Clearly, I’ve not been keeping up with this place. I do still run, but I’m not actively training for anything and even if I were, it’d certainly not be enough to warrant maintaining a “running” blog.
I’ve been making some life changes lately and one of those is a snazzy new blog. So come see me over at Best Enjoyed Slowly where you’ll [hopefully] find all the awesomeness I occasionally produce here, but with a renewed enthusiasm and a little more relevant focus.
Cheers!
Because everything relates to Napoleon Dynamite, obviously.
Well, hello there. Remember me? I haven’t updated since, um, February? Oops.
Rather than launching into a long-winded diatribe filled with excuses as to why I’ve failed to maintain this poor blog, I’ll just say that I haven’t particularly felt like writing, because that’s basically what it boils down to.
I haven’t really been running, either, which I suppose is a shame considering that this is supposed to be a running blog…but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it’s summertime in South Carolina and I still hate the heat and humidity as much as I ever have. I’m not even going to pretend like I’ll be entertaining the notion of training for something over the next few months – it just isn’t going to happen. Good thing I love the gym, because running outside for more than a few miles at at time?
Snark upon my heat intolerance if you wish.
In other news, I’ve been filling my time (and mouth) with lots of these:
Best variety pack ever.
Oh, hops, how I love thee…
I also flew to Colorado in April, in order to drive this beast over to Oregon:
Before I left the lovely Summit County, naturally I had to swing through Vail long enough to pay my respects to the local artwork.
Seriously though, Vail is the most beautiful town and leaving it always kind of sucks.
And this isn’t even close to being a good photo.
Roadtrip underway, after following my mom for this many miles…
…we found ourselves in Bend, OR, home of Deschutes Brewery.
Great food, even greater beer.
We also decided to head down to the coast before I flew back home. If you’ve not had the opportunity to see the Oregon coastline for yourself, you should probably go ahead and scribble that one down on your to-do list, because it’s fantastic.
But let’s not act like I didn’t have an ulterior motive for wanting to visit Newport.
ROUGE NATION!
It was everything I hoped it would be.
Now that I’m “back,” of sorts, I’ll wrap up this half-assed post with one final thought before calling it a night:
…or, occasionally, to those who laugh in the face of full retail pricing.
Don Draper, marry me?
A few things you should know about me. Well, two things that are relevant to this immediate story, anyway:
So obviously, when BR launched a line of Mad Men-inspired clothes and accessories last fall, I was a little giddy. I happened to be in Colorado in August (remember the failed Georgetown to Idaho Springs half-marathon and my Jager-induced tantrum?) and, par for the course, I spent ample time trolling various shopping venues with my mom. This led to the discovery of a stunning pair of 4″ crimson-colored suede heels that were a part of this 60′s-esque collection.
I’d been wanting a pair of tasteful (read: not slutty), versatile red heels. These were perfect. Professional enough for work, fun enough for play, hot enough for things best left undisclosed on the blog.
Do want.
Unfortunately, they were $120. While I don’t think twice about dropping that much on running shoes, it’s not really in my budget to allot that kind of cash for shoes that just make me say, “Oooh, so pretty!” so I didn’t buy them.
But I wanted them. And I never stopped thinking about them.
I checked BR’s website for sales and discount codes on the regular. I still resisted in the face of 25%, 30%, even 40%-off codes. Instead, I compared every single pair of red heels I’ve seen since then to these BR beauties. They’ve all fallen short.
And then I found myself in the local mall this past Saturday. As I wandered innocently through Republic de la Banana, a beacon of light shined down upon a rolling rack of shoes marked “final clearance.”
One of those shoes on display was an awfully familiar-looking red suede heel.
That heel was marked as the only pair and only size available.
It looked very small. I let myself get just the tiniest bit excited.
I picked up the shoe, turned it over and became inwardly obnoxious when I saw that it was a size 6.
MY SIZE.
I yanked my leg out of the boot I’d stuffed it into for my impromptu mall adventure, ripped a sock off, crammed my foot into a sweet suede embrace and had a little Cinderella-glass-slipper moment.
Oh, and the price? $41.
I win.
Yes, that is a popcorn ceiling and yes, I have a very high arch. Thanks for noticing both.
I’m inexplicably happy about these shoes. (Obviously, since my word count is now over 430, but really – it’s the little things in life sometimes. Kind of like nicely fitting white pants.) I’ve already worn them twice and I’ve had them three days.
But enough of that. For now.
My beer quest continues with great success. I’m now a card-carrying member of World of Beer‘s loyalty club:
Got the t-shirt, too.
Now I’ll earn points for each different one of these:
Brick Mason double IPA – loved lots .
I haven’t completely forgotten my roots, though. A little something special surfaced in my fridge the other day during a deep cleaning and it would have been disrespectful not to honor past traditions…
This one expired a year ago.
I drank it.
Props to my Swedish accomplice for creating this masterpiece.
