The fine line

Today I’m tiptoeing the fine line between psyching myself up and psyching myself out. It’s a snow day — or likely would be if I didn’t work from home. I called a client with questions on a project, but had to leave a message. So here I am, with a bit of time on my hands and the weighty knowledge that today is also a NordicTrack day.

I’ve been dieting for the past few weeks and exercising regularly. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are designated NordicTrack days. (Tuesdays and Thursdays are yoga days. I love Tuesdays and Thursdays.) My trusty NordicTrack is now almost 20 years old, and I really have used it a lot over the years, albeit off and on. So, my $400-ish investment has paid off in spades, costing only about $20 a year.

Knowing that today is an NT day, I should be psyching up. OK, I’m gonna quit wasting time, I’m gonna get out of these pajamas (don’t you judge me, I work from home and it’s snowy and cold and nobody sees me), I’m gonna throw on my workout clothes, and I’m gonna NordicTrack for 45 minutes with 25 minutes of intervals. Afterward, I’m gonna feel great. And a hot shower will be waiting.

Instead, all I can think of is psyching out. Oh crap. I have to get out of my warm fuzzy bathrobe, pull on those ridiculous c.1995 purple Lycra shorts and bra, and freeze my butt off in our dungeon of a basement, in that laundry room so full of junk I have just enough space to wedge the NordicTrack between the mountain of “for eBay” boxes, the Shop-Vac, and the toilet waiting to be installed in the powder room. Oh, and I haven’t been able to find my water bottle (actually Mike’s water bottle since I dropped mine and it cracked). And it’s FREEZING down there. And NordicTracking for 45 minutes is really hard. And what would it hurt if I just took a snow day from working out, since I never get a snow day from work? And I can go get a hot shower right now!

Fortunately, though, my psych up side has a secret weapon. It’s very motivating. Very effective. Works every time.

Sure, honey, you take a snow day. I’m sure those gray pants will fit the NEXT time you try to button them. And those jeans, too. You know, the ones you were ‘so happy’ to find because they fit perfectly? Yes, you just sit there and veg in front of the computer. You deserve it!

My chariot awaits.

Be miserable. Or motivate yourself.
Whatever has to be done, it’s always your choice.
~ Wayne Dyer


What a difference a year makes

Is there a big football game or something this weekend?

I might have heard a brief mention of some such event on Channel 2, in between Armageddon snow reports. Maybe something on WYEP — no, it wouldn’t have been on YEP…must have been on one of the other radio stations, you know, the ones that aren’t cool enough to ignore sports?

Seriously. Last year at this time, we in the ‘Burgh had lived, breathed, ate, slept, washed off, and immediately rerolled-around-in all things Steelers and all things Super Bowl. By now we were all so hyped up we couldn’t really speak — just look at each other, high-five, and yell WHOOOOOO! THE weekend was finally here.

Last year at this time, Mike and I were strategizing about what time we should arrive at our local hangout on Sunday to be sure to get a good seat. I had downloaded and blasted Here We Go at least 3 times a day for the last week, mixed in with a few Muppety Pa-LA-ma-lu (that’s Polamalu)‘s and “We’re from the town with that great football team….” (bum-bum-bum-BUM)s. I had tried to buy black and gold Smiley cookies at Eat’n Park, only to find that all they had left to offer was some lame Valentine hearts. My friends and I had exchanged 7,429  e-mails offering everything from “notes” to give to your boss to excuse you from work on Monday to pictures of how fans had decorated their houses/cars/bodies in black and gold to poetic tributes to Myron Cope. And we’d shared 2,728 links to 2,728 videos along the lines of this one.

(And, I should say, I got goosebumps trolling through YouTube just now…)

What a difference a year makes.

This Sunday night, I don’t expect I’ll be jumping up and down screaming at the bar. I don’t expect I’ll be hoarse for 3 days after. I don’t expect much of anything. I’m just hoping for an exciting game (I don’t really care who wins), a good half-time show (I just had to Google to find out it will be The Who performing), and some funny commercials featuring talking babies and Clydesdales.

