Learning to Run

I’ve been trying to keep my writing fashion- or beauty-based, but now find myself needing to explore The Newest Big Thing in my life: jogging. And even sticklers must admit that “Runway” contains the word run, thus opening up this particular floodgate, n’est-ce pas?

In an immature “lying in bed before sleep hoping to win the lottery” kind of way, I’ve had one consistent fantasy throughout my adult life: to be a runner. I wanted to be thin like a runner, I imagined my hair flowing behind me as I glided lightly on my feet, barely touching the ground, sprightly, lithe and energetic. It seemed like the very essence of athleticism, fitness and strength. In reality, running was so hard for me that I just couldn’t do it. And, honestly, I absolutely hated to run.

This life-long impossible fantasy challenge I’d imposed on myself was definitely a heavy burden to bear, but the flip side of this was the remote possibility of immense rewards. Over and over again, I’d take brief forays into the world of jogging: prepping the perfect running music mix before heading out to pound the pavement… or grass… or dirt. Unfortunately, sooner or later, shin splints intervened and my hacking lungs couldn’t hack it. Last year, I was pleasantly surprised to manage (slowly, with my feet barely lifting off the ground) ¾ of a mile, without stopping to dry heave. I then did a few sessions with a friend, topping out at 2 very slow, very rough 15- or 16-minute miles.

Today, something’s changed and I write about this, not quite on my Blackberry as I jog around the track, but on the sofa in my gym clothes, still feeling the headiness of oxygen and success. Today, after a slow three-month build-up, I managed, for the 3rd time in a week, 2 and half miles in less than half an hour… with energy to spare and a smile on my face. And throughout this process, I’ve watched the staff at the gym go from very concerned to proud, with several of them congratulating me for my efforts.

Although running circles in the gym isn’t everyone’s cup of tea (let’s face it, it certainly wasn’t mine) it has strengthened me, given me confidence, helped me lose weight and most importantly, turned fantasy into reality. And, guess what? I LOVE it.

Tips for the really bad runner:
- Start slow. Run/walking is a great way to finish that first mile.
- Buy some supportive running shoes… and, yes, they’re expensive – I recommend Ragged Mountain Running Shop if you’re in Cville.
- Get some really strong beat-driven music to carry you when your legs barely can.
- If possible, run on a cushioned indoor track to help strengthen your joints. Short laps are easy and motivating.
- Just move your legs. Let your body do the rest.
- Stretch part-way through, if necessary.
- Smile. (I’m not kidding.)

Very Vintage

Very Vintage


Vintage is IN… big time. And it always will be, because it just means that beautiful, strong, timeless, classic pieces and a few wackier wonders were made to last. The trick is to recognize a true beaut when you see it and be wily enough to keep it from slipping through your fingers. Then you need to figure out whether or not a piece will work with your look. If your fashion is strong, then anything goes. If you’re a little doubtful, then you might want to consider putting the 1980s Fendi back in storage until next year. Another way of ensuring your vintage will work? When copies start showing up in shop windows, then you know you’ve got yourself a winner! Mix modern with vintage, frilly with sharp, Gucci with Gap, your five year-old favorite with a 1950s masterpiece. If it’s chic, it’ll never quit on you.

• Has it lasted 20 years? Grab it!


• Are the clothing chains copying it? Take it!


• Does it fit in with the rest of your wardrobe? Snag it!


• Does its timeless shape flatter your figure? Pick it up!


• Are you madly in love with it, despite its age? Put it on!

Sky-High in Crack City

Everyone knows how to walk in heels…. or do they?

Not so far gone are the days when every Charlottesville glamour gal knew that wearing stilettos on the downtown mall was a dangerous prospect: for herself and her shoes. Each step involved that sharp intake of breath, that careful concentration… avoiding cracks became more than just a childhood game. Suddenly, the back-breakage issue was real, only this time for mother and daughter alike. Locals sat at restaurant patios, enjoying the spectacle of unprepared tourists running the mall-crack gauntlet and, while it had its funny moments, as an avid stiletto wearer, I can assure you that the recent changes to the surface of the mall are definitely all they’re cracked up to be.

