Craft FAIL | Knitting SUCCESS

So, 'member (Bubba hates that) when I was all, "Hey, look at my amazing thing called Corks!"?

And I thought I was so smart for using my old corks to hold my stitches on my knitting?

Yeah, you remember. It was one in a long string of super modest moments. I'm so humble.

Anyway, I reveled in the discovery like a professional reveler. I mean, I was always giving myself a mental high five every time I took out my knitting (which has been pretty often given the cooling off of the weather) because I'm such a smartie that I managed to reuse two of my five billion corks in a useful way and, at the same time, had avoided losing stitches to the evil knitting gnome who lives in my knitting bag and likes to yank my project from its needles as it sits innocently by the couch.

These were precious moments, folks, when I felt smart about myself for five minutes.

Anyway, in my typical Queen of Forcing It fashion, I took my smartie-pantsness too far yesterday as I tried to set aside my knitting so I could focus my anger on the 49ers as they insisted on allowing the Falcons to remove their heads in a bloodbath to the tune of 45-10. And in the process of this "setting aside" I thought I had an amazing idea.

One that would keep the sleeves of my project from coming off their stupid double pointed needles.

One that would use the existing awesome cork stitch holders in a new and awesome way.

And that idea was to take the three points on one end of the project and jam them into the sides of one cork and then take the three points on the other end of the project and jam those into the sides of the other cork thus creating a virtually impenetrable fortress of safety for my stitches from the evil bag gnome.

Do you get what I'm saying here?

Well, if you don't, don't worry - I'm about to show you why this is an awful idea meanwhile you will probably see what I was going for.

It would have been great, I tells ya.

Yeah, so, had this worked and my amazing Hulk-like strength had not burst forth from my ripped guns, I would have had three needles covered on both ends with two corks. Real fancy good use of two old corks, I thought.

But, instead, I had three needles covered on both ends with two corks and then YAY broken in the middle to form a soul-crushing little tent-like thing.

YAY.

Because, of course, bamboo needles are made of bamboo and not, say, steel or some other not-super-breakable material, and so when you go applying force from both ends and then twisting even the tiniest bit, well, they snap like my ankles before a cold pre-dawn run.

These stitches are now living on a too-long circular needle. It irks me.

And the sound is nearly as sickening. I swear it to you.

Anyway, the FAIL here is easy to see, because DUH, there are the broken needles right there, but thankfully this was paired with a Knitting SUCCESS otherwise someone other than a certain SF tight end might have had their head removed. By moi. GRRR.

The knitting success, which maybe you already guessed at on your side of the computer screen, was the fact that this bastardized sweater pattern is totally working out because I've moved onto the sleeves!

Which I totally wouldn't have done if I'd tried it on only to find out that it fit like some other piece of crap that I knit in the past or maybe a new horrible incarnation of horseshit knitting.

I have never let myself dream that I could knit a fitted garment, but there you go.

So, yes, the body of the sweater fits perfectly, which is a huge and surprising success, and now all I need to do is knit the sleeves while contemplating whether to finish the hem and cuffs off like I did on Bubba's sweater.

I can't decide. You decide! What do you think: Do I ...

• Leave the bottom hem and sleeve cuffs au natural so that they roll (see above photo)?
• Use that fancy technique I learned from Knitting without Tears (Swears) where the edges turn all nice and neatly?

Keep in mind that the neckline will be the Au Natural Rolling way because the fancy turning technique is not going to work up there given the giant neckline. So you know.

I haven't been able to decide because I've been too busy ordering more yarn (What? You need more yarn to turn a Tshirt into a long-sleeved sweater? Oh. Right.), replacement DPNs and Addi Turbos in even more sizes.

Because, even though I've had a love/hate relationship with these guys in the past, I'm currently in the Love camp because they make this mind-numbing sleeve knitting process just OH SO MUCH faster.

Really. They do. I believe that's why they call them "Turbo".

Anyway.

That's about it for the trials and tribulations of my small knitting while watching football and breaking shit lifestyle. I hope to be back with a fully executed Perfect-For-Me sweater of my own bastardized design soon.

And I will share the pattern changes I made so maybe you, too, can knit one of these things if you so desire, and without the ritualistic snapping of nice needles.

*Sigh*

Night gardening

"Hey! As long as you use hand tools!"

Says my super bright neighbor (one of the shitty ones) when Bubba joked that with our new yard projects we'd be working long hours, potentially straying into Night Gardening, if it got too busy.

She doesn't live on the same planet as we do, this insane neighbor of ours.

BUT - I did end up following the moon phases for the first time in all of my gardening life by planting the fava beans this past weekend in accordance with the First Full Moon of October rule handed over to me by the nice neighbors.

The same ones who grew fava beans double the size of mine last year. And the ones who had tomatoes so big they started moving their stuff into my yard.

