I've started training for a half...

I've started training for a half marathon. I use the word training lightly as my three friends really started hard a week earlier than I, and I had to opt out the first week due to a swollen lymph-node situation that actually hasn't been resolved yet but we'll leave that for a different post. There are three of us, two of whom are experienced half-marathoners. The fact that two of our four would opt to run a half again made me think, ‘maybe this won’t be as awful as every inkling in my body is trying to tell me it will be’…

It all started when Staci joined Jack and I for a run on the trace a few weeks ago. When we don’t listen to our iPods we take turns talking about what's going on in our lives at the start of our runs. 

Me: hey, remember that time you ran a half marathon?

Staci: yeah, I do. Remember that time I tried to convince you to run one with me?

Me: racking my brain for conversations of the sort from over a year ago…No, you never tried to convince me to run anything like that with you…

Staci: yeah, that's because it's happening now. 

Me: I thought this was just a quick there-and-back 1.5 mile jog? Wait, what?

Staci: You, me, Sam, Toni, Nashville, in sixteen weeks. We'll take the Friday before off to drive up there and come home Sunday. And I have a coupon.

It must have been the thought of "saving money" you know I'm practicing living on a budget. Or maybe it was the endorphins my body released from that first mile before it started screaming 'what the freak are you doing? This is not fun! Stop running!’ Or maybe it was my intense focus on keeping up with Jack and acting like his pace was my normal pace while Staci didn't struggle at all. 

I said "okay, sure, I'll train with you.

Stay tuned…

Kudzu, the cat that likes to "get high".

For those of you who haven't met Kudzu, she is my room mate and she is a character. If you read Kudzu's first day of Rehab you'll have some background on her addiction to catnip. This entry takes her addiction to a higher level. 

Kudzu and I spend our evenings loving or fighting, most often a little of both. She lies about having been fed all the time, and she knows exactly how to get what she wants much like her mother. She has completely shredded the textured wallpaper in my red dining room, there are white marks from her claws about three feet up the wall along the entire room. She uses this space as her scratch-post whenever she REALLY needs attention. And don't misunderstand, she adores her actual made-for-cats scratch post, but as you know we oftentimes crave variety in our lives, whey should it be any different for sweet daemon Kudzu?

Most recently it has become extremely apparent that Kudzu likes to get high...

Kudzu has begun to dart out of the house to explore the world outside whenever I'm not paying attention. She is fascinated with the azalea bushes surrounding the house. Something is on them that she can't stay away from. When she darts out the door into my garage, it's fine, because the garage door is usually closed. When she darts out the front or back door, I have to lure her back with treats as I've been afraid she'll wander too far and there are some pretty nasty-looking cats in our neighborhood. 

The other night while it was raining (which, let's face it, has been every night the past few) I decided to keep the door to the backyard cracked during the downpour, knowing Kudzu wouldn't go too far. I've never seen a cat take such thrill to darting in and out over and over. She was drenched by the end of it. 

Last night while watching a movie with my men, Kudzu scratched and howled at the door to the backyard. I let her out. It wasn't raining. There's a bell on her necklace that lets me know where she is, and she's pretty good at coming to me when I call. So I set her free. 

I don't have any trees in either of my yards (well, I do but they're shorter than the house at this point) so I wasn't too fearful of her getting stuck in one. About 3 minutes in to the outside adventure, one of my men started to whine, and I'm not talking about Blackjack.  Markus began to worry, "you want me to go check on her?"

"She's fine. Do you need to go check on her?"I replied calmly as I made breakfast for dinner - my fave.

Five minutes in to operation: let-Kudzu-explore-the-outdoors-on-her-own, I walked outside to call for her, I could tell Markus wasn't going to stand for his darling daemon cat to be left frolicking in the cold and wet for long. He couldn't stay focused on the TV show we were watching, kept looking out the window, walking in and out of the kitchen stay out of my kitchen when I'm cooking, fidgeting, asking Jack if he needed to go outside, etc. 