The new ground no longer dictates the necessity of wedges or, God forbid, flats and, thankfully, allows us to prance on in our 6-inch spikes with no fear of sinking in, stuck while onlookers chuckle or, even worse, skinning the leather from the heels as we yank them out from between the bricks, ruining our prize kicks forever.

People may bash it, accuse us of kowtowing to misogynist designers’ bondage fantasies, tarting ourselves up in impossibly high, ridiculously constricting mechanisms meant to keep us women in our place. To that, I say, slip on a pair, just once, with the perfect LBD (that’s Little Black Dress) and a string of pearls. Not only do the shoes give a woman the height she might need to tower above the masses, but they improve her stature, forcing her to throw back her shoulders and walk like she means it. So, to those ladies who would love to wear sky-highs, but just don’t know how (now that it can actually be done in public in Charlottesville) here are a few tips to help you get over your fear of heights.

• One inch at a time: start with a short heel. Avoid going straight for the 6-inchers in those early sessions.
• Keep it close to home: Your training wheels are kitten heels, so practice at home before heading out. A full-length mirror will keep you even more on your toes. Don’t forget to practice on the stairs!
• Bring back-up: Leave the tiny clutch at home for your first few adventures in sky-land. Throw a pair of cute flats into your shoulder bag for long nights out.
• Slip one in: Once you’ve graduated to taller shoes, stock up on insoles, inserts and massaging foot gels. The highest shoes can often use a little extra cushioning.
• Wiggle while you walk: To truly master the sexy spike, you’ve got to stand up straight and let your hips do the walking. Swinging your rear will help you achieve that perfect balance… and look stunning while doing it.
• Don’t be callus: Pampering your feet is half the battle. If you’re not a pedicure kind of gal, a quick rub with a pumice stone at the end of your shower is an easy way to keep your tootsies soft, smooth and happy.

If you find that perfect pair, devise a strategy. Begin at home, graduate to dinner parties where you’re mostly sitting and start out slowly with shorter heels on those first few nights out. The bottom line is that you need to take your time. We all know Rome wasn’t conquered in a day. Well, neither were the catwalks of Milan or Paris, so you might want to give Charlottesville a little extra time before throwing in your shoes.

Skitch & Bitch

Can't believe I forgot to include this in today's post:

Ever been skitching? No? Well I have. And for anyone who knows what skitching is and anyone who knows me (and what a scaredy cat I am), you're undoubtedly chortling in a sort of half-shocked, half-ridiculing kind of way. Of course, you're right on both counts. Me skitching is definitely shocking and certainly ridiculous and totally AWESOME!

I can't think of a better way to end a delightful snowed-in evening than hitching some rope to the back of a big old pick-up, plopping your rear onto the top of a plastic storage container and getting your ass dragged down the snowy street and back.

Woe is the person who tries to get between me and the back of a pick-up truck anytime soon. And for someone who's so keen on the straight and narrow, not even Johnny Law could've torn me from the elated, squealing, shrieking thrill of rushing air and cold snow-covered eyes at 20 miles an hour on a Saturday. IN A SKIRT!

Eville Snow

Well, Mes Amis, I know it's been a while, but I figured it might be time to start le writing again. Our lovely friend is here from France, staying indefinitely in the guest room and starting a new life. She's blogging... and so will I. Shall we blog, V?

We had a very busy weekend: the arrival, snow, V's birthday. All of it well-accompanied by various delightful wines (including the "two-donkeys", or asses if you prefer, made by a couple of French lesbians... it tasted very barn-like, which I love) and mucho food. I shall start the diet anew this morning, I think... one needs breaks every once in a while... and I ate four pieces of carrot cake yesterday. Talk about overkill.

In random thoughts, my mascara keeps flaking and ending up below my eyes recently. I've tried every single one I own (that's a LOT of mascara) and the result is the same. Every day, my eyes start to burn and get dry towards the end of the afternoon, creating the infamous Raccoon-Eye effect. Has anyone else had a run-in with Rocky?

I followed a friend's lead on making the "money" corner of our house more welcoming (to the money, of course). Instead of just making it gorgeous, I put all my silver into the corner (in manner of sacrifice, a la King Kong or similar), in hopes that like might attract like. It works, people. The next morning, I got a phone call telling me that long-awaited funds would be arriving. Hallelujah!