So, when they said that they always plant theirs with the first full moon of October, I listened. And made mental mind list notes. And then promptly forgot about it because that is my way.

Also, I had a race coming up and it was eating my whole mind. You remember.

Anyway, last Saturday, as I was Relaxing and Doing Nothing, as instructed by the race handbook and everyone I knew, Nice Neighbor reminded me that "Hey! Tonight is a full moon! Better plant those favas!" in that voice that tells me that he thinks his wife is crazy for holding on to this Italian tradition from the old country even though he wouldn't dare go against it.

I mean, he doesn't want to risk shrimpy favas does he? No. I dare say he does not. Even though he doesn't like them. But - I do believe he likes peace and quiet and if the favas come out shrimpy, Nice Neighbor Wife will be anything but quiet.

Let me assure you of that. Wow.

So, with all that said, I went out and planted fava beans during a break from Relaxing and Doing Nothing because YAY planting fava beans is about as close to Doing Nothing as gardening can get.

And, please make note that I did this planting during the bright sun of day time and not during the dark hours of night - even though it would have been fun to do that just to fuck with the shitty neighbors. I might have even run the sod cutter just to see if I could get her to come screaming from her house. That'd been funny.

Really, now - night gardening? Stoppit.

Before fava beans

After fava beans

See what I mean? It's like nothing happened. Because almost nothing did. I just took a dozen or so seeds and pushed them through the soil beneath the composting corn husks. And then I walked away. Feeling triumphant and timely. And still relaxed.

Now, who knows what's going on under all that corn detritus, but I do hope it's the early germination of all of my fava beans. That'd be great. It'd be super great if they also got big and tall like my neighbors' did last year so that I can stop feeling like a tard for planting things when the moon tells me to.

I just can't have someone else telling me what to do. I don't enjoy that.

But while the favas do whatever it is they're going to do (GET HUGE, DAMN YOU), I'm going to be taking down another bed this weekend while I contemplate what the eff to do about the tomatoes that live on. And on and on and on.

So, like, say goodbye to the green bean tepee, since I've pretty much let the remaining beans turn to rattles on the vine (shaking the tepee makes the creepiest rattle sound now - it freaks out the dog) and, even though it's being stupid and putting out more blossoms, it's high time for this bitch to come down.

Quit showing off, beans. No one is impressed.

Plus, it's ugly.

Ugliness.

Now, I was planning to do garlic or onions or some kind of winter-type vegetable in this bed, but I've frankly lost my inspiration. And while I have some fun things planned for the spring garden, I can't seem to get my brain excited to prepare beds now for a winter crop of whatever.

SO - probably no winter Adopt a Crop, unless inspiration strikes and/or I go to the nursery and onion sets start jumping into my basket. It could happen.

Or maybe I'll just plant all the beds with fava beans and then witness the horror on my other neighbors' faces when I turn them under before the beans can be picked and eaten. You should have seen when I did it this year. I thought one of them was going to brain me with a shovel.

ANYHOO - the tomatoes. The tomatoes are a problem. In a way.

We're like a bunch of red-headed stepchildren. Just more delicious.

See, I planted four plants this year. Which is exactly double what I planted the last few years. And what I imagined would prevent us from having the tomato lull in the season that we experienced last year due to the fact that Bubba and I are expert tomato eaters and can handle two full tomato plants like we're total fucking professionals.

Well, as it turns out, we're only professionals when it comes to handling two plants. Four plants is a bit much. Even for us. And we eat a lot of tomatoes. And I give a lot away. And I've been stocking our chest freezer on a regular basis with bags full. And I've canned around 6 quarts. And I've made and frozen sauce.

AND YET STILL - there are the plants, taunting me. Waving their overgrown branches at me with their flirty little new blooms in October of all times. Ripening more fruit every day as though it's the middle of August and I've got time to just go to town canning and freezing them every five minutes.

So, the other day, during a moment of Tomato Fatigue, I made a BBT (bacon, basil, tomato) sandwich on challah (because nothing says Terrific Jew like bacon on challah) and had a chat with the tomato plants.

At least it wasn't THIS sandwich. Now THAT was naughty.

"Here me now, plants...", I scolded.

"You will be coming down in a few short weeks. Before the frost can come and turn you into goo. And in these few short weeks, I expect you do to your best to ripen all of those green marbles into something edible otherwise next spring....NEXT SPRING...do you know what will happen? I will only plant two of you fuckers and you don't want THAT to happen."

You can totally see them quaking in their beds.

And, yes, I realize that this rant makes no sense. Because I'm talking to plants. Because these plants are annuals and it's not like they'd be coming back anyway. Because plants don't respond to threats from crazy people. And so on.

Just for the record, I still go on these rants anyway. Makes me feel like *I* am the boss of somebody for once.

All it really means, though, is that while doubling the number of tomato plants sounded like a keen and dandy idea, it was just as ridiculous as I'd imagined it could be. So, next year, only two plants.

