The Mother Load

It's February, and that means it's officially Black History Month.  How well I remember my third grade report on Harriet Tubman and her courageous journeys through the Underground Railroad to free slaves.  In Black History Months to come, young children will be writing their biographies of our current president and the difference he made in the world.

Obama: the man, the policy, the change, the Chia.

When I found Chia Obama last night, I immediately turned my laptop toward my husband to share in my discovery.  His reaction consisted of a head shake and an exclamation of, "Oh dear...oh dear, oh dear."

Chia Obama, you've made my husband sound like Piglet.  You're fired.

According to the website, this Chia head is supposed to look like President Obama.  I don't see the resemblence.  For one thing, President Obama's hair has always been neatly trimmed.  This head is a few days' growth away from superfly.  Also, the face looks nothing like Barack Obama's.  That's kind of a dealbreaker for me.

According to the website, this is a decorative item.  I don't see the decorative value, either.  Maybe I'm missing a crucial component of the interior design gene, but I've never considered a Chia head as a must-have in home decor.  I don't have a singing fish or a velvet Elvis either.  Call me crazy.

What I do see is a desperate attempt to cash in on the popularity (well, the pre-Massechusetts election popularity) of America's first black president by any means necessary.  I'm sure if I searched further, I'd find all sorts of silly Obama merchandise. 

Of course, you know just writing that made me have to do it.  The world has gone Obama crazy.  There's the Obama Necktie! Obama boxer shorts! Obama toilet paper! Obama bling!  Holy moly and a happy Black History Month to all of you.

I'd better not show this to Piglet...I mean, Richard.

Mom, today I learned that this is not my van.  I learned it when it wouldn't open for me...



...because I drove this to school.

I got an email from my Phazes Fitness trainer over the weekend with a modified running plan specific to me.  She said my ankles had been talking behind my back, and she felt this would be the smarter way to run.  (Ankles, we'll talk about this later.)

So, I started from square one today.  I'm again doing 30 seconds running and 30 seconds walking, only this week, we've taken it down from 20 minutes to 15.  This is both a sadness and a relief for me.  My ego is afraid to admit I had to go backward.  My rational mind knows this is why I hired a trainer to help me do this.  Michelle told me the goal with this change is for my runs to build my ankles up rather than tear them down.  This is smart.  My ankles should thank me for aligning myself with smart people for this training.

I did not want to run this morning.  I didn't wake up to my alarm at 7 and woke up at 7:02 to my son telling me I'd missed my alarm.  Showing an incredible amount of restraint and grace despite my extreme fatigue, I thanked him for saving my butt, then asked his permission to sleep until 7:10.  He looked at me weird and then said he guessed that would be all right.  I can't be expected to make sense before 8.  You should all know this.

I decided to vary my run today.  By this, I mean, I was so tired, I missed my turn and had to park on the other side of the park.  This turned out to be a good thing.  It changed the scenery a bit and broke up the monotony of running in the same place every time.  It also made it seem like I'd already run for much longer than I really had.  Bonus!

What I'm learning each time I get back from a run is that running is like a lot of things in life.  I don't really want to do it, but I'm always glad I did when I'm done.  When I come home from a run, I feel like I stand taller; I have more energy; and my muscles work together in a way they don't do on a non-running day.

I don't have much more than that today.  For all the height, energy, and balance of this morning, I'm really glad I don't have to go out again until Thursday.  I'm running, but I'm still not a runner.  I'm okay with that.