Le Husband and I watched Food, Inc. a couple of weeks ago and we've decided to eat only Organic (whenever we control things, of course) and to plant a garden this year. So, if anyone has any fool-proof gardening advice, this fool's all ears. My mouth, literally, just started watering as I thought of tomatoes.

Lastly, my current Very Best Things:
- Home-made carrot cake with a red V on top
- V's Mashed Fluffy Sweet Potatoes with too much cream... yum
- Super sparkly Sonia Kashuk eye palette from Target - get it, but don't buy them all... leave some for me in case I run out, please!
- The possibility that we may get a washer and dryer soon (cross fingers and toes)
- My faux-fur-lined, water-proof reindeer boots.
- Domaine des Deux Anes wine.

Etc!

Closet Cull

Well, it’s time to lead by example, I think, and clean out my own closet. Not only is this early chill forcing me to clear out the summer items, but a couple of the winter cozies I’ve just pulled from storage are really not going to cut it this year.

I’m also going to try out an idea I’ve developed. Because I finally have a closet large enough to allow me to see exactly what my clothing choices are, I can organize and re-organize it to my heart’s content. I’m going to place the most recently-worn items from each section near to the back of that section. I’m thinking this will force me to wear pieces that I never otherwise touch (or even notice). If I still don’t wear them, after they’ve been staring me in the face for a few weeks, it’s time for those garments to move on to a happier home.

With that in mind, I also notice a trend in my life which goes beyond just clothing. Moving from Paris to Charlottesville last year gave me the opportunity to really take stock of what I own and what is actually valuable to me. An example of my current, say, soap inventory goes something like this: pretty soaps that I’ve stocked for a rainy day, good soaps for everyday use, soaps that I just love, but never seem to take out and then those very special soaps which never get used.

The same goes for clothing: gym clothes that really don’t do me justice are worn, for obvious reasons, every day. Beyond that, there’s the stuff that fits comfortably and looks good (old stand-bys, really), which I don frequently and then those pretty little numbers I love to take out on the weekends… but the real tragedy lies in my über-special pieces, languishing behind their less-deserving, well-worn cousins, instead of basking in the glory that they deserve.

It seems like such a shame to own lovely clothes and never wear them. Of course, there are so many factors involved. More often than not, I’m feeling just a little too bulky in something or I think my belly’s not flat enough to wear something else. Sometimes it’s too cold out for cotton or too warm for angora… There are those days when I couldn’t possibly put on a skirt to sit around the house, so I end up wearing jeans.

So, it’s time to reassess things. Instead of saving the best for… never, I’m going to move it to the front of the closet and finally let it see the light of day. After all, clothing is meant to be worn. Everyone and, perhaps, everything deserves its moment in the sun, doesn’t it?

Falling, falling fast!

Being an image consultant is no longer the distant nut of an idea it once was. Instead, I've put things into motion, begun working with clients and starting the website rolling... of course, just having bought a new house means my attention is divided, but it's not really all that different. I've been considering the house as another one of my projects, just a very very big one.

Unfortunately, while I've spent all this time looking at paint colors, wishing for a higher credit card limit and more of a furniture budget, helping buy clothes for friends, purchasing new mascara, etc., I've forgotten to pay attention to.... drum roll.... my waistline!

So, for the first time in a couple years, my weight is starting to become a real issue. Despite sweating it out at the gym several times a week, I've found that almost all of my clothing is too tight and some garments just won't fit any more, no matter how hard I pull! Oh, the tragedy of having a closet full of lovely clothes and only being able to wear the larger, uglier items! I suppose I should feel lucky that my boots still zip up and that earrings are one-size-fits-all, but the extra calories burned by walking around with extra pounds clearly never actually burns enough calories to make you lose weight... if you get my drift.

Well, it's back to the weight watchers website for me... tail between my legs. Because I can certainly dole out the weight loss advice and I definitely see where I've gone wrong, but dieting is just SO EXHAUSTING and all I really want to do is sit in front of the fire with a glass of wine or seven and a lovely selection of French cheeses, perhaps a pate and a foie gras... you know, gorgeous things! Alas, that's what got me to this point in the first place, so... don't expect to see me out on the town any time soon. I'm surprised there's a town left, any way, after I've eaten my way through it!

