The Ashley Project.

I've been pushing all sorts of personal limits over the past 10 weeks, working with a personal trainer for the first time. The results have been totally awesome -- physically and, probably more importantly, psychologically.

As part of The Ashley Project, I agreed to chronicle about my experiences on the Second City Fitness blog. Today, Jeff (my trainer), weighs in on last week's half marathon. (Don't worry: I'll get my turn tomorrow.)

Want to know more? Click here to read what's up. In Chicago and want to get the scoop on SCF? Check out their website or follow them on Facebook.

We run this town.

My view on a run. (Well, one of them.)

I used to be intimidated by Chicago's Lakefront path. In the warmer months, it's overflowing with people -- runners, bikers, rollerbladers, walkers, teenagers, tourists, beach goers, dog walkers, stray children who don't look before they dart in front of your bike, giving you a heart attack at 6 a.m. on your commute to work and making you think that you'll hit them and either kill them or die yourself in a crash. (Sorry... projecting.)

It took me a while to get used to frantic pace while still being able to keep my cool. (It's been more than six years since I moved here, and I still know my sanity will always be tested if I ride south of Fullerton on a warm summer afternoon. Been there, been hit in the head with the football by the drunk frat boys.) (True story.) (I also got hit by a flag attached to a passing triple-wide stroller. You can't make this shit up.)

I live about two blocks from the 18-mile-long paved path that runs along the waterfront. To dodge the crowds -- and my own insecurities when I started running -- I'd usually veer along winding dirt paths that splinter off from the main north-south thoroughfare. Sure, they might be muddy and devoid of bathrooms and water fountains. But they offered this incredibly different experience of exercising in the city. Running right along the water's edge, I'd loop around Montrose Harbor, following the shoreline south past the golf course and then trace the outline of Belmont Harbor before turning back north to finish a 5-mile route. You'd get spectacular views of the skyline while passing a few runners and picnickers off the main drag. (I learned the disastrous way NOT to bring the Mutt Puppy on these runs after an ill-fated outing where she stopped roughly every 500 feet to roll around in smelly goose poo and fish detritus.)

A storm washed out a huge part of my favorite splinter path last summer, so I've found other routes to call my own. In the winter, when the sun sets before 5 p.m., I hit the main trail. (Because treadmills are the devil.)  It's a wholly different experience to be out there in January. Bundled up in gaiters and balaclavas, you still see just a few runners and cyclists who are out in the cold. You nod as you pass each other, offering the trail version of a high-five. (I've been known to let out a loud squeal when the snowflakes start falling and the wind gusts kick up in single-degree weather.)

RunChi shirt from CafePress.

This past summer, I'd ride my bike six miles down to Oak Street Beach on Saturday mornings to get in a swimming workout while I was training for a triathlon. One morning in particular it felt like the path -- and the entire city -- was alive. It was warm and sunny on the way south as I passed my Chicago Endurance Sports teammates training for the marathon. Along the way I spotted an outdoor yoga class, cycling groups, people doing bootcamps, tennis players, people flying kites, walking dogs, fishing, picnicking and swimming. I finished my workout with this ridiculous grin, so proud of my city and the people in it. It was just one of those moments when I felt so much civic pride. I was so stoked to be able to call myself part of Chicago's dynamic running community.

The path is this weird place full of conflict when it's crowded and yet full of serenity when it's not. (And the views of the city are mind-blowing.) When I saw this photo posted on a Facebook page, I knew I'd have to share it.

If you're ever up this way, let me know -- I'll show you my trail. Just make sure you bring your camera.

Sunshine

This weekend Chicago was, in a word, succulent. Sunday was everything you'd want September to be: it was in the 60s and low 70s, sunny, breezy, virtually no humidity. Like I said, perfect.

My friend was visiting from St. Louis so we wound up downtown, walking along the water and visiting the Bean. Since this is not exactly shaping up to the most exciting blog post in the history of blogging, I figured I'd cut my losses now. And rather than continue gushing about how gorgeous it was, I'll just show you some photos.

Chicago's Burnham Harbor. Snapped on my cell phone.