Or maybe three. And a tomatillo. Oh who knows.

Thankfully, all I'll have to contend with soon are hopefully lots of kumquats, which are growing mightily thankyouverymuch, and Meyer lemons. From which I can make the Most Hated Dessert of All Time (if you're me) for Bubba because he deserves it for picking up my drunk ass in the city a few weekends ago after an evening of girl-ish debauchery.

Nice man, that Bubba.

I feel like this kumquat is big. But I might just be a proud mama.

I think lemons are the slowest growing of all fruits. Given this is how this same lemon looked three months ago.

Wow. This sort of turned into a gardening update and all I wanted to tell you was that one of my neighbors is totally mental. Huh. Funny, that.

2:25:08

Yes, you read that right, that is not a PR.

That is also not a 2:TEENS:00 time.

What that is, however, is the second half marathon time in one year.

And a watermark over my chest because I'm not paying $80 for 5 digital photos, thankyouverymuch.

So, you know, I could sit here and be all Woe is me I didn't get a PR during my second half marathon of the year and WOE I didn't make it into the 2:TEENS even though I kept up a 2:15 pace until mile 5 when my thirst took over all my other senses and led me by the ear from water station to water station, but I'm not all that woeful.

Because - for one - I killed my goal. I ran two half marathons in a year.

And - for two - now I can do something NEW.

I can go out into Nature and run around on NEW trails I've never run on before. I can see NEW things like wild animals (although, please no mountain lions) and farm animals (goats - I'm coming for you) and animals like squirrels that will make any runs with my sidekick, Jada, really fucking interesting.

I can try out NEW gear like running shoes with weird tread and socks that cover my ankles. I can try out NEW features on my Garmin like the compass and the mapping that will tell me how to get back to my favorite routes even when I'm not on roads carefully mapped by Google.

Ahhhhhhhhh - I love NEW.

And because most everything about yesterday's race was not NEW, I will spare you the mile by mile details because it was basically just like last year's race of the same name except with the following refreshing, surprising and horrible differences, respectively:

1. No old dudes in American flag shorts

Now, the lack of American flag shorts wearers was not a difference that I missed. I mean, I really don't need the blow to the ego of some 70 year old beer gut chugging past me at mile 9 just as I'm working up my big internal "You can do it" speech. It's just not that motivating to watch all that red, white and blue hustle by as you dig deep down and try to muster all your energy to push on.

See - no American flags in sight. How can this be?

However, I suppose it's possible that there were American flag shorts wearers and I've managed, somehow, to move my ass up in the crowd just far enough so that they don't pass me at my lowest moment. Perhaps. Or perhaps their shorts were in the wash and they instead wore their Elvis costumes.

2. I managed to see my next door neighbor on my way to my corral even though there were 12,000 other people there

Another Mystery in Racing was the moment when I was approaching Corral 8 (just like all 3 years I've run this race - see, the same), felt a tap on the elbow and turned to find my neighbor, a man who recently dusted me on a training run even though he was nursing a sore ankle, there to smile and wish me well and stagger off to Corral, like 4, or something. He's a very nice man, who's always very encouraging and camaraderie-ish about the running, otherwise I'd say something snarky even though I'm not sure what that would be because he is just that nice.

But I should note here that our (mine and Bubba's) ability to find friends in large crowds (over 5,000 people is our specialty) is starting to border on Super Hero-like. Seriously. Three years in a row, we managed to bump into our two close friends before AIDS Walk SF (25,000+ people) without any pre-arranged meeting place or even knowing we were all going. I managed to run into a good friend and my "It's your fault I'm running" buddy at the Turkey Trot (6,000+ people) a few years back while just standing around with the dog. I had a chance encounter with my cousin at a race we were both participating in (granted, only about 1,000 people, but still)- which doesn't sound all that chance except that my ability to recognize faces or do any other cognitive activities while running is pretty lousy.

And now this - my neighborly neighbor just right there and Hey! Have a great race! even though there is, like, a 1 in 24,000 chance that I'd even see him.

I do hope this is the early development stage of our Super Hero Friend Finding Powers because that'd be excellent. Make finding each other on the mountain in Steamboat a lot easier, too.

3. Two people died during the race

What's not excellent, though, is that two people died during the race yesterday. I'm not going to go into details or get all religious-y on you because I'm not the news and I'm not religious, but I will say that it breaks my heart.

I always imagine, when we're crowding into our corrals before the race, that we're all there filled with similar emotions and anxieties and excitement and expectations. We're all fiddling with iPods and watches and doing stretches where there's no room to stretch. We're all looking around at other people's pace bands and funny shirts and trying to make small talk when in our heads we're all just thinking "PR PR PR".

And it makes me feel better, when I'm all wacked out with the Pre-Race Crazies, that in a couple hours we'll all be crossing the finish line and getting our orange wedges while some nice volunteer wraps sacks of ice around our aching knees and we admire the newly earned medals hanging around our necks.

