On CDs and solo mind games:
CR: Don't stay with him just because you feel guilty.
AMB: I know, totally. But that's what I sometimes do. It's like Dane Cook. Have you heard his stuff? "It's not that easy, Becky. All my CDs are in his truck." And that is totally what girls do.
CR: "I can't just walk away from all those CDs!"
AMB: We find any dumb excuse to stay together.
CR: Dudes are like, "Keep the tee shirt. Have a nice life."
AMB: I do that sometimes to be cool, but then I call back a few days later when I reach rock bottom, and I ask for the shirt back, when it is really just an excuse to call.
CR: "I think I might have left a strand of hair on your pillow. Can I come pick it up and talk about things?"
AMB: "I think I left a Poland Springs bottle at your place. I just remembered because I'm really thirsty."
CR: "I need to clean up my germs. Can I come cry on your sofa?"
AMB: "I need my water bottle!" Oy vey.
CR: We are the worst.
AMB: Yeah, I'd totally break up with me if I was dating me.
CR: Oh, God, I'd freak myself out so badly.
AMB: I think it would be pretty hard to play mind games with myself, but I would sure find a way to do it.
Jun 29th
CARY RANDOLPH'S TOP TEN RULES FOR...
Plan that shit. Don't skip out for a thirty minute jaunt and say after the first mile or two, "Hmm, I think I'll run ten today!" This never works.
Run when you run best. Sure, we've all set our alarms for six a.m., vowing to complete a half-marathon with time to shower before brunch, but um, YEAH RIGHT. I run best in early evening. Find your magic hour and stick with it.
Turn down your iPod volume. Sounds counterintuitive, right? Well, you'll thank your lucky stars I suggested this when you round out mile sixteen and your ears aren't bleeding.
And on that note find a balance between the super peppy jams that help you speed up and more mid-tempo zen songs. A typical musical salad, for example, might swing from the National (zzzzz) to Phil Collins to Sublime to... Get the idea?
Hydrate thyself. Because you're probably hungover and need the water anyway.
If you plan to run more than thirteen miles, tuck a Gu pack in your sports bra. It will come in handy around mile ten when you start to ask yourself, "Why, God?"
Inform someone of your whereabouts. Look. I went to summer camp. What's the first thing you did before hitting the wilderness trail (to smoke cigs and make out)? You told your camp counselor where you were going and when to expect you back just in case a bear attacked you. Camp rules apply here. Bonus points if you find a make-out partner on or before your turn-around point.
Run in the sun. Now that I have a job and I never get to the beach except once in a royal blue moon, I rely on my weekend runs for melanoma time. That's right, I'll be rocking the racer back tan line all summer long, and you can too!
Talk to yourself. Count steps. Sing along with your iPod. Practice sign language. Play the license plate game. In other words, do whatever it takes to keep those hours entertaining.
Remember that all this bullshit --- all these sacrifices, all the cocktails left unsipped, the Friday nights spent scowling over a bottle of O'Doul's while your brosephs dive into the prosecco punch, the black toenails and chafed thighs and wind-burned cheeks and chapped lips and faded highlights and stinky sports bras and roadside vom sessions and cat calls from passing construction workers --- ALL THIS BULLSHIT will pay off in the form of one finisher's medal, one goody bag full of sunscreen packets, one tee shirt, one free bagel, and the incredible high you get when, come Monday morning, your coworkers ask, "How was your weekend?", and you can shrug your shoulders and stir your coffee and say, "Eh, I ran a marathon. How was yours?"
Jun 23rd
Coat checks take skateboards and other...
Upon his arrival to 226 last night, KSG's boyfriend remarked that I looked like...Huck Finn. A twelve-year-old tomboy, in other words. A scrappy little street urchin. And my girls were in heels and silk. Finding a more stylish alternative to the shorts-and-Purcells combo that I've been "rocking" will pose an exciting summer quandary.
How do you boys survive without handbags? Where do you put everything?!
All my friends want lessons! We will start a gang. I ask only to be paid in Coronas.
He warned me about skating drunk, and that alone gave me cause to try it. All I needed were a margarita and two glasses of Chardonnay at La Bottega last night to get me primed and ready for action. Within one wobbly block in the Ninth Avenue bike lane, I was flat on the ground, gravel stuck to every extremity. Six Band-Aids later...
But I got right back up and skated all the way home!
Jun 3rd