open. Go to bed.

I think I sat down about four times yesterday: at the bagel store, at lunch, in the car, and a few times at dinner. Other than that, I was on my feet all day. NO FREAKNG WONDER my legs were tired, right?

The 7 miler this morning went fine once I shook out the creaks and fatigue from yesterday, though. It was a beautiful day, the breeze was nice and cool, the sun was warm, and the music was perfect. Sometimes the shuffle seems to know just what I need to keep me going. Is it sad that I'mlooking forward to spending time on an airplane, just because I won't be able to get up?

Checklists

Of the big three to-dos on my list yesterday, only one remains.  Unfortunately, it is the least enjoyable of the three.  Tennis match?  Check.  Won by a decent margin with legs that didn't feel like jello.  Pizza making?  Check.  Made 6 pizzas of varying types tonight and had folks over to help eat.  The crusts turned out yummy and the pizza was a hit.  Bonus?  There are leftovers.

What remains?  Packing.  We've got a spring break trip coming up, so tomorrow will be dedicated to finishing laundry and packing.  And the girl's t-ball practice.  And a 7 mile run.  Huh.  Sometimes I'm amazed at what all can get done in a day. 

Somehow, we managed to end up sans kiddos tonight...I'm still not sure how that happened, but I'm beginning to see the advantages to sleepovers.  And on that note, off to bed.  Gonna be a hectic couple of days...

Spring Fever

Ahhh, it's Friday and almost spring break.  I think I have every window in the house open today, the weather is simply amazing.  It's really all I can do to keep from playing hooky today...

So let's see, quick 3 mile run last night.  Actually, it started fast but I ended up with a random shin splint somewhere along the way, and finished slower than I really wanted.  The legs still aren't 100%, but they are definitely better than they were on Sunday.  Now if they can get me through my singles match tomorrow, all will be good.

The weekend is going to be busy - tennis matches, pizza making, and packing are the three big things on the agenda.  Guess I should start making my to do list.  Really, though, all I want to do is get a book and head to the hammock on the back deck.  Being responsible sucks sometimes. 

In Which I Sound like a Four Year Old

Alternate Title:  Follow the Rules, Part 1.

I've been reminding myself lately of a four year old.  No, not because I've been throwing a bunch of tantrums (although apologies to J for the occasional ones I do throw).  But I feel like I've been asking "why" more than usual lately.

Starting with a book club discussion about Chua's Tiger Mom book, and threading through discussions with a coworker this week, I feel like I've questioned a lot of assumptions. 

The main context has been education and the expectations we put on our children.  Chua, in case you aren't familiar with her book, heaps huge expectations on her children to be "the best" at whatever activity they are pursuing - be it grades, music, public speaking, or anything else.  She strictly follows the rules for "Chinese parenting" and constantly pushes her girls to excel.  She spends hours daily with her girls, pushing them, prodding them, forcing them to achieve greater and greater success. 

In the same context, a coworker of mine worked very hard in applying for a highly competitive spot for her soon-to-be kindergartner in a nationally ranked elementary school.  100% of its graduates go on to college, quite often to Ivy League schools.  She found out last week that her son got in, and she's very excited and very happy about it.  

Neither of these are routes that J and I have followed.  I couldn't Chinese parent if I tried - I'm far too lazy for that.  And neither of us are big fans of private schools.  I spent elementary school in private school, but went to public from 7th grade on, and J did public his whole life.  I'm pretty sure we turned out ok...

But for some reason, these two things have made me question my choices for my kids.  And that's not necessarily a bad thing; sometimes decisions need revisiting.  When we started Benjamin at his school, it was with an understanding that this is kindergarten, not college.  If it doesn't work for him, we can change schools.

But every time I start to question the decisions I'm making, wonder if I shouldn't be pushing harder, expecting more, placing more emphasis on school work and how he's doing, I come back to one particular word - Why. 

Why is it assumed that chasing the grades in school, at the best possible school, is a good thing?  Because, after all, regardless of which school you go to, the private elementary, the neighborhood public school, whatever - the grades and test scores are the measure of success. 

Well, of course it's a good thing, right?  I mean, that's how you get into a good college, and that's how you get the job you want, and that's how you set yourself up for a good life.