It just never occurred to me that all of those folks who started the race wouldn't finish the race. That this race would be the last thing they did.

Makes me sad is all.

And hopeful that they said the same goopy goodbyes and good lucks that Bubba and I do before races and that they felt the satisfaction of competing in a race for which they'd long prepared. And, in the end, they'll still get their medal. If not an orange wedge and a good ice pack. One without holes that's tied tight and doesn't leak down your leg when you start walking to the car.

I'll just hope for that because that's what I know how to do.

And before this race recap turns into a big sad sob-fest, let me tell you that I have signed up for another race.

Go ahead - laugh if you must.

And feel free to point at the screen and go, "FINNY LIES!", because I know I just said I was going to do something NEW and this race, the aforementioned Turkey Trot, is not NEW, but I've assumed since the last Trot that I'd do this Trot again and I kinda like the tradition of Trotting before The Thanksgiving of Many Desserts, because of the minuscule amount of guilt it removes (about 300 big calories - whoopy) and because it means I can have race fries before Thanksgiving dinner on the way to my folks'.

Yesterday's Race Fries + Bonus cheeseburger! I think I know why I'm not "streamlining".

Hi mom! I eat fries on my way to Thanksgiving at your house! Forgive me! I'll bring a green vegetable!

I should say though that the course of this year's Trot is "Brand New" and, I believe, removes the oh so treacherous freeway on-ramp that had us gaining, like, 70 feet, or something, so I guess that covers off the NEW requirement. And as long as they really prepare for the nearly 10,000 people they're expecting and it's not a total shitfest like it was in '07, I'll keep up this tradition even if I make the switch to trail running the rest of the time.

But if I get slammed by even one stroller - be it single or double-wide - I'm done. No more trotting with idiots who think that the 9 minute pace sign really says, "Hey, smush all your strollers in here because who wants to stand waaaaaaaaaaaay back there by the Strollers and Families sign".

Turkey Trot people - take note.

And that is all the running I've got to talk about.

Commence Post-Race Break Week.

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.

Sunday SUNDAY Sunday

All I can really think about now is the fact that my #2 half marathon of the year is this Sunday and what if I puss out and don't hit my pre-announced goal of 2:TEENS:00.

Which I announced while clearly still riding the high of PRing in a race with hills.

I thought I'd FOR SURE run a slower race in Seattle than I did last year in San Jose for the simple fact that Seattle has hills and San Jose just has lame bands and a freeway overpass. But then, there I was, running along UP and down hills, along the lake (with the HOLY SHIT! A bald eagle!) and through the tunnel (hot, stinky, not as fun as I thought it would be) and down the freeway on-ramp (fun! Like being on the approach path to Sea-Tac.) and HOLY SHIT! (again) I swooped into the finish line in 2:23:57, which was a cool 14 seconds faster than my last half marathon and also my all-time half marathon PR.

So, obviously I immediately believed that I could become Super Woman in my second half marathon of the year all because there aren't any hills.

I think I might have even said something about "Maybe I should get a trainer" which totally didn't happen because I hear trainers tell you what to do and I DO NOT like to be told what to do.

I also didn't do the other things I secretly and quietly thought to myself I might do like lose five pounds (for streamlining benefits) or train up to 14 miles so that 13.1 wouldn't seem so bad. Kinda going off that feeling I had at the Mermaid 10K this year where I was trained up to 9 miles and felt great running 6.

Nope. I basically followed the same training regimen I always have for these halfs and now the paranoia is setting in about whether I did enough, felt strong enough, am going to shame myself publicly, be able to peel off and try trail running if I don't make my time, etc.

It's a noisy annoying place inside my head right now, friends, be glad you live elsewhere.

Thankfully, though, I have two new factors going into this race that I didn't have before. And I think these things hold some promise of making a positive difference with my time.

1. I now have my Garmin. So it can tell me when my pace is sucking ass and motivate me to hurry my shit up OR ELSE. I wish it said that on the watch face. "Hurry your shit up. OR ELSE." That'd be motivating. Hey, Garmin people, I have a feature request for you...
   
   
2. I discovered a new store of energy into which I can tap only during my most desperate moments. That store is called, "Let's do this, already."
   
   See, during my last long run, in which I covered about 12 miles, I was so done with running at mile 11 that I got annoyed with how slow I was going. I remember thinking, "Shit. If we're just going to wobble along at this shameful slow pace, we're NEVER going to be done. And I want to be done." And so, I dug down and just forced my legs to take longer strides, my feet to make full heel-to-toe contact with the pavement and my arms to stay parallel to my body in the way my Pilates instructor recommended because it allegedly is more streamliney and therefore makes you faster.
   
   I also forced my shoulders back, chin up and in-through-the-nose-out-through-the-mouth breathing to happen so that I had all of my faculties about me to force my woeful corpse to move as fast as I possibly could through that last mile.
   