Okay, I attempted to drink it. Made it less than halfway and poured it out, but still. The sad part is, that expired Busch Light tasted just the same as it does when it’s fresh.
I’ve digressed. What were we talking about?
Ah, yes. Pretty shoes. Good things coming to those who wait. Patience being a virtue. Shit happening for a reason.
This calls for a beer! In my face tonight?
Chupacabras pale ale – 5.8% ABV
Absolutely disgusting. It tastes like dirty peanut butter, if that even makes sense. A friend of mine gave me an 8-pack of “beers from around the world” and this was apparently Mexico’s offering. Not a fan, but I’m looking forward to trying the rest of the assortment.
It’s never been a secret that I’m a liquor kind of lady. Give me a vat of vodka, a barrel of bourbon, or a receptacle of rum and I’m a happy girl. Jager, Rumple and Goldschlager are the three bears to my Goldilocks.
Her name ain't Skyy just for them baby blues, bro.
I used to be about as interested in beer as I am in the reproductive habits of the African ant. I thought it tasted like crap and took entirely too great of a quantity to achieve a sufficient buzz. “Not worth it!” I’d shout, shaking my fist for emphasis. “Why drink carbonated pond water when you can drink 92-proof SAILOR JERRY?!”
But, as with many things in life, I eventually figured out that beer is one of those…acquired tastes. There was a time in my early years when I thought it was absolutely disgusting that my parents drank iced tea and coffee. Now, you can’t pry me away from the coffee pot without excessive physical force and it is scientific fact that unsweetened iced tea is one of the most refreshing beverages on the planet. The stronger, the better – in both cases.
I distinctly remember the first time I had a beer and actually thought, “This is fantastic. This is why people drink beer.” I was at a Mexican restaurant and someone had ordered a Corona Light. I thought nothing of it until the waiter brought out the frostiest mug I’ve ever seen and I noticed that the beer was so cold it was partially frozen. Tiny glaciers of mass-market import beer floated delicately on the surface and I knew in that instant that I must have one for myself. A squeeze of lime and suddenly, beer was everything I’d never hoped it would be. Delicious.
From then on, I dabbled in fine brews such as Bud Light, Icehouse and more recently, Busch Light…but I’ve pretty much still stuck to liquor. Beer has been my go-to for those I-don’t-feel-like-drinking-but-I’m-at-a-bar-so-I-kind-of-want-something-in-my-hand nights. And because sub-$3.00 beer is not a rare find here, a couple of harmless beers is much easier on the wallet than several liquor drinks. (Although, to be fair, drinking is exceptionally cheap here in South Carolina’s capital city. $1.00 house liquor nights are not at all unheard of and most bars keep bottom-shelf priced under $4.00 regardless of day and time.)
But then? Progression happened. Over the last few weeks I’ve been focusing on stepping up my beer game. I’m tired of defaulting to substandard brew just because I know it’s “safe.” I’m tired of frequenting establishments with a fine selection of drafts and receiving the stink-eye from bartenders and fellow patrons alike when I turn on my flashing “n00b” sign and ask for a Bud Light or a vodka water. Luckily, most bars are perfectly willing to provide a small sample of a beer prior to committing to a full pint, which has helped immensely in navigating the waters of this sudsy new sea.
Two particular watering holes have been a critical stepping stone in this journey of mine: The Flying Saucer Draught Emporium and World of Beer, both located in Columbia’s Vista district. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a craft draft in either of these friendly joints, so I’ve been bellying up to the bar to learn me a little somethin’-somethin’ about how to drink a damn proper beer.
While I haven’t been rigorously documenting each and every sip to pass between my lips, I will take pause here to give a hearty shout-out to Westbrook Brewing Company of Mount Pleasant (aka Charleston), SC. This past weekend, I was perusing the extensive list at World of Beer and Westbrook’s Saison-Ale caught my eye.
"Saison" may as well = "Summer" because we were made for each other.
I proceeded to not shut up about this beer for even five minutes at a time for the duration of the evening. Crisp, ever-so-slightly peppery, with a finish that reminded me of orange juice (of all things), I fell in love.
The very next day, I scooted over to Total Wine to pick up a liter of this succulent nectar for enjoyment in the comfort of my own home.
Oops, where'd that Ommegang come from?
While I was meandering through the aisles, I also spotted and subsequently secured a can of this:
Westbrook White Thai
With notes of lemongrass and ginger, this brew was another huge hit with my tastebuds.
So when I heard that Westbrook was having a tasting night at World of Beer on Tuesday evening, duh…I had to be there. Especially when the magical communication portal that is Twitter alerted me to the fact that my interwebs pal April Blake was going to be there, I knew it was fate.
Most of these went into my face in some capacity.
I was able to confirm that my love-at-first-sight emotions for Westbrook Brewing were not just a mere fantasy, but a well-founded reality. I also met and chatted with the brewers, Edward and Morgan Westbrook (who are, um, my age and clearly 1000 times more successful at life), and finally met April in person.
