[+] I went to the gym yesterday with the best intentions to run 12 miles on the treadmill. I was going to set my pace slow and easy and watch the Canada-Finland hockey game and just slog through and get it done. Thanks to a sore, rolled ankle from Saturday plus stomach issues galore, 12 miles turned into 7 very painful, slow, and aggravating miles. I hated every step and I couldn't wait to be done. I threw in the towel and hit up the elliptical instead for one more angry mile to make it an even 8. It was frustrating and discouraging but I'm trying to use this as an opportunity to regroup and go for it again next weekend rather than beating myself up. 8 miles is better than 0.

[+] We're all done with winter at our house. Couldn't be more over it, in fact. Yesterday was a weather-filled day, not a fluffy snow day but a freezing rain slash ice pellets slash wet snow day. Eli and I holed up in the TV room to watch the Jungle Book in the morning while Peter shoveled our driveway, estimating that each scoop weighed 40lb. It's just getting really old and unpleasant and I curse my ancestors for not settling someplace tropical.

[+] Lately I am just feeling unable to get anything done. I have big plans and I can't seem to accomplish anything. I feel like I'm making long to-do lists and setting these goals, big and small, then doing NOTHING to work towards them. I don't know where to start. Everything seems like this massive mountain to tackle. Even simple things like making a dentist appointment, setting up a meeting at the bank, getting an oil change...I just don't want to do any of it. I HAVE to do all of it. Bad combination.

[+] Just so this isn't a complete waaah-waaah post, some good things have been happening. Valentine's Day! We celebrated with a morning workout and lunch out, followed by a matinee showing of American Hustle. Date night becomes date-day-when-your-kid-is-at-the-sitter's when you have a two-year-old, so we booked the day off work to spend some time together. American Hustle was good. I'd heard it was slow and boring - people lie. Saturday night we watched the newest Star Trek movie at home. Pretty good considering I hate space, aliens, lasers, etc. And yesterday we baked the best sea salt chocolate chip cookies ever. This recipe is my go-to. I can't even count how many times I've made it and the cookies always turn out perfect.

*OR SO IT WOULD APPEAR

This morning, I got up at 6:00, bleary-eyed and crazy-haired, and opted to start my day with 60 minutes of cardio hell instead of something more sane and nice like sleeping or snuggling. I picked out my outfit in the semi-darkness and threw it on - gray yoga capris from Old Navy and my softball team t-shirt from last year (with my Twitter handle on the back...RECOGNIZE!) Needless to say, I try really hard to dress to impress at the gym.

Anyway, I went to the gym and suffered through an hour of cross-training madness. An old man lingered behind me when I was on the elliptical. He didn't seem to be doing anything useful, i.e. getting a drink of water or signing up for a machine. I kept giving him the side-eye backwards glare. Pervert. Who stands and stares at a six-months-pregnant woman's ass? It's bad enough when it's a regular ass.

I finished my workout which (unfortunately) included a few trips around the gym from machine to machine. I kept getting weird looks. Being all sensitive about being preggers I figured people are wondering if I'm actually knocked up or just fat. Listen, people, I'm at this gym six days a week - if I'm gaining this much weight without a bun in the oven you all better quit your gym memberships right now because IT AIN'T WORKING.

I went home and got ready to get in the shower, because, if you know me, you know that I refuse to shower in the gym, just like I refuse to watch reality shows about dancing or eat lobster.

I pulled off my pants and then I realized...I had grabbed the wrong pair.

THE PANTS THAT DON'T LEAVE THE HOUSE.

See, I have two pairs of identical Old Navy gray capri yoga pants. And one of those pairs I wore when we were painting our living room...and I sat in some paint. Mocha-coloured paint.

It left a stain right on my asscrack. Like right at the poop spot. And ever since then these pants have been relegated to at-home use only. They are housecleaning pants, sick day pants, dog grooming pants. I don't even go out to the end of the driveway to bring in the garbage cans with these things because of the paint stain, which looks exactly like I pooped myself.




In my half-awake state and rush to get out the door I grabbed the poop pants and wore them for a solid hour in public and now everyone at my gym thinks I'm fat AND that I shit myself.

FABULOUS!

I'm throwing these pants in the garbage.