Let's talk about hair instead of running.

People, I'm about to come clean here about my hair style.

And by hair "style" I mean that up until a week ago, I'd had the same "style" since pretty much the 8th grade.

We're talking straight, armpit length blondish-brown hay masquerading as hair. There weren't any bangs. No curls, or even the possibility of curls. And, until about a year ago, no layers either.

I could have taken this photo any time in the last decade and it would have looked the same.
Thankfully my sister is adorable.

I felt that my big contribution to Hair Style was the fact that I dutifully kept up my highlights and didn't have a mess of split ends.

Thankfully, about a year ago, my very patient and hopeful stylist gently coaxed me into letting her cut a few layers around my face (but promised they wouldn't be bangs! I hate bangs! Bubba hates bangs! NO BANGS!) and I did love that very much.

Because I felt like suddenly I had a Hair Style. Which, really, I didn't. I had straight hay hair with some hardly noticeable layers in the front. Sorta swinging around, giving my hair some "movement", as she would say.

Bless her, she's so generous with my cautious hair-cutting soul. "Look at all the movement!" she'd say, to convince me I'd taken a courageous step away from my puritanical hair styling ways.

*Sigh* I can be such a fragile flower. About my hair anyway.

Well, about a month ago, my Hair Life changed forever.

I was waiting out in front of the Pilates studio, chatting with one of the dudes in my class (oh yes, dudes take this class, because it is hard, y'all!) when my friend tapped me on the shoulder. Of course I turned around, because that's what you do when someone taps your shoulder, and TEE DAH! there she stood with a new haircut.

And that, "What do you think!?" look on her face.

And then I frightened her with my response. Which went something like, "HOLY SHIT! I love it! I will HAVE IT!"

And then, because she's a girl and we never believe what other girls say, she clearly thought I was just being nice and didn't actually really super love her haircut, which I absolutely did, and she spent the rest of class doing her leg circles without looking me directly in the eye.

Not that you can be looking people in the eye while lying down on a Reformer, but still. Avoidance and fear were in the air.

And you know why my reaction was so...um...sincere? Not because I was all happy for her finding her Hair Perfection (come now, when am I ever that sweet and nice?) but because, I thought to myself, *I* could do that haircut.

Yes, because I'm very self-involved. That is right. I mean, I was happy for her, too, but mostly I was happy to have found someone who discovered my own Hair Perfection without me having to go out on a scary limb and do it myself.

Yes, I'm also lazy and a scaredy cat. I'm OK with this.

ANYWAY.

I thought I could do this haircut and not even maybe look like a total Jack-o-Lantern and maybe, because it's so style-y, I could even use fancy things in it like mousse or whatever. And OH! I could stop being the Girl With Hair From the 8th Grade! That'd be super great! And maybe I'd look like a grown-up instead of an 8th grader in 4 inch heels, which is something you don't really want to look like at work, and when I go out with the three dimensional people I might actually not look an Amish girl on Rumspringa.

My mind ran wild, is what I'm trying to say.

And then, later, my nice friend let me take pictures of her hair from all angles even though I'm sure she was trying to find the secret trap door in her cube to escape from me and my scariness.

I'm sure she was hoping that I'd forget about her haircut and just go back to my stylist and get my same highlight touch-ups and one inch trim (NO BANGS!) because, as my boss put it, it might be a little creepy if we both had the same haircut at the same time, but sad for her, I totally went for it.

Because of Peer Pressure.

Because I mentioned to, like, two people that I was thinking of getting an actual Hair Style cut into my haystack and WHOA the reaction was like if I'd said I was thinking of getting a full-body tattoo or a porn star boob job or something dramatic like that.

People were all, "Do it! Do it! Do it!" and suddenly I remembered that I can be very impressionable as though I'm back in the 8th grade and all the cool kids were doing something.

Thankfully now I'm a little more aware of this character flaw in myself and am able to limit my giving-in to things like haircuts and "just one more cocktail?" rather than things that get me suspended from school. Yay for that.

SO.

When I went to my regularly scheduled Just Touch Up The Highlights and Take Off an Inch hair appointment, I felt I needed to steady my stylist before I shocked the shit out of her.

So, I warned her.

"Liz. Steady yourself. I brought a picture."

"What?"

"Of a haircut."

"WHAT?"

"For me."

"WHAT? NOWAY! YES! LET ME SEE IT! YES! THIS WILL WORK! SIT DOWN! LET'S DO THIS!"

"Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayy..."

Then it was my turn to be afraid because I do believe she started to drool a little bit. Like her little girl (and she's not all older than me or anything) was growing up and getting a training bra for her hair or something.

Thankfully, though, she is a pro and after touching up the highlights (hey, I can't do away with everything, now) she proceeded to expertly cut into my hair the first step of my progressive hair style.

That's right, friends, this is a Hair Evolution. In six weeks, it will be re-cut in a more dramatic way, sort of, and look different! Sort of.

OK, so the only real reason why it's the way it is now rather than the way it will be in six weeks is because I still needed to be able to pull it into a decent ponytail for the race.

That's this Sunday. And we're not talking about it because I think I've psyched myself out to the point where now I feel like I'm coming down with some sort of icky cootie.

SO LET'S TALK ABOUT MY HAIR INSTEAD.

Yes. These photos are creepy because my laptop took them.
This is, what Liz calls, "Kicked under".

This is what she calls, "Kicked out" and I call "Yay! Let's play with Paste in our hair!"

Anyway, it's a little longer in back than it will be when she gets her hands on it again, but essentially, this is the style. And I call this style - Lots of Layers. And shorter. And it can be kicked out or kicked under or all messy or whatever.

OK, that's not a proper name for a style, but do hairdos even have names? I don't think so.

The important thing is that it's shorter, it's different, it's more fun and YAY I get to use mousse and Paste (which sounds gross, but is actually quite fun) and I use way less shampoo and it takes a big 10 minutes to blow dry instead of 20 and YAY it still ponytails like a champ.

My ponytail is so small! Like a sprout!

OK. I don't think I can talk about my hair anymore. But it was a good diversion so that I didn't talk about running. Thank you for bearing with me.