   And I do believe it went by faster. And I didn't die or throw up in front of my neighbors.
   
   

So, there's that. My big great hope for PRing in this race is a bossy GPS watch and my own lack of self-preservation. Also, I cut my hair, so maybe that will help. I did cut off a lot of it, so who knows.

Those are strategies I don't read a lot about on Runner's World. Of course, I also don't read a lot about people PRing with half marathon times in the 2 hour range since I like to torture myself reading the blogs of runners who run 6 minute miles and set their predicted half marathon finish at 1:29, so it's not like I seek out information relevant to my own slow ass.

But, according to MarathonGuide.com, where I can still create my own old-school-but-still-handy pace bracelet, I'll need to keep up a 10:41 mile pace in order to hit my target. Which isn't all that impressive, but still pretty impossible sounding given my best half marathon pace to date was 10:59.

And all this worrying isn't going to do me a damn bit of good because despite all of it, time is still passing and the race is getting closer and closer and my moment of truth will soon be upon me.

I guess the only thing to do is to sit back, enjoy Taper Week and hope that my training wasn't all for naught. If I have to tap into my "Let's just do this, already." stores at mile 4, then that's just what I have to do.

Next step in sucking less

Although, according to the dog, we definitely suck MORE.

When last we saw my front yard, it was looking like I'd taken to planting sod while drinking my 13th cocktail because WHOOPSY the lawn had been flipped over.

Thankfully, I meant to do that. And, thankfully, I rarely drink 13 cocktails in one sitting because - yarf.

The next thing to do, once the grass plugs showed up, was to tarp, mulch and plant the yard with the new less water sucking meadow grass and wildflowers.

And while that may all fit nice and neatly into one little sentence there, the process was nothing quite so little. Or nice. Especially when you consider how fucking hot it was in NorCal this past weekend. And if you consider that I first ran six miles (yay! Short taper distance!) and afterward I had a bachelorette party (not mine obviously) waiting for me.

I knew the exhaustion was going to be extreme. Which is why I was sort of hoping that High Country Gardens, the folks from whom I purchased my 210 (!) grass plugs, would have lame shipping practices that would result in the plugs not showing up until Monday. So that I could spend Saturday preparing for a night of binge drinking by methodically lining my stomach with mashed potatoes, dinner rolls or something equally absorbent.

But no. They're reliable over there at HCG, and when you say, "I want my stuff to ship on 9/21." It arrives the Friday of that week, just in time to be planted on the weekend and before it can totally die in the box because you're too busy working or taking the dog to the beach to do serious work like planting a meadow in your front yard like you would be if it showed up on the Monday you were secretly hoping for.

You understand - I'm lazy and I procrastinate. I was hoping their shipping methods would support these character flaws of mine. But they did not. Which, in hind sight, is a good thing since this time it would have meant a big box of dead grass and a bunch of money down the toi.

Anyway. Enough about my laziness.

Inspired by Knittah's recent comments, I'm going to press on in a sort of How To-sy way. And I'll try to add helpful nuggets in there as we go, but if I miss something, leave a comment and I'll try to answer your question if I know the answer. Which I might not.

And on that note, of not knowing everything (shhh! don't tell!), I also don't know everything about planting a xeric meadow, even though this series of posts may lead you to believe that I do, what with the numbered lists and all, but let me make it clear that I've never done this before and don't know if it'll take so just know that I'm not saying this is The Way to do this, but rather just the way *I* am doing this, so follow my How-To at your own risk. Personally, I'm optimistic about the results.

Anyway!

To introduce some sort of meaning to my How-To, you'll recall that steps 1 (cut up the sod) and 2 (flip it over) were covered in a previous post in which Bubba was nearly swallowed whole by a sod cutter.

For Step 3, then: Tarp the yard

I'd say "weedblock" or "Weedblock" or "landscape fabric" or whatever, other than "tarp", here, but the fact is that you can use most tarp-like materials to perform the function of blocking out weeds and you don't need me telling you which brand or type of material to use. Also, I'm not a shill for these products and merchants I mention and I don't want you thinking I am and then being all pissed when your "Weedblock" gets a tear just because you stepped on it when it was stretched tight and now you have to cover that hole with more tear-happy "Weedblock".

Not that this has necessarily happened to me. One hundred times.

Anyway - the point here is that once you've cut the sod and turned it over so that the decomposing grass can provide a nice compost for your new plugs, you should still tarp it to keep other weeds from invading your meadow and choking out your precious meadow grass plugs. Because I hear that this can happen. And I don't want any part of it.

Also know that when I say, "you", I mean "me", but it always comes out that way.

Step 4: Get some mulch and then go for a run while Bubba unloads it onto the tarp.

This came from Mountain View Garden Center and is just thin gorilla hair mulch.