I hope the folks in Indianapolis and New Orleans will have a lot more fun than that.

But I guarantee, it won’t be NEARLY as much fun as Stiller fans have when it’s OUR team in the spotlight. Was that only a year ago? Seems like forever.

It may be that all games are silly. But then, so are humans.
~ Robert Lynd

Separate but equal–worth another shot?

Don’t get me wrong, doing away with “separate but equal” thinking was entirely appropriate, necessary, and too long coming in terms of race relations (and I actually remembered it was Brown v Board of Education that did away with it — shout-out to my constitutional law class). But I think it might be worth another look in that other even more longstanding and volatile vortex — gender relations.

I ask you females-who-live-with-males, does separate but equal sound like a good thing in terms of bathrooms?

Is there a woman alive who doesn’t long for her own bathroom? (And if you have one, are you eager to give it up?)

And, dare I say it, doesn’t the idea of separate (but equal) beds — even bedrooms — sound good once in a while?

My sister sent me this article earlier this week — don’t ask me what prompted her to send a 3½-year-old article, but so be it. I was particularly drawn to this passage:

“Dr. Neil Stanley, a sleep expert at the University of Surrey, said: “It’s not surprising that people are disturbed by sleeping together.

“Historically, we have never been meant to sleep in the same bed as each other. It is a bizarre thing to do.

“Sleep is the most selfish thing you can do and it’s vital for good physical and mental health.

“Sharing the bed space with someone who is making noises and who you have to fight with for the duvet is not sensible.

“If you are happy sleeping together that’s great, but if not there is no shame in separate beds.”

So practical, this Dr. Stanley. And as you’ll see, the gist of the article is that sharing a bed is even worse for men than for women.

It’s a topic my sisters and I have discussed many times before. That it’s just so darn hard to share these spaces with men. No matter how much you love them (and yes, I love my husband to pieces).

Consider the “olden days.” Visit Clayton, the Henry Clay Frick mansion here in Pittsburgh, or Biltmore, the Vanderbilt mansion-to-end-all-mansions in Asheville, and you’re treated to a tour of the separate (but equally lovely) bedrooms of Mr. and Mrs. Frick and Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt — and of course their separate but equally lovely bathrooms.

Too Victorian, you say? Too prudish? Too upper-class? Too convenient for midnight dalliances with people other than one’s spouse?

Let’s come a little closer to home (and social stratosphere). Ever see the episode of Everybody Loves Raymond where Deborah, with Ray’s blessing, claims their bathroom for her own while he shares with the kids? Within hours, she transforms the space with soft lights, candles, rugs, until it oozes with femininity. Even her constant nemesis, mother-in-law Marie, is delighted for her (and jealous). Unfortunately, and naturally, the new arrangement doesn’t last long (not because Deborah wanted it to end, mind you).

Or how about even closer to home, when, a couple years back, Mike’s parents were thinking of selling their home to move into something easier to maintain and on one level. After visiting one possibility, my unenthused mother-in-law confided, “I don’t know about you, but the idea of sharing a bathroom…”

Fifty-plus years of wedded bliss can’t be wrong.

I even remember reading somewhere that director Tim Burton and his wife, actress Helena Bonham Carter, actually live next door to each other in separate, but connected, homes.

I have to say that thought has come up in my sisterly discussions as well — sort of the Holy Grail of living arrangements to some of us. (Not me, honey. Really. Hardly ever.)

Now, of course, I know what a pipe dream most of this is — who has the spare bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate “his” and “hers”? Although a friend of my husband’s recently completed his dream home — including separate bathrooms for him and his wife, that lucky, lucky woman. And a king-size “sleep number” bed in the (shared) bedroom — nice compromise!

But if there was the opportunity, ladies…if there was: Would you want your own? (Go ahead, tell me, it’s completely anonymous.)

How about you, gents? This is a (separate but) equal opportunity forum. No one’s saying that women are ideal to share with either. (I come from a long line of female snorers, sad to say. And I might not keep my side of the sink tidy all the time.)

What say you? It’ll be fun to find out.

Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other.
Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.
~ Katharine Hepburn

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