The Bean.

Can you see us? Hint: I'm in black. She's in white.

More Bean, reflecting the area north of Millennium Park.

Aon Building, BCBS, and other bits of downtown Chicago.

Julie's photo of a bike.

Unitedish States of ... Something

As viewed by hipsters:

Created by HaleyForEtsy

As viewed by New Yorkers:

Via Funny or Die

Click to enlarge. (That's what she said.)

Foodgasms and farmers' markets

You would think that after five years in Chicago, I would have -- at some point -- made my way to the Green City Market. Well, er, oopsies. Better late than never, no?

For those non-Chicagoans, GCM is a farmers' market that sells all local, sustainably grown food from farms in Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Wisconsin. Everything is delicious and in season. And is like foodgasm central. Also, they sell a lot of kale.

$35 in organic produce later (including, for the curious, at least two varieties of kale and one bag of quickly consumed cheese curds.), I had to stop buying things and start taking pictures of them to at least keep my budget from full-on imploding.

But serious, y'all. Look at this food porn! If you're trapped in the city, this is just about heaven.









The last two shots were taken in my living room while I was cooking up a great sweet corn side dish. If you play nice, I'll pass along the recipe.

Over and out. I gotta go eat.

Something new.

So what if snowed last week? Or if there is frost forecast for the weekend? Pshaw! Today, there was sun. Lots of it. And somehow, in the past 24 hours, things finally started blooming.


Say what you will about Chicago's horrific winters. (And God knows, I've used a few choice four-letter words to describe them.) But there's nothing like surviving that dark and frigid drudgery to make you appreciate the beginning of spring.

(Shot Thursday afternoon in Lakeview.)

Nothing but rim.

Spotted on my walk home from the L.


That's a lot of stolen bike. But one mighty U-lock.

It wasn't me.

Neighbors in my condo building are cranky. And cranky people leave passive aggressive notes. Specifically, cranky people leave notes on the bulletin board at the entry of the building. This is today's.



So far there have been nasty notes to a unit owner who's dog was spotted in the back yard (egads!). Complaints about stolen cupcakes. (Seriously, who leaves a package of cupcakes in a public lobby of a 91-unit building for 2+ days and expects to find them?) And other assorted gripes about bad neighboritis.

Now, I don't meant to belittle the thefts. Afterall, I lost my beloved mountain bike two years ago to a thief who got into a back stairwell and rode it away. But the anonymous notes? Really?

Ah, life a condo.

Scenes from a Sunday morning.

Easter dawned dark with an angry sky and an angrier wind. Some of the 30 of us gathered along the shores of Lake Michigan were wrapped in blankets by the time the service began at 7 a.m. Some wore gloves and scarves. Others didn't even bring coats.


But as we stood huddled together in a circle, singing songs of praise about the miracle of Easter, the sky began to soften. The sun fought through the clouds.


And it wasn't really that cold any more.



Light overcoming dark. Warm replacing winter. Rebirth defeating death. It was a fitting metaphor for an Easter morning.

The seagulls were squawking. (Was our singing THAT bad?)


The sun won. And by the time the service was done and we were headed to church for breakfast to finish the rest of a long day of services, it was radiant outside. And our prayer flags flapped in the breeze inviting people in.


Inside, light streamed through the windows.


The flowers smelled like spring.


And we were so, so happy.

A seasonally appropriate lion.

I don't know about you, but I love bizarre neighborhood quirks. And no, not the kind of quirks that come from bitchy neighbors and ridiculous zoning regulations. I'm talking about little things that are the heart and soul of your community. In mine, it's a weird little concrete lion who has the most diverse wardrobe you've ever seen.

I don't know the history of The Montrose Lion, a yard ornament in a too-tiny-for-people fenced in area of a nearby condo building. And damn, does he have a wardrobe. In my years here, I've seen him in a Santa suit at Christmas time, New Year's glasses, a variety of Halloween get ups (my favorite is his Zorro costume), a kid's Cubs jacket, a Bears helmet, a summer dress and Valentine's attire. I could go on. The best part about the lion's wardrobe is that it's all ratty and beaten up -- what with it having to exist outside in Chicago's famously horrendous weather.

