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!

What Am I Supposed To Do About My Legs?

Remember that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit when Judge Doom gets steamrolled, and they find out he's a 'toon? He's trying to stand up and walk, but he's all wobbly and can't get his balance.
Well, that's what I feel like today ... only a lot worse.
A few weeks ago, I went to take a yoga class at New York Sports Club and the teacher was a few minutes late. A NYSC employee came into the class, took our information and we would all receive a free session with a personal trainer as an apology.
Last night was the session. I met with the trainer right after work, wearing a shirt I got after participating in a 4-mile running race to let him know I was a serious athlete.
We talked for a few minutes about eating habits, drinking habits, his successes and failures as well as mine. I refused to get on the scale, but agreed to do the body fat/BMI calculation. The good news: I'm about average. The bad news: The session didn't end there.
He started me out with jumping jacks, resting (and by resting, he meant running in place), doing high knee kicks, "resting", jumping in place, etc. I was winded, but I felt pretty good. Then, he had me do at least 50 squats which was a poor decision on his part.
After the squats, I had to do reverse squats - starting out on the floor and standing up over and over and ... I started to get that familiar feeling I had two summers ago on that hot subway platform. I thought I was going to faint again or vomit.
NYSC also made an ill-informed decision to use a polka-dot pattern on their floor which subsequently was creating one of those 3D images - only, I couldn't see the sailboat, I just saw the floor coming to meet my face.
I didn't think the trainer could do much damage in an hour session, so I didn't plan ahead and bring a rubber band to pull my hair back. I just had my usual hairstyle of pieces of hair pinned everywhere with bobby pins. By the end of the session there were bobby pins strewn EVERYWHERE. But, we weren't done yet.
After lifting weights for 30 minutes (!!), he gave me my evaluation (yikes), what I need to work on (everything) and asked if I wanted to sign up to meet with him again (no way). He was really nice, and completely understood that financially I couldn't do it and said if he saw me at the gym again he'd work out with me, which was kind - even if it was a total lie.
The worst part of the night, though, was getting home. Walking up and down stairs for the subway, standing for more than 2 minutes and having the energy to make a healthy dinner. Also, I bought some hand soap last week that for some reason smells like tequila. We all know my history with the drink, so smelling that after almost vomiting on my trainer was enough to send me to bed early.

Taking the Fun out of Fungi

I've been thinking a lot lately why I've probably had bronchitis twice in the last two months (I say probably because I haven't actually been to the doctor. I picked the wrong insurance plan - the one with an insane deductible and also the one with mental health coverage for my inevitable nervous breakdown which I can't afford - mentally or financially).

Yes, bronchitis voice can be sexy - Rod Stewart made a career out of it. But, outside of topping the Billboard Charts, spitting up green globs, stifling coughs during conference calls at work and constantly clearing my throat is less than attractive.

Two nights ago I had one of the worst nights I've had in a long time; I shivered so much from my fever that my jaw was sore the next morning. For whatever reason, I still decided to go to work but arrived looking menopausal with sweat teeming down my face. My boss sent me home and I slept for an impressive 21 hours.

I feel much better now, but have a new development: when I exhale or yawn, my fingers get very tingly. I did some research, and the Internets have told me that I have multiple sclerosis. Has this sensation happened to anyone else? (outside from eating a York Peppermint Pattie)

After my extensive research (read: Google), I looked around my apartment for clues why I might be sick.

First, in my bedroom I have one window that still has the air conditioner unit in it. This air conditioner is very old - it wasn't mine to begin with, it was my ex-boyfriend's, but I decided that if I had to pay for our sin apartment all by myself after he moved out, I could at least keep the AC. I'm sure it's seeping death/failed relationship particles into my room at night, but one of my best friends/resident male handymen recently moved back to Chicago. I'm usually not THIS girly, but I do need a man for a few things.

Then, there's my Brita filter. I have not changed this filter since I moved back to New York ... in April of last year. I've essentially been sifting dirty New York water through a dirty Brita filter into my body. No wonder my lungs feel like those of an 80-year-old smoker.

Since I was in my kitchen, I looked around for other signs. Here is a towel where my roommate and I dry all our dishes. Full disclosure, sometimes these dishes sit here for days not being put away. But, look at what we have here - mold!:

Then, I knew what I was going to find in my bathroom. I've been ignoring it for a long time - passive aggressively hoping someone else would buy a new shower curtain liner. I'm embarrassed to share this, but if I put it out there, maybe I'll change it:

I've taken the same passive aggressive approach with the Irish Spring in the shower, too. Whose IS that?
I can't keep spending money on NyQuil knock-offs and killing my lungs, especially if I refuse to pay my voodoo doctor more money to cure me when I know what I'm doing wrong. Tonight after work, I am going to clean my apartment head to toe to make sure I don't get sick anymore, because if you want something done ... wait until you're on your death bed and are finally forced to do it yourself.

Morning confrontations

You know how sometimes in the morning your voice is quiet and gravely because you haven't used it yet? Well, I've been sick since my birthday and it's particularly raspy and Rod Stewart-y in addition to the morning phlegm.

This morning at the gym:
NYSC employee: "Good morning! Enjoy your workout!"
Me: "[Something akin to a growl]" (which may have nothing to do with being sick, I was working out at 6:30 am)

At Target last week:
Check-out Girl: "This dress is taller than me!"
Me: "[Possibly a duck quacking]"

And now, it's getting me into trouble because someone didn't hear a pleasantry exchanged. I was getting some coffee and someone said, "Good morning!" I responded, she must have not heard my sad little voice, so as she's walking away she says, "Damn, good morning to YOU! Bitch."

Keeping tradition alive

It wouldn't be my birthday if I wasn't sick. On the eve of my 26th birthday, my eyes are starting to close because of my "Nighttime" high (CVS' answer to NyQuil), I keep clearing my throat every few minutes and I'm consuming an insane amount of honey lemon cough drops.

Here is a small list of medical ailments/unfortunate events that have happened on or around my birthday over the years:
- The aforementioned fainting on a subway platform/relationship break-up/grandfather passing
- On my eighth birthday, I set up our MINI-trampoline right next to the swimming pool in our backyard so I could jump up higher and right into the pool. I attempted the jump and my feet got stuck under the cloth covering the springs. My body went up and got yanked down with my knees hitting the pavement full force.
- I wanted to see the latest Woody Allen movie on my birthday, when my mother discovered - as we walked towards the theater - what she thought were SCABIES on my arm. She thought I could have picked them up at the retirement home where I was a waitress. I spent the rest of the day with the doctor. (in retrospect this was a good thing as Curse of the Jade Scorpion was TERRIBLE)
- I had lice. I still went to my birthday party, but endured the most violent and rigorous of RID treatments before and after. My friends commented on how shiny and beautiful my hair was; they had no clue I'd been raked over for the past week.
- My mother scheduled a dentist appointment on my birthday (at least it wasn't a lady doctor appointment - she liked to book those on Christmas Eve)

There are more honorable mentions, but it's certainly a proud tradition. In fact, one year my sister got very ill on her birthday and said, "But, [my sister] is the one who's supposed to have the terrible birthdays!"

Despite being sick, I'm planning on making the best of it tomorrow. I'm driving back to New York after a very relaxing weekend in Northern Massachusetts (I can actually hear frogs outside right now). Then I'm going out for Mexican food with some of my favorite people.

p.s. Happy Birthday Brooklyn Sea Hag!