A Kind Diet, or That Time I Was Vegan For A Few Hours

I ended up not being able to run the half marathon. I was the sickest I'd been in quite some time and was up the weekend before coughing through the night. My doctor put me on some super meds, but they didn't work fast enough. I did a "test run" last Friday and couldn't even make it a mile without feeling like I was dying. For last year's me, that would have been called a "workout", but just a few weeks ago I checked sunrise times so I could run 10 miles before work. I am strong. I am invincible. I am runner person. I am, also, devastated.
So, after crying in front of my friend Schmate's boyfriend and then still going forward with our "carbo load" plans, I ate a LOT of cheesy baked ziti and split 12 mini Crumbs cupcakes among my friends (number of friends withheld so you don't judge how many cupcakes we each ate). By the time I got home, my stomach HATED me. Schmate's pasta is SO delicious, and the cupcakes were good, too, so I couldn't say "no". But, I realized that maybe I shouldn't be jamming so much dairy down my gullet. I looked 9 months pregnant, full of air and cheese.
So, instead of staying in town with the other half marathoners, I went up to my aunt and uncle's house in Massachusetts to hide/sulk and visit with my grammie. (I also had a face-to-face job interview at the crafting publisher on Monday and should know more soon - fingers crossed!) While I was up there, I decided to try being a vegan to detox for a few weeks.
A few things needed to happen first: I had to stop eating so much delicious cheese, and I should also consider not saying, "It smells like vegans" if I walked into a stinky room. I shopped at Trader Joe's and bought all the necessary items like wasabi peas, dried fruit, dairy free enchiladas (gross, right?).
When I got back to New York I made some delicious pasta with butternut squash and asparagus, and on top of that a fake chicken patty. Good, right? When I finished eating, I read the box the chicken, or chik'n, came in and it contains dairy. FAILED. Failure already.
I had butter poporn last night. I just got back from eating sushi for lunch. A friend emailed me yesterday and wants to get together for cheese plates and trivia at a local bar tomorrow. I can't miss that. Then, my friend let me know about a Bacon & Beer pairing event next week that also can't be missed.
I think I'll realign my goals and just consume in moderation. I'm not a big meat eater, but I love me some cheese. So, I guess I'll be a carnivore with vegan tendencies now - no more beef milkshakes for me!

Is That a Baby in Your Uterus, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

I have been traveling pretty steadily in the last few weeks for my job, with the longest stint being in Atlanta for just under a week, a Wednesday through Sunday. The Sunday I left, I was actually only going to be home for a few hours with a car service picking me up at 2:30 am the next day, Monday, to head to Dallas. Actually, the car service never showed up and I had to beg a random cab driver at 3:00 am to "step on it" to Newark Airport and I'd tip big (read: show him my boobs for five minutes in a ROW).
So with little sleep, a lot of taking off and landing in the past week, a week before my "moon cycle" and no pooping for a long time, I actually made my flight. Honestly, what's with not being able to number 2 unless I'm at home? Gross, right? Anyway, please picture an atypically larger-than-normal bloated me. If you've never met me, just take whatever mental picture you already have (no doubt this) and add some weight below the belly button.
I arrive at my meeting in Dallas and am greeting the sales reps I haven't seen for a year, and one of them says, "Let me be the first to say 'Congratulations'". Well, I figured she was referring to the recent announcement of the added responsibilities for my job - not a promotion. Don't worry, guys, I'll just do two people's jobs for the price of one. Anyway, I was all ready with my modest response when she cuts me off by asking when I'm due.
When I'm tired, I'm emotional. When I'm NOT a pregnant woman, I'm emotional. I'm a sensitive girl. So, after telling this "sales rep" - if that's really her name - that you're NEVER supposed to ask a girl if she's pregnant unless they say something first; I spent the rest of the meeting trying not to cry. Being pregnant sounds awesome, but being constipated and mistaken for pregnant is the OPPOSITE of awesome.
So, please, don't EVER ask a girl this - EVER. I've since de-bloated and feel amazing with all the running I've been doing, and am very thankful that my self confidence has finally showed up after 27 years of being absentee. Otherwise, I would have developed a major complex over this. That woman's still a bitch, though.