But is that really the best way?  My kiddos can chase grades all they want, but if they are chasing grades just for the sake of getting good grades ... eventually that's going to end.  And there's so much emphasis on grades and testing, to the detriment of actually enjoying what you are studying.  I guess I'm just trying to figure out how much emphasis I want to put on getting good grades, and why it is such a default. 

Yes, good grades open all sorts of doors.  But opening doors just to be opening doors will be a hollow victory for them in the end, because real life has a far different grading scale than A through F. 

I'm just not sure what direction to go with this.  I suppose it's one of those "decisions in progress" where you just reevaluate often and hope you are making the right decisions.  Part of the fun of parenting, right?

Random Bullets

Well, let's see.  Time for some bullets.

• Drove down to Houston last night, spending a few days here for work this week. 
• I intentionally left my running shoes in Arkansas so I wouldn't be tempted to run while I'm here.  The weather is so nice, it's probably a good thing I did.  My legs actually are not at all sore, but the various other body parts that are (ass, abs, etc.) will appreciate the break.  I always say tennis is a full body workout...
• Apparently Alyssa did not get out of bed this morning because it was still dark outside when her alarm went off.  She though J had set her alarm wrong, so she went back to sleep.  Gotta love daylight savings crap.  And really, getting up before the sun is up is not so much fun.

Craziness

So, the last few days have been a bit crazy. In the past 3 days, I've played four tennis matches, with a 50/50 record. One of the matches I was ok with losing; she's better than I am, and has played at a higher level than I have for the last several years. The second match I lost, though, is irritating because I lost to someone I could have beaten. Granted, that would probably be on a day where I'm fully rested and don't feel like my legs are going to fall off, but still...

But, regardless of my wins and/or losses, my team won our tournament. What this means is that we have an automatic entry into the state tournament at the end of the season. If we win that tournament, we move on to a higher level of competition, which we were fortunate enough to do last season. It would be nice to repeat this year, but for the moment? I'm just happy to not be playing.

So I'm gonna take a few days off from exercising this week. I've earned it. In retrospect, running a half marathon the weekend before I played four tennis matches in a row might not have been the best idea...oh well. Live and learn. And remember that I'm not 18 anymore. Sigh.

On the kiddo front, this little gem happened last night. We were in the car coming back from dinner, and Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville was playing on XM. The song was at the point where he sings "I blew out my flip flop, stepped on a pop top..."

From the backseat, Benjamin pipes up: "Pop tarts? I love pop tarts!!"

My stomach hurt from laughing so hard. It was a good way to end the night.

"I Hate Risotto"

This was the comment I got from both kids last night when I told them what we were having for dinner.

WHAT?  Are you serious?  How can you hate risotto?  What's in it to hate? 

Fine.  You want to hate my risotto?  I'll give you a reason to hate it... 

Both kiddos truly despise squash of any variety.  Gagging typically ensues when I try to get them to eat it.  So what did I do?  Added butternut squash to my regular risotto. 

It. Was. Fantastic.  And they apparently didn't realize it had squash in it, because they both ate it.  Granted, the result if they didn't eat it was no dessert - but they ate an entire bowl of it, and no one threatened to gag.  That, my friends, is a success.

And I didn't even have to peel the thing, either, which is my main reason for rarely cooking with squash.  This time, I nuked it for about 15 minutes (cut in half, flat side down in a bit of water), scooped out the innards and stirred the mush into the risotto near the end.  I'm pretty sure it made the risotto a lot healthier, as I didn't use anywhere nearly as much cheese as I usually do.  And even better?  There are leftovers for lunch today...yummy...  Lunch may come early today. 

Tripping

This, or something close to this, will be happening this summer.  Already excited... 

Most of my ancestors came from Ireland (gee, didn't see that coming with the red hair, did ya?).  I've got a lot of research to do between now and then, but the wheels are in motion.  Woo hoo!!!

Guitars and Honkey Tonks... OK, Not Really. But Guitars, Anyway.

A lifetime ago, in the time BC (before children), I bought a guitar.  I think I was unemployed when I bought it - the only three months in the last nine years that I've been in that state, and that was 100% by choice.  I've been very lucky. 

I was in the middle of taking some time off, though, and for some reason, I got the itch to play the guitar.  I did a lot of research, spent a considerable amount of time visiting different stores and trying out different guitars, and finally settled on one that I liked.  I was a little concerned about finding one that worked, mainly because my hands match the rest of me - below average in size, so I took my time and did a lot of research.  (If you know me at all, you know that is NOT how I approach most purchases.) 