Buddha, Mohammed, Yaweh, Ganesh and God Bless America

What ever happened to separation of Church and State? At what point in our lives did it become acceptable to swear on the bible in government institutions and have pastors speak at inaugurations, not to mention lead the nation in prayer? How is it possible that I, as an American, can feel even remotely represented by a government that insists on referring to God incessantly? How DARE you assume that I want to be blessed by your so-called God? My children, I promise you, will NOT cite the phrase"under God" every morning in Home Room.

It's a travesty that a National political event can be turned into a religious festival. I really thought that ringing in this presidency would be fair, equal and non-denominational and I am, once again, disappointed in this country.

Dearest Mr. President, could you, would you, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States of America? I beg you to take your duties seriously, as you move forward in this country's bid for "freedom". Remember, the little freedoms are sometimes the greatest.

Merry Percy!!!!

Trumped!

There's nothing worse than reading a long, boring, repetitive, negative rant about things that don't concern you. So, I'll make this short.

In my boring, every-day life (the part of life in which we have to work in order to earn an income and in which many of us are doing something that we're not entirely passionate about), I am a translator and proofreader. I randomly got into this through my previous, short-lived, but semi-successful, acting career (oh, who am I kidding, I should have stopped the descriptives after short-lived). Because I did voices for a few video games, I ended up with a connection to a video game company, which hired me to do a translation or two and presto... five years later, I'm a translator, specializing in video games for the US and UK markets.

I'm perfectly happy with this line of work. It gives me the freedom to work from home, allows me to have free time, with brief busy spurts, and basically gives me enough work to get by. In this case, it's definitely quality time winning out over massive amounts of cashola, but I'm ok with that... generally. Recently, I've had a very busy rush, which has led to the current near-dry spell (definitely worrisome). Worse than the dry spell, though, is the fact that I haven't been paid by my biggest clients in over three months. I've already mentioned this in a previous post (The Horror, The Horror), so you'll understand why the issue has single-handedly outdone itself.

It's a testament to how well I'm doing overall in my life that this lack of money hasn't destroyed me utterly. Le Husband and I have gotten by (with the help of credit cards) on his meagre artist's earnings and I have managed to not think about it every minute of every day, which is no small feat, considering what a worrier I tend to be. It occurred to me very early on that, other than the obvious (phone calls, emails), there was very little that I could do from all the way over here in the US of A and that it was not worth freaking out over. How easy it is, n'est-pas, to melt into a messy, dribbling pile of self-pitying tears rather than face the bothersome thing and move on?

All of this was well and good, of course, until the day on which payment had been promised and repromised (yesterday) came and went... without payment. Add to that this past weekend's cold snap with no heat in our home and you get... well, a morning of messy, dribbling, self-pitying... you get the picture!

I'm not a control freak (although I can easily become one if the situation warrants it... say, Christmas caroling with my friends in high school, trying to keep them from getting run over or cleaning house with Le Husband, whose standards are, in my opinion, sub-par), but I like to have a firm handle on what happens to me. Barring a random car accident or other inevitable bump with fate, I like to think that I'm the Mistress Of My Own Destiny. But, this morning, it became very apparent that, not only do others control our lives, but those others are sometimes the little guys; the power-hungry accountants who would rather put an invoice through the shredder in their last week with a company than deal with it themselves... or the bored utilities worker who prefers to tell clients that the morning's scheduled appointment will actually be in the afternoon, just to make their own lives easier.

I've been on both sides of these equations. I worked for a big French company, where the measly little accountants did their best to make themselves feel better by controlling others, including clients, suppliers, co-workers and anyone else who had the misfortune of requiring their services. But, in that situation, I was able to at least go see them and flirt, cajole, needle, harass, anything to get them to make payments for me. After making a couple irate phone calls this morning, I was able to get a positive response from the gas company and am happy to say that the heat is on. In that case, I was the client and, in the US at least, the client is king. But my phone call to the new accountant in charge of paying my invoices with the video game company (the shredder-fiend has left the company leaving, I understand, many disgruntled people in his wake) ended on a slightly more bitter note: I'm being put off another week.

Oh well, at least I've lost some weight!