I promise you, dear readers, that I will not turn this blog into a fitness blog. I'll either create a new blog for that, or something.

But I just gotta brag.

Monday I ran my first non-stop mile ever. I did a 12:40 mile and I thought it was just about the most amazing thing I had ever done. I felt empowered and strong. I felt like a runner. Me. Can you imagine?

Today I did 3 miles in 37 minutes. This is a HUGE accomplishment for me, mainly because it means that my short-term goal of running a 5k by the end of summer is attainable. Hell, I ran a 5k today!

My long-term goals are a half marathon and a half-tri. I never would have thought myself capable of running a 5k just two months ago, so why not?

BA over at Blogs Are Stupid has tagged me with a meme. Today's assignment is chock full of quirky goodness. Ten of 'em.

1. If I see someone driving in a car that looks sort of like me, I often find myself wondering if maybe it is me in some sort of alternate universe. I then concoct outrageous stories of what my life would be like as that Alt-Me.

2. I wonder if being in someone else's brain for a day would be as painful as I imagine it to be. I think trying to follow other people's thought processes would twist my mind. Then I wonder if my mind would seem boring and mundane to others, or whether my brain sharer would struggle to keep up with me.

3. I dissect words in my head. I'll count the number of letters in a word and then split the letters in the word up into the different groupings. For example, permutations would become permut-ations, perm-utat-ions, per-mut-ati-ons, and pe-rm-ut-at-io-ns.

4. I spend my day obsessively adding numbers until the sum is a three or a multiple of three. I'll use dates, times, phone numbers, etc. I find it calming for some reason. Probably because it keeps my mind busy.

5. When I worked, I kept a spotless desk. Everything was neatly filed and organized. Folders were purged regularly. Yet my house........yeah, not so much. I still haven't figured out why I'm anal one place and not another.

6. I'm not sure how quirky this one is, but one of my migraine "tells" is my skin literally starts to feel like it's crawling. For hours before I get the head pain, my skin gets itchy and I can't stand to be inside my skin. If I could shed it for a few hours, I would.

7. I love shoes. I have purchased pairs that go with nothing I own. I've also picked up pairs I know I will never, ever wear. I just buy them because I like them. Think of it as poor man's closet art. Seeing my shoe collection every morning gives me great joy.

8. I'm a chick gamer. There aren't many of us out there, but I could happily spend an afternoon playing video games. I prefer RPGs, but I'll settle for pretty much anything. Right now I'm almost done with Legend of Heroes on the PSP, and I'm trying to finish Final Fantasy X-2 on the Playstation 2.

9. Touching raw meat skeeves me out. Once it's cooked I'm fine, but I can't stand to touch raw chicken or beef. We eat a lot of crock pot meals in this house because I can simply dump the meat directly into the pot without touching it.

10. I have an addiction to beauty products. I just went and counted how many products I have in my shower. There are currently 22 bottles of bath gel, shave gel, shampoo, conditioner, body scrub, etc. Number of those products belonging to Mr. Chaos: 1.

I tag anyone reading this. I know it's a cop out not to name people directly, but after reading how nutso I am, I'm not sure anyone wants me to name names here. Plus everyone I know has been tagged. Off to go find a bottle of brain bleach to wash away my crazy!

OK. First off I want to say that I know what I am about to whine about is totally petty and most women would be jealous of it. But of course I am going to bitch anyway. Totally. Read at your own risk.

I went yesterday to get refitted for bras. I could tell I had been losing weight and even my sport bras were getting too big, so I was due.

When I started this whole process I was a 38C. I was thrilled to finally be in a C cup. Bye, bye, big tatas.

So I thought.

Yesterday I got re-measured and I am now a......34DDD. WTF? Why can't I just lose weight in my chest like normal people??!?!??!? I was so looking forward to buying cute little lacy numbers at Victoria's Secret, but oh, no. Instead I am subjected to buying the ugly ass industrial strength bras that come in the triple "holy shit are those things for real size."

Damn.

1. A maid. Self explanatory.

2. A chef. Ditto.

3. Chauffeur for these kids. (see a pattern?)

4. A palm pilot so I can keep everybody's %&*^%( schedules straight!

I sat down this morning to log in doc appointments, baseball games, swim lessons....it's insane, y'all. Until school is out, we have activities for two kids three nights of the week. We are literally booked solid until mid June. I can't even squeeze in a playdate for these kids.

I always swore I'd never be one of those moms that puts the kids in tons of activities, yet here we are. I swear, these kids have busier schedules than I did when I was working as a corporate trainer. I had 10 states in my region, and there were times back then when I would call down to the lobby in a foggy morning haze just to find out where the heck I was.

As a result, I have had to cancel my yearly physical (which I've been putting off since Youngling was born), a dental checkup (which I have conveniently forgotten about for the past 3 years) and have had to reschedule a haircut four times (Dammit, a girl has her priorities!).

Or maybe instead I'll just ask for #5. A big ass bottle of champagne and a night off.

I've been offline the last few days tending to a minor medical emergency. This was of a slightly embarrassing nature to begin with, and then the doc comes and says:

"As we women age...."

Uh, huh?!!?!?!? I may have the body of a 35 year old, but in my mind I'm still 21. OK, 25, tops. I'm not aging. I'm not! *stomp* Sure, the gals sag a bit and need a bit more support than they used to. Yes, fine, I do have a few fine lines around my eyes, but those are squint lines from years in the Arizona sun, and everyone there has them. I swear. Everyone. Really.

I was doing reasonably okay with the aging process until I heard this. I can deny lines in the mirror, I can overlook a bit of sun damage. But to have a doctor tell you that things are going to stop functioning the way they used to....well, suddenly my back was creaky and my joints ached. Damn. The final indignity was the doctor was in her early fifties and was lecturing me on age. The hell?

Mr. Chaos was wise enough to adamantly deny he noticed any differences. He insisted I was sexier than ever. Mainly in order to insure his sleeping place stayed in our room and not on the couch. I ate every last bit of it up, though.

Then I got to thinking. Would I really age as gracefully as I had hoped? I've always had visions of myself in my sixties with a tanned, wrinkled face and a silver french braid cascading down my back. Yet it was obvious I wasn't ready to accept that as my ideal. Hell, I drove home from the doctor that day contemplating plastic surgery. Really.

So, evidently, the mid-thirties are a crossroads. At least they are for me. I can either let myself go, so to speak, and become the quirky bohemian I have always envisioned, or I can fight like hell, treading the dangerous line of becoming a cougar. Does aspiring to milf status make one a cougar if you are happily married and not trolling? Anyone?

Suddenly I become defiant. Who makes these damned rules, anyway? Why am I doomed to a life of a drab caramel haircolor with beige highlights just because I'm "not as young as I used to be"? Why can't I wear a miniskirt if I want? I've worked damned hard to get back in shape. Shouldn't I enjoy my hard work by wearing what I want? Then a tiny voice inside whispers, "Because you'll look ridiculous. Who do you think you are fooling?"

I'm still not sure where I sit on the debate. But I got my ass to the gym and ran my first mile nonstop. Suck on that, doc.