Sure enough, Kudzu came when I called, she was SO PROUD of herself, all growed-up. I asked her, "boo-boo what are you doing up there?" and as the words left my mouth I saw Markus through the window hurriedly putting on his shoes. 

Like I said, she loves to get high and she made it to the highest place available: the roof. She was eyeing the chimney when I spotted her (thanks to the bell) and it was clear she wanted to come down, but couldn't quite figure out how. Markus was abhorred, "she could get stuck up there!"

Our "family outing" ended promptly when Markus climbed in the chair I had collected from the dining room and lured Kudzu off the roof. 

Next time she explores the outdoors I have a sneaking suspicion she'll find a way to come in through the chimney shoot!

"guuhhgrag arghftpt uh ug"...

Markus: Do you hate me?

Jessi: No.

Markus: You just don't love me anymore?

Jessi: No, that's not it.

Markus: Are you mad at me?

Jessi: Yes.

Markus: [laugh]

Jessi: And before you ask why, let me just tell you, I am mad at you because I told you weeks ago to put that flea medicine on Jack, and you said, "guuhhgrag arghftpt uh ug, nah, it's past the season…".

Markus: [laugh out loud] What's that I said?

Jessi: You heard me, it's what all men say when they think they know more than their woman. It's a man thing. You men say it all the time, like this, "guuhhgrag arghftpt uh ug [whatever the opposite of what your woman is telling you to do is]".

Markus: [still laughing] ermuhgawd you're really mad at me right now.

Jessi: Yes, yes I am. Because I told you to put that flea stuff on him and you didn't, even though he kept scratching. "Oh, he just has sensitive skin," you told me. Bull. And that was weeks ago! And then you found fleas in your house and had to flee the area [no pun intended do NOT laugh any more at that] and now you've brought them to my house.


Earlier…


Jessi: What's that on Kudzu's face?

Markus: Cat stuff.

Jessi: It's a flea.

Markus: No it's not.

Jessi: Yes, yes it is [pop] ew, gross…

Markus: Well I put flea medicine on Jack last night, so they should be gone by now, and then we left the house this morning after I set the bombs off inside…

Jessi: Well, Kudzu gets her flea medicine every first of the month, and it's not the cheap kind, and she doesn't go outside, soooo…

[Jessi and Markus look at Jack's bed]

Jessi: Markus, do you think perhaps they are in his bed?

Markus: We can take the cover off it and put it in the washer.

Jessi: Let's do that.

[pause for hesitation]

Jessi: And by "let's do that", I mean why don't you do that, like right now.

[Markus gets up to separate cover from foam bed]

Jessi: Markus, do you think they could also be in the foam of the bed?

Markus: No.

Jessi: What makes you think they aren't in the foam?

Markus: They're in the foam too, I see one.

Jessi: Uh-huh. Why don't you take that out of the house too?

[While Markus takes care of the bed, Jessi turns on the vacuum cleaner]

Markus: Can I take a photo of that and instagram it?

Jessi: Of what?

Markus: Of you vacuuming in your heels.

Jessi: You just said that.

Kudzu's first day of rehab...

My cat is addicted to crack. The catnip kind.

I was telling a coworker today about how I discovered she is scratching the wall paper off of the walls in my dining room. It's a textured wall paper, so she can really grab ahold of it. Here I was thinking my awarding treats every time she uses her scratch pad was working. Guess it doesn't work so much when I'm not home to treat her.

My colleague asked if I had any catnip in the house.

Well, yeah, ALL her toys have catnip in them. So does one of her scratch pads, although it's not her preferred post.

"Jessica...you're cat's probably high off all the catnip, and that's why she acts berserk all the time!"

Well $#!t...

Here I am thinking I have saved this poor kitty's life by adopting her from the Humane Society. On the contrary, I have brought her home to a kitty crack-house!

When I discovered the wall paper being scratched off the walls this past weekend, I picked up a spray bottle at Wal Mart and filled it with water. Now we're not just practicing the I-get-a-treat-when-I-use-the-scratch-pad technique, we're also practicing the spray-water-in-face-whenever-I-do-something-that-lady-doesn't-want-me-to-do technique.