Ganked this from her blog. Hey girl, heeeeey.
Clearly, an extremely successful night. Here’s hoping that Shelby is proud of my efforts to use my Shakoozie for something other than dollar store beers.
Cliff Notes:
All this being said… I am open to beer suggestions! Better late to the party than never, amirite?
Sunday = recap time. Who’s excited?! Especially since 100% of mileage was logged on the elliptical…whee!
This is what went down:
Monday – 10 miles @ 7:10 pace. This was awesome. Lots of energy.
Tuesday – 5 miles @ 7:50 pace.
Wednesday – 3 miles @ 7:06 pace.
Thursday – Off. I had all three toilets in my house replaced Thursday evening. If you missed my live tweeting of the event, you didn’t miss a thing.
Friday – 7 miles @ 7:35 pace.
Saturday – 4 miles @ 7:34 pace.
Sunday – 5 miles @ 8:24 pace. What happened here? Tired… I was actually looking for another long “run” today, but just did NOT have it in me.
Total – 34 miles. New record, surpassing my 32 from a few weeks ago. Unfortunate that it was all on the elliptical, but surely beats sitting on my ass. All workouts were followed with weight training and lifting = happiness.
After last night’s self-haircut, I’m pleased to report that I still don’t hate my hair. I’ll try to get a reasonable photo of it tomorrow when I’m looking presentable (or close to it) for work. I still have some tweaking to do, but I’m sleepy so it probably won’t happen tonight.
Nor will an entertaining post…goodnight!
Once upon a time there was a girl named Summer. She had a mane of gold, a determined spirit and a lack of Saturday evening plans. It was only natural that the girl decide she wanted her hair to look like this:
But, you see, Summer was a very impatient girl. She craved instant gratification. Annoyances like waiting on an appointment with a qualified hairstylist or paying money for professional services were details that Summer thought to be easily circumvented with a magic touch of her own.
She trotted over to a wondrous kingdom known as “YouTube.” At YouTube, Summer was able to float her way through numerous videos* of other girls with the same ambitions. Layers? Bangs? Doing it themselves? Glorious!
Summer watched and watched these amazing documentaries until she finally could bear it no more – she had to try these techniques out for herself! This is her journey:
Does her hair look like the inspirational photo? Certainly not. But, as with any good fairy tale, Summer learned some very valuable lessons along the way:
Okay, so maybe she only learned two lessons, but she may have just saved herself a few bucks and earned the satisfaction of a job kind of well done, and surely that all counts for something.
What should YOU have learned from Summer’s riveting tale? That you, too, can create easy, DIY layers in your own hair; and if nothing else, you can always upload unflattering videos of yourself to the internet when you’re really bored.
*Shout-outs to this video (unbelievable hair on this girl, I’m super jelz), this video and this video for the various tips and tricks I attempted to employ this evening.
I have a confession.
I don’t completely hate the elliptical.
But I’m pretty sure it’s only because I’m kind of fast on it (compared to my running, anyway). It is absolutely boring as hell, no question there, but I’ve discovered that I can maintain my reasonable pace while looking at a magazine; though the glare from lighting and the constant bouncing makes reading kind of annoying. Either way, it beats staring at the stats the entire time and since I’m still moving quickly I don’t feel like I’m half-assing anything.
Mostly, I’m convincing myself of all this because I have zero pain whilst on my awkward elliptical friend, but quite a bit of it if I try to run conventionally. I’ll be employing my standard method of avoiding all medical counsel until the problem either solves itself or refuses to go away within a reasonable ridiculous amount of time. I WILL be running the Charlotte RaceFest half again this year in April, so if I’m not back in action in a timely fashion to train properly for this thing, perhaps I’ll consider a second opinion. Until then, it’s me and my pal E. Lipty because two weeks is no cause for alarm unless you’re a sissy.
Another lackluster workout week this past one…but better than nothing, yes?
Monday – Off.
Tuesday – 3 miles @ 7:19 pace. Elliptical.
Wednesday – Off.
Thursday – 1.2 miles @ 9:29 pace. I ran. It hurt. I stopped.
Friday – Off
Saturday – 5 miles @ 7:45 pace. Elliptical. Obviously.
Sunday – 6 miles @ 7:43 pace. See above.
Weekly total – 15.2 miles. Yay?
As I write this on Monday eve, I’ve already done more than half of that distance just tonight (10 miles @ 7:10 pace. SUCK IT, running!), so I’m pretty confident this week will not be a sham. Lots of lifting has been taking place as well – which makes me insurmountably happy – so I think this is the part where those silly “optimistic” folks would talk about how this injury is an opportunity rather than a disadvantage.
I have to say…I just might agree. For now.
Unrelated: I want the intro to this song to be my personal theme music anytime I walk around or enter a room. (The actual music…not the part where the kid talks about the other kid smelling like ranch dressing.)