So I bought it in the spring of 2004.  I started tinkering around with it some, not really sure what I was doing, but enjoying the idea of learning to play maybe more than actually playing - my fingers hurt!  And a few months later I started a new job, we moved to a new house, and figured out I was pregnant with our first.  And that was just one week.  And not too long after, the guitar did not fit in my lap worth a damn, and I assumed it would be many years before I would probably attempt it again.

And it was.  It sat next to the piano in both our old house in Houston and again in the house here in Maumelle.  Occasionally my brother-in-law would take it out and tune it, but other than that, it sat.

It started catching my eye a bit more after a recent conversation with my brother-in-law.  It might have been New Years Eve, I'm not sure; I have the feeling that there was whiskey involved in the conversation but I could be wrong.  It's a good guess, though...  He made the comment that all it would take to be able to play reasonably well was 15 minutes a day for about three months.

15 minutes a day.  Hell, I should be able to make that work.  With all the screwing around I do, it might be nice to actually have something to show for that time.  It's a nice guitar, in fantastic shape, my lap can once again accommodate a guitar, and I have 15 minutes at night now if I plan correctly. 

I started working on it again sometime in January.  Consistent with my less dogmatic approach to life these days, I didn't even try to play every night.  But I did try to play every other night if at all possible.  And only until my fingers hurt so badly that I had to stop.  Which, contrary to what one of my friends told me, did not involve actual blood on my fingers.  Thank God.  So that meant I played 2 minutes the first night, 3 minutes the second, and 5 minutes the third.

Somewhere towards the end of the second week, though, I played long enough one night that my hand got tired before my fingers made me quit.  Now that was progress.

So I gave it a few more weeks, eeking out some information from the interwebs on chords and how to play, and seeing if I thought it was going to "stick" this time around.  I bought a couple of books, pelted a friend with some (ok, a LOT of) questions and have been playing pretty consistently, looking up tabs on the internet and fumbling around a bit less obnoxiously than I was at first.

I'm sure my technique sucks, and my transitions and many chords are still mushy (some chords still unplayable).  But some of my songs are actually recognizable, so it's not all bad.  And I'm starting to get the hang of some transitions and may even embark on strumming techniques soon...  Again, progress.

I played the piano in a former life.  Sometimes an hour's worth of playing was incredibly soothing to the mind - sort of like a long run.  I'm hoping that eventually I get that way with the guitar; where the music is largely muscle memory, I don't have to think quite so much about it, and I can just let my mind roam while my fingers play.  Or, I can challenge myself when I feel like learning something new. 

I forgot how much fun it is to learn something new; seeing progress from week to week is incredibly satisfying.  Here's to hoping I don't lose interest this time around...  And maybe, if I'm really lucky, one of the kiddos will enjoy the music and get interested in it.  And for the love of God, please let it be the piano or the guitar.  And not the drums.

OUCH

My crystal ball was right - I hurt like hell this morning.  I haven't had as much trouble putting on shoes and socks since I was 9 months pregnant.  It might've even been easier then... 

I had to lift my legs into the car with my hands this morning, because the legs?  They are just in the rebellious stage and for some reason think that the 13 miles yesterday means they should be taking today off.  Go figure.  I guess I should be happy that my car is low to the ground...

So.  I may try a short run tomorrow to shake out some of the lactic acid from my legs.  Assuming, of course, they don't fall completely off today.  Did I mention that they hurt?  A lot?  Yeah. 

Ouch.

But totally worth it. 

LR Half Marathon 2011: Race Report

Alternate Title:  Masochism in the Cold

OK, so it wasn't that bad.  It was above freezing, right?  (37 degrees at start time...).  The short:  around 2:06, or a 9:40 pace.  The long:  see below.  Really, this is so I'll remember it more than anything else. 

J and I layered up and hit the course this morning about 7:45; the race started at 8:00.  That's one of the best things about races in cities you know - the logistics are incredibly easy.  Running one in your town is also a plus, because the bed you are dragging your ass out of at 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning is your own.

Over the last few days, I've been trying to figure out how to run this one.  I'm certainly in no danger of being overtrained, but I'm not in bad shape.  I've done some decent running lately, and my speed has gotten better.  Plus, a good friend PR'd a half yesterday (PR = personal record) in under 2 hours.  Now, that is literally a dream time for me, but what was wrong with giving this one a full out effort?