All of her catnip-crack toys have been moved into a cupboard in her litter box room - she's already tried scratching it open to get them out. Most times she gets sprayed once and takes the hint. She tried breaking in to the catnip cupboard seven times before she quit.

Now all I have to do is hold up the bottle of water when she acts out and she takes off at lightening speed.

Poor cat. She's deprived of all crack, cold-turkey, snoozing on the sofa table now where the fish used to sit. Poor Puppy has been moved to the mantle. After Kudzu started drinking the water, it was only a matter of time before she fished puppy out of his bowl...way to go ME for having that foresight!

My herpetologist sister called her feline specialist friend and he suggested a few things I'm going to try, including giving her her own room (now that I have a room to spare) full of all her toys and scratch posts, litter, food, etc. We'll see how that goes....

This story has two parts...

I signed up for some Spartan Race Challenge thing in November. I don’t recall why I thought it would be a good idea, but I’ve paid. I’m committed.

Today I attended my first Versus Athletic Training class…

I should back up and mention that this entry has two story parts. One: the part where I decided going to Versus AT was in my best interest for completing the Spartan Challenge. Two: the part where I almost died.

Part One: Signing up for Versus AT is in my best interest. At a friend’s paint party it came out that all five of us ladies were signed up for the Spartan Challenge. So of course, we talked about what the race would entail, what videos people had watched online from previous challenges around the nation, etc.

“Four-plus miles”

“Fifteen-plus obstacles”

“Fire, mud, barbed wire, rope climbing, water (not the drinking kind)…”

These are just a few of the nouns/verbs/adjectives that were thrown in and around the conversation as I diligently made my way through the living room with my paint roller, sweating a little bit more as the conversation progressed.

I quickly agreed that yes, we need team t-shirts, but more importantly these t-shirts must be an obnoxiously bright color, so that the rest of the team members can easily identify me during the race, so as not to trample me.

Someone mentioned how these team shirts could say something clever about “being the 16th obstacle”.

Yes. Fantastic idea. I found my purpose: I WILL BE THE SIXTEENTH OBSTACLE!

Long story short, one of these friends helping paint and signed up for the race, is an athletic trainer for Versus. And several of the other women attend boot camps or classes offered by the outdoor gym. I was soon convinced that I should sign up for an AT class between the paint party and the race, after which I would easily be able to compete in the race rather than just survive it.

Part Two: This is where I almost died.
It wasn’t DURING the workout I experienced any near-death feelings - at that point I only felt the urge to vomit everywhere. All over everyone.

The class consisted of:

6AM start. Not bad, when I go to the gym I’m usually there by 5:30AM.

The warm up consisted of several various interval activities: running, squatting, jumping, knee-highs, kicking, etc…it felt good and I was thrilled with my ability to complete each task.

The actual work out was two seven-minute activities. The first, run around the train depot, 10 palm-up man-pushups, 15 come-all-the-way-up sit ups. Do that as many times as you can in 7 minutes. The second, 21 kettle bell squats, 21 kettle bell thrusts, one suicide, 15 kettle bell squats, 15 kettle bell thrusts, one suicide, 9 kettle bell squats, 9 kettle bell thrusts, last suicide; all under 7 minutes.

Last thing: core work out. On the ground. Flutter kicks, bicycles, planks, etc.



It was hard. But I completed everything and was proud.

It wasn’t until AFTER the workout, when I got to Staci's (she's been kind enough to let me use her extra bedroom on these workout days to get ready for work), the following ensued...

I laid on the bed a good 10 minutes before I could fathom the thought of standing up to get to the bathroom. Forget having to lift a leg to climb into a tub.

With some serious focus I made it to the shower but had to SIT the entire time.

In fact when it came time to put suds my hair, I had to lie down against the back of the tub. Then I had to use the soap-bar-holder-thingy to help pull myself back up into a seated position.

When I got out of the shower I couldn't towel off, so I hobbled to the spare bedroom and sat on the floor, wrapped in a towel, dripping hair, etc.

