Still Life, With Cats

I got up this morning and even though I really, really did not want to, I went for a run. Granted, I went for a run after I had already lounged around and read half a book online and caught up on all my RSS feeds and Holidailies reading, but the important thing is that I went for the damn run at all. And more importantly, that I am going to keep on getting up and going for runs – at least in the short term, until the 5K in January is over, and then likely I will grimly sign up for another one, just to have a reason to continue to force myself to keep doing this thing.

It has been a little over a month since I last went running (and for future reference, when I refer to ‘going for a run’, it is actually me going for a ‘slow jog’). It is not exactly my favorite activity, but then pretty much no exercise-related thing rates high on my list of favorite things to do. If only knitting, or baking, or canning, or reading burned more calories, I would be in the very best shape. But even though I harbor an extreme dislike of the whole jogging/running thing, back in September and October I actually made it through the entire 9 week Couch to 5K program. And all because of zombies.

You see, a few years back, I heard of the Zombie Run somewhere over on the east coast (Boston, maybe? Who the heck knows), where it was a 5K but there were zombies, and I thought that looked like a whole heck of a lot of fun. And I said to myself, hey, if one of those ever happens in my area, I ought to sign up and take part!

And then this summer I stumbled across a Facebook post about this run, and I remembered that promise I had made to myself, lo, those many years ago, and I signed up. Not as a zombie, mind you. As a runner. And I am SO not a runner. Plus I convinced a bunch of friends to also sign up (some as zombies and some as runners), because if one is going to go through pain, one should never do it alone.

But I downloaded the C25K program onto my phone and I forced myself to get up three times a week, and oh it was hell for the first few weeks. But then I got to the week where I ran for ten minutes straight and while there wasn’t that mythical runner’s high, I did feel pretty awesome about that particular accomplishment, considering that only a few weeks prior, simply running for a full minute straight was pretty awful. And by the end I was jogging along (slowly, oh so very slowly) for the full 30 minutes, and while it was never enjoyable, at least I wasn’t collapsing into a heap in the middle of the road, so yay for that.

Then run day came. We gathered in the middle of our particular pack of runners. They fired the starting gun, and we took off. And they tossed giant handfuls of some kind of pink powder into the air as we went running past. I suspect it was supposed to look a bit like blood. But I managed to inhale a bit of it, and then had to do an immediate sprint to try to duck around the first crowd of zombies who were trying to steal our ‘lives’ (flags).

Do you know what you never do during the Couch to 5K program?

Sprinting, that’s what.

So…yeah. I tried really hard to run, at various points along the rest of the route. And I did at least walk the entire thing. But the combination of the sprint plus inhaling whatever the heck that powder was, did me in. By the time I was about halfway through the run, I was having a hard time catching my breath. By the time I got home afterwards, I was wheezing, and coughing every time I tried to breathe more than shallow. This, my friends, is what is called an attack of exercise-induced asthma. It is also not fun.

Years ago, a doctor told me I have asthma. I am not entirely sure *why* he told me that, as I’ve never had an issue with it (maybe he figured it was the reason why I was allergic to the world – who the heck knows), but he gave me an inhaler to use. I only ever used it when exposed to some of the things that made my allergies flare up so bad I couldn’t breathe (exposure to critters of the rodent / rabbit variety). But since I went on the shots regimen, I haven’t had an issue with that anymore. I stopped carrying allergy pills and an inhaler around with me a few years back.

Luckily I live with an asthmatic, so he tossed me one of his extra inhalers as I came in the door. After a few puffs of that I could breathe normally again, although the medication made me all kinds of jittery for a few hours afterward.

But anyway. Back to the running. After the zombie run was over, I told myself, hey, running isn’t all that bad. Maybe I can keep on doing it. But the problem is, without having the deadline of a run to prepare for, my willpower was shot. Plus November was full of Nanowrimo, so an entire month went by and no running was done.

My friend and I signed up for another 5K in January – this time without zombies, or stupid pink powder, or any of that crazy sprinting crap. It’s going to be an ordinary 5K, where we can shuffle along at our snail-like pace.

So I am back to going running. It’s not fun, and I wish I was doing a bazillion things other than running the entire time I am outside, but at least I am doing it. Because they say exercise is good for you, and unless I manage to stumble and break something (and bear in mind we are talking about the woman who managed to snap a bone in her foot walking barefoot down a carpeted hall, so don’t think it can’t happen), it’s something that I am going to try to keep on doing because it doesn’t require any equipment, and it doesn’t require any skill, and it counts as exercise.

But next time we do a 5K, I am going to bring an inhaler with me. Just in case.

‘Tis the season for Holidailies.

November is over; has been over for hey, over a week now, but there was still one more thing to do when it comes to Nanowrimo – namely, the TGIO party.

Since Richard is one of the Municipal Liaisons for the Sacramento region, we usually host the TGIO party. Most of the time, at least in the more recent years, I haven’t been able to attend because 1) it is usually in the evening, and 2) it is usually the weekend of Vox Musica’s Christmas concert, so most years my contribution to the party has been to help get the house cleaned up, occasionally remember to bake something if I have the time, and then scurry off to perform in the Vox concert and miss the actual gathering completely.

This year, however, the first weekend of December started on the 1st of the month, which was a little early to try to do a party, considering everyone was more likely going to spend that weekend trying to recover from the month prior, plus there were other time constraints. So we all put our heads together and decided to make it this weekend. And because this is also apparently the Weekend Everyone Schedules Their Holiday Parties and we (Richard and I, at least) already had other plans for the evening, we also decided to make it during the day.

