Fashion Goddess

I'm completely unfashionable. When I go to work I dress in corduroy jeans, a white shirt and clogs. Everyday. I wear my hair in a ponytail, no makeup, and the same silver hoop earrings. Everyday. On the weekends I wear jeans and one of two cotton Old Navy jerseys that I got for $6 each two years ago, and old running shoes. I have one big, thick green down coat for the winter, and my Boston Marathon wind jacket for spring and fall. That's pretty much it. That's my wardrobe.

When I go to the city to have dinner with my chic friends from college, I feel like an incredible fashion loser. To these events I usually dress up my cords and white shirt with a belt. I still wear the clogs. My friends are ultra hip. These days they are wearing stilettos and wicked hip expensive jeans (I'm such a fashion loser I don't even know the brands), tight tops that are still somehow classy, gorgeous long, interesting coats usually made of some expensive fabric or fur, and jewelry that costs a lot and is very sparkley and was given for some anniversary. (Long ago I made it clear to the hub. that I never wanted jewelry as a gift. If getting me a present get something like a bike, or new running shoes or how about a power tap?) My friends are always manicured--with perfect toes and hands, eyebrows, hair-- My toenails are bent and crumpled because of they consistently slam into the toebox of my running shoes, and my fingernails are ripped and short.

Anyway, what is the point of this lament?

I guess I'm feeling a bit LONELY. I don't care about purses, jewelry, hip jeans, push-up bras, window dressings, the right furniture, the right house, the right counter tops, the right car, the right restaurants where "foodies" eat, the right wine etc. etc. etc. I seem to be having trouble talking to most women my age, because I just could give a fuck about these things. That's not to say I don't like a nice pedicure or facial, or that I don't like dressing up and feeling pretty. I just don't care enough to actually put in any effort.

However, I am the queen of fashion when it comes to sport. Well, maybe not the queen. I don't have a hip, pink bike, or really cool Splish suits to wear in races (like Bree Wee). But if I'm going to splurge and go shopping, I always shop for new workout clothes or workout equipment. For example, I just got the cutest little Sugoi racing shorts that I'm so psyched to try out. I also just got a black Craft top that is very hot, and a pretty aqua blue Terry top for biking. I have really nice running bras, socks, running skirts, cute Nike Tops, and a new pair of running shoes every three months. I have eight different swimsuits--all very funky and with bathing caps and goggles to match, and I've been drooling over wetsuits lately (not as enamored with my Zoot one as I was last season) etc. etc. blah blah you get the picture.

But who wants to talk about all that at book club? Who wants to talk bikes and races and workouts and training and cool, new, hip tri clothing?

No one.

NO ONE. At book club we talk about WINDOW DRESSINGS. or TREATMENTS, I guess they're now called. If I'm lucky we might talk about the book we were supposed to read. If I'm lucky.
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Also on my mind: Don't you hate it when you don't feel like you've been doing that much, but your body is acting like you've just completed an Ironman? I'm in the build phase, but my weekly hours have only been reaching between 12-14 hours a week for the most part, and my workouts are strenuous, but followed up with recovery drink and recovery rides/runs, and time--and furthermore they (my workouts) are not THAT hard. But my body is freaking out. I'm tired, I'm sore, I'm grumpy, my glands are swollen and any food I consume makes a beeline through me and out of me so fast I have to run to the bathroom before I even finish a meal.

And no, I don't have a virus. This is what my body does when it's trying to tell me to cool it, when it's trying to tell me, YOU AREN'T SOME SPRING CHICKEN, Mary. Get a grip and take a day off!

Sigh. Shut up, body. Just shut up. How am I going to become a superstar tri girl if you don't let me work out more than 14 hours a week?

I did have a great run this morning. It started off on the lame side because I had a bowl of cereal with milk 15 minutes before I began (bad, bad idea--milk. not good.) After about three miles, though, I was feeling okay. My legs felt strong on the hills and I kept imagining myself winning Kona against Chrissie Wellington. Very fun. My last four miles I did at more of a tempo pace. It felt good.

I have been checking out the competition for the Mooseman Oly (or International, I guess. Is there a difference?) I'm doing next weekend. It appears that every fast 35-39 year old in New England (and some outside of New England) decided to sign up for it this year. I will have to be secretly inhabiting the body of Sam McGlone if I want to place. Oh well. Actually, though, I feel a little relieved. I plan to kick ass--but you know, kick ass FOR ME. Hopefully that will translate into finishing well among these crazy fast women, but I don't necessarily expect it to.