When I say, "hobbled" what I really need you to picture is sloth-like-movements
At 7:30 I thought I'd better do something to get ready for work so I made it back to the bathroom but couldn't decide what I needed to do when I got there (vomit, sit, poop, cry...)

So I stood there dripping, wrapped up in a towel, leaning against the door.

Staci found me and asked if I was okay.

"Yeah. Yup. Mmmmhmmm. Nope."

She got me a pop tart and some more water. She is the bestest friend.

Then I sat on the bed a bit longer.

And then on the floor.

Eventually Staci left for work.

Needless to say I am alive. I survived. I made it to work before the rest of the office, right at 8:00.

And I feel better. I ate a peanut butter whole wheat bagel and have been drinking water all day. By 9 I actually felt perky! But there’s been this undertone of ill-feeling floating in and out all day. I probably haven’t had enough water, still, and might have over done it a bit.

But I'm excited to see what my body does and how it morphs over the next month and a half. Yes, I used the word morph, I am certain that is what will take place.

And hopefully I will do more than just survive the Spartan Challenge.

Apparently I need to learn to trust myself...

The whole reason I came to Paris during this point of the program was so that someone would be here managing each groups' arrival. To make sure each student gets put in a bed in the rooms we have reserved at this hostel. Without a pointed person last year we had students phoning home to explain to their parents "they don't have a place for me to stay!" Which was soooo not the case. No, having faculty here to sort the room mess last year wasn't enough. They can't be around 24/7, they have class to teach. So this year, I am here. I love Paris. No big deal. And really, how difficult is it to put people in to their assigned spaces? Especially when I'm the one who organized it?

I stayed in London to see each coach off on departure day, and then booked it to Paris on the Eurostar to beat the groups arriving in Paris that evening. I got to the hostel, keys were ready, and I made my lists of which students were assigned to each room.

What complicated things last year is that in a room of ten beds, only six were occupied the first two nights. The students moved around and switched things up, so when the next group arrived two days later and students wet handed keys to that room (which was supposed to have four empty beds) it appeared they had no bed to claim as their own...

So when the group arrived this year and I handed out keys, I explained they were not to move around, because students would be arriving in two days to fill those beds. Period.

What did they do? They moved around. I don't know why I was surprised. They were sharing keys and propping the door so everyone, even those without a key (because they hadn't been assigned to that room) could access it. So the organization I had done to ensure I kept the extra keys for students who wouldn't arrive for two days went out the window.

I found out when I met a professor for a pint in the hostel after the first full day in Paris. Unfortunately for her, ONE of the students who participated in this switcheroo was also sitting in the bar...

Jessi: Hi there. Your professor has just told me you ladies moved some things around last night, so that you are all in the same room?

Student: Yes, it's great!

Jessi: Uh-huh. So when the next group arrives, and I hand keys to those students for the room they are actually assigned, and they get up there to see all the beds are taken, what would you have me tell them?

Student: Oh. Um. We were going to tell you we moved things around.

Jessi: Really? When? Because when I was handing out keys yesterday would have been prime time, don't you think?

Student: Well, we didn't know how to get in touch with you.

Jessi: Wait...You didn't know how to get in touch with me? Do you want to try that one again?

Student: Oh, yeah [looks at the ceiling] I guess we have your number...

Jessi: Aaaand my email, aaaaand the Facebook group...

So I went back to my room down the street, grabbed the keys I was saving for the students arriving later, and keyed in to the room they belonged to, of which every bed is now occupied. By that time the student who was unfortunate enough to bear the brunt of my questioning had already told the others the trouble they caused, so they all had their keys ready to trade in when I got there.

I fixed it.

Fast forward to today, the rest of the group plus two VIP guests from one of our consortium partners arrives in a few minutes...me and my organized self calls to check in with the profs, assures them all is well and sorted, and I'll see them when they arrive.

I decide to go in to the city for a coffee, and to 2 hours before the bus lands, ETA 1pm.