Technically, you can be a good wife and unload it from the back of the truck because he was so nice to go pick it up during the week, which involved him shoveling it into the bed of the truck while wearing his nice work clothes and shoes, but you don't have to is what I'm saying.

You can just go for your run and then come home and rake it out, making sure that he makes note of how you just ran six miles and are totally awesome for immediately putting on your work clothes and getting down to business.

And, I will say this about Bubba, he's always the first to give me credit for doing anything remotely helpful. In fact, sometimes I think he may give me *too* much credit, but let's not go spreading that around.

Step 5: Water the mulch

We've capped the sprinklers, so are using this hose stand sprinkler thingee in the mean time. It's fine.

Now, this step, and the future ones where I tell you to water things, may seem counter-intuitive to the whole "suck less water" idea, but to get these guys established, I'm told that they will need to be watered at the outset. For root establishment and what not, so just do it and then hope to hell that they do establish and grow because if they don't we'll all look a little stupid for ignoring blatant instructions.

For now though, just water the mulch. This will help it mat together and be less fluffy so that when you go to plant, you don't have to wade through quite as much mulch to get down to the tarp and dirt. Plus, less will end up in your nose and I know you'll appreciate this as much as I do.

I do not enjoy mulch splinters in my nostrils.

Step 6: Distribute the grass plugs

Go ahead and say they're "SO CUTE!" because everyone else did.

Now, if this were, say, six years ago and I was still in that phase of my life where I didn't think two minutes ahead into the future, I would have just sat down at one corner of the yard with the box of plugs and started planting away. And not until I'd gotten, say, 3/4 of the yard planted would I realize that WHOOPSY I'd been planting the plugs too close together and SHITSHITSHIT had run out of plugs altogether.

Then there'd be some pretty elaborate swearing and either some mad cap unplanting and replanting or a race to the internet to order more plugs.

Thankfully, this is not six years ago and instead of engaging in that back-in-the-day-of-Finny madness I instead thought five minutes into the future (see mom, I AM growing up) and took one flat of plugs at a time (each flat has 70 plugs) and started dropping them at random but evenly dispersed intervals beginning at the far corner.

And don't you just know that the side of the yard at which I started was much more densely populated with tiny grassy plugs than the side of the yard at which I finished. And then all I had to do was grab a few from one side and toss them over to the other side in a way that was still random but less congested so we wouldn't have any unseemly bald spots in the event that the grass actually grew in right.

WOO! I learned from past mistakes! I'm growing as a person!

Step 7: Make dip

Not Hidden Valley, but still good.

Don't be ashamed if, at this point, you'd rather go inside and make some ranch dip and sit on the porch eating it with a big bag of potato chips, because I was right there with you. All this prep work is monotonous and, with all your neighbors standing around watching you organize fluffy grass poofs in your front yard, one can get a little self-conscious and feel like retreating into a big bowl of Leave Me Alone With My Craziness, but stay with me.

This dip is for the plugs. I hear it helps keep the plugs from drying out when you plant them and helps them establish sooner so that you don't have to wait forever and a day for your meadow to prove to your neighbors that you're not a total hippie loon.

This dip is a creepy thing though, let it be known. I added the recommended 1 ounce of dip to the recommended 4-5 gallons of water in my super old ass bucket with the broken handle grip and watched in grotesque amazement as this shit congealed into a spooky mass of dirty Jell-O.

Note that the dirt was already in the bucket and I don't believe it hurt anything.

Step 8: Scratch the plugs

Now, I forgot to take a photo of this process, but let me describe it to you.

See, each plug is like a tiny plant you might buy at the nursery. So when you take it out of the tray, it's got a mat of roots at the base, just like you'd find on your average 4" petunia seedling.

What you want to do here (and thanks to my garden savvy neighbor for reminding us of the crucial importance of this step) is "scratch" or cut the base of this mat off and "scratch" or slice down the sides of the root ball so that you have an open frayed end on your seedling - still holding onto some soil - but not all bound up in there with no hope to grow.

You can do this on all your plugs ahead of time to save a step at planting time, or, if you're like me, you can enlist the help of your Scratch Happy husband to do this while you start planting so that all the plugs are scratched by the time you reach them with your trowel with the intention of dipping and planting them.

We found that a standard box cutter worked really well for this. Just don't try to catch a flight afterward, ifyaknowwhatImean.

Step 9: Commence to planting

With your dip all jiggly and waiting (PORNO GARDENING ALERT), grab your pointiest trowel and get to work, already.

Goes like this:

Dig a hole
UPDATE: punching through the landscape fabric with your pointy trowel and planting the plug in the soil below.

Dip the plug

Plant the plug

Bubba and I did that 210 times in the course of about two hours. It was monotonous and it was blazing hot outside and the neighbors kept coming over with their kids to tell us how we could be doing it better, but in the end it got done and Bubba and I still speak to each other even though I had to make a sudden escape to the backyard when the neighborhood boy began telling me how we should be watering our "lawn" and wouldn't be satisfied with the explanation that this wasn't going to need to be watered for much longer but thanks for your help, buddy, and hey isn't your dad calling you?