So this morning I got up and made a double-batch of scones, primarily because it seemed like a good morning for scones, and also because I knew they would be a tasty addition to the party table and we did some quick tidying around the house (which mostly consists of rounding up all the bazillion cat toys, empty boxes and paper bags that are left out for the cats because there are no spoiled cats in *this* house, not a single one) and stuffing them into a closet out of sight). People starting arriving at about 11, and eventually there were enough of us to fill the living room and spill into the dining room.

(As an aside, we always do these parties potluck, mainly because it’s easy and less stress on whoever happens to be hosting, and it is always amusing to see which way the food skews. Some events there is a fairly equal distribution of healthy (veggie trays, fruits, that sort of thing) versus unhealthy (which we all cheerfully refer to as the ‘death’ side of the table – namely items of the baked or chocolate variety). This time the selection skewed pretty heavily toward the ‘death’ side of the equation, despite the fact that some of the group made valiant an argument that the spinach in the spinach dip actually counted as a vegetable.)

Anyway. It was fun. Mostly everyone just sat around and talked about all sorts of things – the IRC channel, trying to get word count, whether anyone had done Camp Nano before (and what they thought about it), the annoying stupidity of acronyms like YOLO (look it up), and all manner of other things that involved a lot of laughing.

After that was over, and everyone left, then Richard and I did the post-party clean-up and released the cats from where they’d been locked up downstairs (mainly to keep Sherman from running out the door, and Rosemary from jumping up on the table to steal food and/or shamelessly begging for food from everyone there). Then it was off to come up with some suitable gifts for the white elephant exchange at the next social gathering in our agenda, try to make a dent in the mountain of laundry, and oh yeah, sneak in a quick nap (or at least make an attempt, no matter how futile.

This evening we headed off to one of those aforementioned holiday shindigs, at the home of some friends. It was a wonderful evening. Lots of people, lots of chatter, delicious food, silly party games, and just a good time over all. We hugged our goodbyes and walked out into air so cold you could see your breath in front of your face, and then headed home to turn on the lights on the tree and curl up under afghans and pet the cats, and reflect that oh, it has been a lovely day.

‘Tis the season for Holidailies.

We trickle in to the restaurant slowly, over the course of half an hour or so. There is no rush; there is plenty to do while waiting for each other – cakes and pies and pastries to ogle in the bakery case, and catching up, one on one.

We ponder cookies and truffles and whether we should save room for dessert. We ponder the fact that the place has a ‘polenta of the day’. We ponder the menu and wonder how we are supposed to pick just one thing.

We order our food and find a table; the only one large enough for the group. This is especially challenging because we’re still not entirely sure how many people are coming, but we will make it work. We always do.

We eat pulled pork sandwiches and grilled shrimp caesar salads and giant cheeseburgers and butternut squash soup, and we sip our drinks, and in between bites we silently eye each other’s plates and think to ourselves ‘Hmm, maybe next time I will have to get what she is having,” and there is never any question that there will be a next time.

We chatter between bites, sharing stories about kids and pets; about families and jobs and travel and good things and bad. A chance meeting with a friend results in a surprise plate of cookies brought to our table and we finish our dinners and then nibble on delicate cookies crusted with bright green crystals of sugar. The cakes and pastries and truffles are forgotten.

There is laughter, because there is always laughter when we get together. There is knitting, because that is also a given too. We are surprised and instantly apologetic when a waiter comes over to let us know they’re closed, and we hastily gather our things, having completely lost track of time.

The air outside is cold, and in the time between when we arrived and when we left, there has been a bit of rain; just enough to cover the cars in a light sprinkle of individual drops. We call out our goodbyes to each other as we each head off in a different direction, climb into our cars, and head for home.

‘Tis the season for Holidailies.

The building in which I work prepares for a holiday by decorating. But it is done very, very slowly.

First, there was a tree. A fake one, obviously (less mess that way), all white and sparkly in the light of the building lobby. That went up shortly after Thanksgiving. Just a single tree.

Next came the ornaments – just a few here and there, over the course of a few days, until the tree was festooned  with a collection of beautiful red and gold and silver baubles. Here is where I admit to being a little bit jealous, since the only ornaments we can have on our tree at home are the sort of cheap plastic where if the cats (three of whom consider the Christmas tree an exciting jungle gym), or rather, *when* the cats break some, there is no great sense of loss.

Now that December has come, the decorating is kicked into higher gear. Yesterday someone hung garland – great, long strands of it around the ceiling. And tonight, as I walked out, I saw that the normally sterile ‘air lock’ between the two sets of entry doors had been transformed with holiday decor. The number of giant poinsettias on the floor has been slowly growing in number as the days pass. And at some point during the night an elf has been sneaking in and stenciling holiday cheer onto glass office doors.

I wonder if somewhere in this building there is a series of boxes, each labeled with a specific date. And if at some point someone devised a specific decoration schedule. Tree may only be erected on X date. Garland must not be hung until X days later. No poinsettias may be placed anywhere until two weeks in.

‘Tis the season for Holidailies.

There were a lot of things I needed to do today, before I headed off to sing.

There was laundry that needed doing. And dishes in the dishwasher that should have been put away. And a refrigerator that needs a good cleaning. And something on the floor over there that I probably do not want to investigate too closely (always a hazard in a house with cats). And knitting that needs to be finished. And…and…and.

But the past two days have been so busy. Work -paid and volunteer. Dress rehearsal and the first concert of the weekend. A five-hour marathon editing session.

So instead of doing the things that I should be doing, I did things I wanted to do instead.

I sat in my pajamas and caught up on my blog reading.

I drank a lot of  coffee.

I watched Rupert and Sherman scramble up the Christmas tree, one after the other, and was too late fetching my phone to get a picture.

I read four books on my tablet, one right after the other.

I ate leftover apple butter streusel cake.

And just for a few hours, I pretended that all the other things – the shoulds and the musts and the need-tos – were someone else’s problem.

‘Tis the season for Holidailies.