I've run two previous half marathons: the first one I just sort of enjoyed the experience (Las Vegas Rock 'n Roll, 2:11:10); the second one (LR last year, 2:29:29, 11:25 pace) I was injured and just happy to be running.  This year I'm not injured (THANK GOD), and I've got some experience with half marathons, so why not run this one with a solid effort and leave everything on the course? 

The first goal is always just to finish - this is never a guarantee, 13 miles is always a long way to run.  I set my "wouldn't it be nice if" goal at about a 10:00 mile pace, which would get me about a 2:10:00 finish time.  My dream goal was to get under 2 hours.  Not bloody likely today, but it was something to shoot for.

I had one very helpful element with the run today:  at the starting line, J (whose pace for a leisurely jog is my hard effort pace) decided to run with me instead of running his normal pace.  Usually I'm far too slow for him, but maybe my rumblings about trying to run "faster" convinced him to run with me for a while to see if he could handle the slower pace.  So he ran with me for nearly the entire race.  I'm fairly certain I would never have gone out as fast as we did initially, which led to me keeping up a fast pace the entire race. 

For the first few miles, I kept up a decent string of sub 10:00 miles, despite all the weaving we had to do to get around the slower runners / walkers.  I began to think I could maybe meet my 2:10 goal, and perhaps even do better...  There was a damn good chance that I'd end up running the first half of the race way too fast and blow up in the second half, but I'd never know if I didn't try, so I kept the pace up. 

Mile 1: 10:05
Mile 2:  9:43
Mile 3:  9:40
Mile 4:  9:34
Mile 5:  9:48
Mile 6:  9:38

Somewhere around mile 6 I realized that I was definitely running sub 10 miles, and was still holding a decent pace without dying.  This is always a good thing - dying on the course is generally not recommended.  I walked through most of the drink stations, going with Gatorade when I could. 

Miles 7-10 are a bit of a blur.  I remember stopping for water, and I remember fumbling with my ipod to keep queuing up loud obnoxious songs to keep me moving.  Every time I looked at my Garmin and it told me I was nearing a 10:00 pace, I sped up.  I didn't have to do that very much, though; it was far more often that I saw a 9:XX pace rather than a 10:XX pace. 

Mile 7:  9:31
Mile 8:  9:34
Mile 9:  9:18
Mile 10:  9:25

Somewhere in the middle of these miles, we made the big run uphill towards the state capitol.  I hit a loud, obnoxious song, zoned out, kicked into another gear, and J started asking me if I was ok - I think he was concerned about having to carry me once my legs shut down.  Because THAT was definitely going to happen at some point, it was just a matter of whether I'd be able to cross the finish line before the shut down occurred.

Miles 11-13 are where I'd have to say I quit having fun.  Plain and simple, those miles hurt.  And they should have - they were the fasted damn miles of the run.  J was fantastic with lots of encouragement, but towards the end I really wanted to kill him.  No offense, J, but you were KILLING me at the end with that pace. 

Mile 11:  9:16
Mile 12:  9:17
Mile 13:  9:09
Last .3 tenths:  9:05 pace

So, the final result?  My chip time was about 2:06, or a 9:40 average pace.  That's not quite a 5 minute PR, but it's close, and a hell of a lot better than I expected from today.

I'm absolutely flabbergasted that I was able to hold that pace over 13 miles, and even sped up at the end.  Don't get me wrong - I AM DONE, and I left everything out there on the course today.  But that gives me hope for my "dream goal" of a sub 2 hour half.  The Hogeye Half in Fayetteville is in a month, and I'm seriously considering giving that one a try.  I don't really think I'll be able to shave 6 minutes off in a month (that's nearly 30 seconds a mile), but it might be a good way to keep my ass in training when I might otherwise get lazy. 

Funny what a little success will do for you, right? 

Carbo Loading

Fish and chips, cheesecake, and a glass of wine could be considered carbo loading for tomorrow's half marathon, right?  Sort of?  A little?

Universal Truth

This morning, Alyssa observed one of the universal truths.

"Mommy, my alarm clock doesn't give me enough time to sleep."

Welcome to the world, kiddo.

Faster

It's been several days since I've run, but I managed to get a three miler in last night.  And it was fast compared to my usual snail's pace.  I could tell that it had been a few days since I'd run; my legs were rested and ready to go.  Over the entire three miles, my average pace was about a 9:30 minute mile.  But mile #2 was actually an 8:50 pace.  It has been a while since I've run that pace - and I managed to escape without soreness today.  Woo hoo!