I'll say it now, I have no patience for children and I have a really hard time hiding it. I'm sorry you had to learn about it this way.

Step 10: Survey your greatness while watering your new future meadow

Like I said before, there is watering involved in this process even though the desired end result is no watering at all.

So, now that your plugs are tucked into their own individual holes with goopy greatness covering their tender roots, you must water. And water good.

And if you know what song is going through my head right now because of that last statement, I'm glad you and I can be crazy together.

By this time it was mighty hot and I was jealous of the grass playing in the sprinklers.

Anyway, we watered (or, to be honest, Bubba watered while he shooed me off to the shower because he knew I felt nasty and really wanted to shower but was feeling guilty leaving him to water my future meadow) each individual plant and the overall future meadow until it was pretty well soaked and then, in the evening (and each with a cocktail) we did it again.

And then on Sunday, when I was in a hot rage thanks to Brett Favre and his old man football antics (RETIRE ALREADY DAMN YOU), we went out and watered again if only so that Bubba could introduce some comic relief into my life by surreptitiously watering my shoes/feet/legs/hair while pretending to water the future meadow.

He knows when I need a laugh and WOW did I need a laugh at that point. And no drinks because YAY I was hungover from the aforementioned bachelorette party and was nursing a swift little headache.

Freshly watered and ready to grow. Or so I hope.

Step 11: Wait and meanwhile order some bulbs

My plan is to randomly plant some wildflower bulbs in and amongst this meadow grass so that maybe one day it will look something like a mini meadow out there, so while this stuff decides whether it's going to live or die, I ordered a lot of wildflower bulbs.

Because shopping is the best medicine when you're worried that your big gardening bet isn't going to pay off and you might have just made a very public ass of yourself, so better to cover it with flowers.

I got some wildflower bulbs and I'm happy to say that I have managed to create a big old project for myself to dread because when these many bags of bulbs arrive I will be out in that yard for many hours getting them all planted.

But that's OK. It will give me time to talk to each seedling and remind them that they should grow big and strong and not make me look like a loser. Even though I will then look like a big freak for talking to my plants.

Take the good with the bad, I guess.

Totally inappropriate-for-the-weather meal [RECIPE]

I'm so contrary sometimes.

I start knitting when it gets hot, I pull out my flip-flops when it's cold, I run in the rain and sew when it's sunny.

It's like my inner project master is playing a prank on me, all the time.

Whatever. I guess I can't expect my inner anything to make any more sense than my outer anything given how absurd she is.

You get what I'm saying.

Well, in true Inner Idiot fashion, I decided to debut my Baked Potato Soup recipe yesterday when it was, TEE DAH, 91 degrees outside.

Which means it's also 91 degrees inside because YAY we don't have A/C. Or proper insulation. Or a fan in the kitchen.

No, what we had was an oven and stove top running full-bore and some nice healthy boob sweat.

Did I mention we also had a hangover, complete with headache and belly churning? Well, we had that, too. It was super good fun.

Actually, the soup had to happen because The Hangover wanted it, so I had no choice. Kinda like when pregnant ladies *have to have* something because The Baby wants it? Yeah, like that. Except meaner. I imagine, anyway. Never having been a pregnant lady, I can't be 100% on this. Moving on.

I have been sort of mulling the idea for this soup ever since I had a similar type soup at work and thought, "You know. This soup would be way better if they had used chicken stock instead of water as the base. And it wouldn't even make it fatty or anything. Unlike the cream I really want to use."

And yesterday, when my stomach was crying out to be coated with something starchy and absorbent, I decided I'd hatch my version of Baked Potato Soup. Even though I was already sweating just from lying on the couch and screaming obscenities at Brett Favre as though he'd just murdered a close family member of mine.

I will just say this, that man should have retired by now and, after yesterday's performance, I'm not sure he ever will and THAT bothers me on a deep and profound level. But that's all I'm going to say. Also, go Niners. BUT THAT'S ALL.

Perhaps my rage was making my stomach churn rather than the dozen G&Ts I had on Saturday night? Perhaps.

Or perhaps I just wanted potato soup because that's, like, the stupidest thing to want when it's so effin hot outside. That said, this soup came out well and I imagine I'll enjoy it a lot more when I'm not sweating into the bowl because Real Fall has finally arrived and not this Fake Fall with its 90 degree temps.

I'm just saying that someone should tell Fall that they're doing it wrong. Here, at least. Maybe it's Real Fall where you are. In which case, you might like eating this soup while wearing a sweater, maybe, and watching leaves turn red and yellow or doing something appropriately fall-like.

Baked Potato Soup

Recipe by Finny
How do you like that?