Simultaneously I remember to call my anonymous friend for a courtesy wakeup call so that he doesn't over sleep and miss his early flight to FL for business. While the phone rings on his end the thought occurs to me that I didn't see the VIP guests's names on my room list at the hostel for check in, in two hours. I freeze in a slight panic. The people at my hotel didn't mention anyone else in my group arriving later, either. How on earth could I forget to book them beds in Paris!?!?!

Anonymous friend answers the phone, quite groggily, "Rise and shining. I'm awake".

Jessi: Oh good. I am FREAKing out.

AF: "Wait, what? Why?"

So I spit it out in one breath and proceed to talk through how I was going to fix this out loud.

AF: Jessi, it's all about problem solving, which is what you do. You're thinking creatively, you'll be fine.

Wow, so positive and supportive from thousands of miles away at 4:15AM! #alwaysknowswhattosay #browniepoints

I made it back to the hostel's side of town in the 19th arrondissement with an hour to figure this out. My hotel was completely booked, so was the hostel. On the metro I located two more hotels nearby (I love my iPhone) and turns out one of them had two rooms left. And they weren't just saying that, I saw it on their computer screen!

So I did my usual be-a-really-charming-american-lady-speaking-French thing and paid in full. Problem sorted, with 30 minutes to spare.

I stopped in my hotel on my way back to the hostel and explained to the desk lady I would be leaving tomorrow rather than Thursday. She said something about how it didn't matter to her because the room was already paid for and when would my two other guests be arriving today?

.....other guests?

"Pardon? Des autres? Mais...qui?"

Of course she named the VIPs.

Of course I had already taken care of them.

Of course I put them in a hotel rather than the hostel no matter what anyone else suggested.

Not THREE minutes after I booked two rooms at the hotel down the street for two nights, did I return to cancel them. Ay ay ay, while the little concierge man was thrilled to see me again, he was not thrilled when I asked him to cancel the rooms and refund me in full. He'd only just started the job, didn't know how, would have to speak to his manager.

Okay...go speak to your manager. Please and thank you.

Unfortunately getting our money back (because of course I paid in full with the card upfront) will take 5 weeks minimum, and that's only after I e-mail my request and explanation to them...if worse comes to worst we'll just have the credit and can use the rooms another time - and there is plenty of opportunity for that with our programs in France.

I called my anonymous friend back and explained that I seem to be more organized than even I can handle. Of course I had rooms for them, I just focused so much on sorting the HOSTEL rooms out, I forgot to print the hotel list...so automatically I assumed I fudged up.

Anonymous friend said later, that he hadn't doubted me for a minute...and promised next time to help me think through things slowly first, before I assume the only explanation is that I made a mistake.

Everyone will have a bed. Everything is fine. And I'm better than I give myself credit for.

Lunch at the beauborg...

I'm sitting at a café, Bistro du Centre, facing the Pompidou Centre. The sun is peeking through the clouds, wind lightly blowing, it's 70 degrees. I took my time finishing a salade campagnard: lettuce, cantal cheese, jambon de pays, potatoes, croutons, tomate...as always, served with a side of baguette. And un quart du vin blanc. I can't decide on dessert. I'm slowly sipping the rest of my sauvignon. It's funny how I don't mind cigarette smoke while I'm eating when I'm in Paris. There is a Chinese American family in front of me. When I ordered my lunch the waiter continued with me in French. I was pleased. It's such fun speaking a second language. It feels like I'm walking around with a secret. When the family in front of me ordered 2 coffees and a sprite, he reverted to English, they were grateful. A musician playing the Spanish guitar just set up right in front of the café. He's fantastic. I ordered the dessert du jour: tarte poire amandine. I'm sure I'll have a coffee before it's over. The café is full now and I'm thankful for my terrace table providing a view of the centre, the passerbys, the musician, even the pigeons chasing a piece of bread floating in a puddle of water. The tarte was sensationelle. I ordered un grand crème. And some water. I think the waiter enjoys it every time I ask from something new. The musician left , i gave him a coin. The bill will be next. And then I think I will walk up to Montmartre.

It just hit me, I'm leaving the same café Staci and I enjoyed a coffee one of the days we were in Paris together.