I'd like to say the reason I've not been running much the last few days is because I've been "tapering" for the half marathon - yeah, that's it, tapering!  Alas, I've just been busy.  Oh well.  I may get in one more short run on Friday, some tennis on Saturday, and with any luck Sunday will bring good weather and a tail wind for the half.  Or at worst, perhaps some beer at the finish line.  You know, for the carbs and all...

Fruitcakes

This song has been going through my head today.  Specifically, the part where Buffett is talking about relationships:

"We all got 'em, We all want 'em, what do we do with them?"

For some reason that occurred to me about 10 minutes after I got sworn into the Arkansas bar this morning.  Huh.  I can legitimately speak legalese in Arkansas - now, what do I do with that? 

Goal Setting

Several weeks (months?) ago, a friend of mine told me about system he uses for goal setting.  It has been so long since I've done any sort of organized goal setting - I think I gave it up around the time I gave up sending out Christmas cards.  And for the record, I'm not talking about setting goals at work, I'm talking about personal goals. 

I try to keep balance in my life now, and I probably overdo it in the "not doing enough" category sometimes - I could certainly become more active in the community, do some volunteering, and one of these days I will.  I'm just very possessive of my time, but what good is that if you can't seem to accomplish the things you want to accomplish in your own house?  

I usually have a to do list that encompasses what I hope to get done for any given day, and perhaps for the week if I've got something that absolutely has to get done.  But as far as long terms plans and tackling big projects?  I've been at loose ends for oh, say, the entire two years we've been back in LR.  I end up getting paralyzed because as soon as I think of one largish project, about five other ones come to my mind that I feel like I "should" do before I tackle the one that sounds fun.  And then?  Nothing gets done. 

So, back to the original sentence here.  Goal setting.  My friend uses a system that probably has a little more complexity than I want in my life right now, but the fact that he has one was intriguing to me.  I've pushed back very hard against too much organization in my life, but at heart I still have a pretty strong Type A personality.  I just try to ignore it as much as possible...

So I cobbled together a very basic excel spreadsheet at the beginning of the month to write down a few goals.  This is a very rudimentary spreadsheet - just a couple of merged boxes and Sunday through Saturday columns; new worksheets for each week.  My experience  has been that the KISS principle works best here for me.  I can get caught up trying to be too organized about being organized...and then the process breaks down, and you can imagine what happens next.   

That first week I listed three weekly goals - an exercise goal, a guitar goal, and a writing goal.  

 There were also 4 monthly goals.  Two monthly goals really just needed to get done (finalize my application to the Arkansas bar, and update ye olde resume).  These have been hanging over my head for far too long. 

The third monthly goal had a pretty high bar but was not a high priority (pertained to reading), and the fourth goal was pretty much a throwaway to see if I'd actually do anything with it.  Sort of jokingly, I put down "tackle the dining room."  I figured that this was the first stab at it, and we'd see whether any of this actually worked.

I updated the spreadsheet throughout the month, trying to take a little extra time at the beginning of each week to think about how I was doing, what needed to be changed, whether I wanted to add any new tasks, and thinking through how I was going to accomplish the things that remained for the month.

  

To be quite honest, I expected to create the spreadsheet, follow it for a week or two, and forget about it.  But that didn't happen.  I'm happy with how the weekly goals panned out, but the monthly goals was where I was most surprised.  I've got a couple of loose ends to finalize here and there (I have an appointment with a judge to get sworn in on Thursday so I can legitimately talk lawyerese in Arkansas), but by and large?  I'm pleasantly surprised.

Last week when I was looking at the last full week in February, I realized that if I really wanted to tackle the "throwaway goal," I could probably still do it.  I managed to muster up a bit of motivation (nice alliteration, eh?), and with some preliminary help from my mom in prep and color choosing, here is the result:

 

Please ignore the Windex in the piano picture.  On second thought - maybe you shouldn't.  It's actual evidence that I cleaned.  Don't expect it too often.

And can I say how very happy I am to no longer be working in a claustrophobic feeling tomb?  Yes, there is a table in that room where I work.  No, you don't get to see it.  Far too messy, and I don't feel like clearing it off. 

Now, what to tackle for March...