Ingredients

4 medium to large potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks

32 oz chicken broth, or enough to cover the potatoes in the pot

4 slices thick cut bacon, roasted and chopped

Shredded cheddar cheese

Chopped green onions

Salt

Fresh ground black pepper

To make

In a large stock pot, bring chicken broth to a boil and add potatoes. Make sure that the broth covers the potatoes in the pot and, if not, add water or more chicken broth until it does.

Boil potatoes for about 15 minutes or until they're easily smushed with the back of the ratty ladle that came from Bubba's bachelor pad.

Drain about half the liquid from the pot KEEPING THE POTATOES IN THE POT until you can see the tops of the potato chunks peeping out.

Using an immersion blender, puree the potatoes and chicken broth until smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste. Thin to your preferred consistency with more chicken broth if you want to be a pansy like that.

OR, if your mama didn't hand you down her old immersion blender and all you have is a regular old blender, blend the potatoes and chicken broth in batches until you have a consistency to your liking.

Also, don't try asking my mom for hand-outs. I've called dibs on all the good stuff already.

After that, you really only need to dress it up to your liking. Me? I had already had a BLT for lunch, so wasn't feeling like I should really be dosing myself with more bacon, but I had a little. I did, however, feel like I needed a lot of onions, so on they went, with some cheese and a lot more pepper.

If you're Bubba though, you fill your bowl to within two inches of the rim and then fill the remaining space with the rest of the bacon and a pile of cheese. I wish I'd taken a photo of his soup. It just looked like a bowl of shredded cheddar.

We are the classiest.

And then, because it's 90+ degrees in your kitchen and house, you take this very winter-like dish out to the backyard and serve it with a tomato-heavy salad so that you don't spontaneously combust from the heat radiating from within.

And in case you didn't already know this, and I'm not sure how you would because I don't usually tell people because it makes me seem insane, I'm pretty paranoid about flies on my food. So I have a bunch of these food cover things that go immediately over any plates that go outside.

Just so you know. And don't think I'm the kind of crazy person that serves food under a silver dome or something like in those fancy restaurants. I'm just the kind of crazy person that finds flies repulsive.

That's all, then.

And you didn't think I'd really do it.

I was going to wait until I pulled the garden completely to give you a "Hey, guess how much I've harvested?" update, but the numbers I was waiting for came in and I can't wait for all that.

Especially given that the tomatoes are still producing and I don't want to wait to share the exciting news (it is for me, OK) until I after I pull the garden, but also I don't have the heart to tell them it's time to go to bed for the winter because they'll be all "Come on, mom! Five more minutes?!" and I'll have to get all I'm the boss of you on them and, well, this makes no sense.

ANYWAY.

The numbers I was waiting to say were:

1. I've harvested more than Bubba's body weight in vegetables

AND

2. I've harvested more than my body weight in tomatoes

I'm happy to say that we've got both, and with enough overage so that I'm not actually sharing my body weight with you on the Real Live Internet for everyone to see because I'm totally not doing that. I feel like it's enough that you've seen my melons.

But I will say that, so far this season, I've harvested more than 217 pounds of vegetables - which is far and away more than Bubba's body weight - and 152 pounds of tomatoes - far enough away from my body weight.

And, more importantly, this extreme vegetable harvest weight means I've reaped far FAR and away more than I sowed in this garden in the first place.

Which was the point. Remember?

Specifically, I sowed $91.34 into the garden at the beginning of the season by buying things like a new soil test kit, some seedling plants, seeds, irrigation replacement parts, water and so on. And I've reaped (and remember, this is only "so far" because the tomatoes are still producing. Freaks.) $940.50 in harvests - with the garden's net value at $849.16.

If you want to get down to cost per pound (and don't we all love analyzing data to the point of mental numbness? I know I do.), I can say that this garden has cost me $.42/lb to grow.

DUDES.

That's a lot of vegetables.

A lot of vegetables that I didn't have to buy from Whole Foods or a farmer's market or *GASP* Safeway.

A lot of vegetables that were grown without chemicals or pesticides or other forms of evil other than the grody EVIL chard that was a big component of the compost. And that is also pretty cheap. Especially when you consider that going to Whole Foods or a farmer's market would have set me back a whole lot more than $.42/lb for any of the vegetables I grew except maybe corn.

Corn is really fucking cheap, I noticed. Like, "Get 10 ears for $10!" cheap. That's ridiculous. I'm not growing corn anymore.

In season cherries, though? PRICEY as all get out. Like, $6.99/lb for local, organic Bing cherries. So worth it. That tree is going to be our new retirement plan.

Not really.

Anyway, I'll do a real final recap of the garden's harvest value when the garden is actually done putting forth tomatoes (don't hold your breath), but I thought you'd like to know that if I had wanted to build a life-sized Finny statue from tomatoes, I could have done it and then some.

I'll just let that image simmer in your mind for a while. Enjoy.