But that doesn't stop whoever dresses him from making sure he still looks his best.

I bet at this point, words have stopped doing justice for this little neighborhood treasure. Click here to see him with his 4th of July accessories. Or for a more up-to-the-moment look, behold this picture I snapped tonight, showing the lion in his Easter best. (Sidebar: Let's hear it for the cell phone camera, huh?)


Doesn't he look SMASHING?

In which it is chilly.

Yeah yeah. I know. It's Chicago. And it's January. And I live on a condo with insulation from the 1920s. And blah blah blabby blabby blah.

Whatever.

It was freakin' frigid in my house this week and my poor little 25-year-old furnace was struggling to keep up. (Fact: One night this week, I crawled under the covers, which included a cotton flat sheet, a fleece blanket, an old thin down comforter, a regular comforter, a bedspread and, just for added heft, an unzipped sleeping bag.) (Fact: I later kicked off the sleeping bag.) (Fact: I briefly missed the ex-live in boy and his heated mattress pad. Briefly.)

Anyway, since I first wrote about the geniusness of my sleeping bag inspired splants, my sleeping bag has been getting a lot of use around my house. However, since it was so cold, the Mutt Dog decided she should commandeer it for her own exclusive snuggling pleasure.

Can you spy the Mutt Dog?


Ooooh. Excuse me. I've disturbed her royal highness. Pardon me, Macy.


How about some treats? And we'll call it even.

I get introspective. And stuff.

Consider this a PSA to let you know that I have a guest blog post over at my church's young adult blog.

It's about the topic of discipleship. (Don't worry, I think it's a super-churchy, weird word, too.) It's my first real stab at blogging openly about my faith. So I'd love some feed back if you're of that persuasion. Or any persuasion. Or no persuasion at all.

I really wrestled with whether to post the piece on this blog. Since it doesn't really fit in with this blog, I'm linking to it for your reading pleasure.

Click on over and join the discussion. (Here's a hint: I think discipleship is just another synonym for being a good human being.)

Peace.

Hispters! Ahoy!

Sure, I mock the skinny-pants-wearing-deliberately-ironic-with-80s-hair-and-tattoos set. But, when it comes to crafty things, the hipsters are my people.

In a quilting world filled with too much calico, cheesy prints like this, and other assorted shiver-enducing grossness adored by beige-wearing old ladies, the Renegade Craft Fair is like HEAVEN. Skinny pants, deliberately ironic, 80s-hair HEAVEN.

I always find cute stuff I love that inevitably fuels my letterpress obsession along with great kitsch. Even better, I always leave inspired. Of course, I'm lucky because there's a Renegade Handmade shop in town (think Etsy, but in person.) Although, the store charges a hefty commission, so the prices tend to be really expensive.

Still, I'm totally psyched for this year's show. And seriously hoping it doesn't pour like it did last year. Or melt me like it did the year before that.

Anyone here going?

Yay indie artists! May they live long. And prosper.

She's back.

Sweet Jesus, it's July. How the HELL did that happen? Seriously. Wasn't it still 50-something degrees about 30 seconds ago? Oh wait. That's because I live in Chicago and it was 50-something degrees 30 seconds ago. (I watched fireworks last night in yoga pants, a t-shirt and a hoodie and was seriously regretting not having socks. Yup. I know. Eat it, southerners. :P)

So, what to update you on blogosphere...

1) The Try-Athlon.
The triathlon is next weekend and I am, in a word, screwed. Really, "fucked" would be a more appropriate term, but I'm trying to cut down on the swearing. I got cocky and fell off the nice happy training regimen I had set up for myself, since I could easily do the half-mile swim and 12 mile bike. (The lazy was augmented by the fact that I decided I would walk the 5k. Because I'm that much of a slacker.) But yesterday I went for my first open-water swim and just got schooled by Lake Michigan. Because, unlike pools that have nice walls for you to push off from, lakes have these things called waves. Big-ass ones. And currents. And they're not so much with the "clear," which makes for lots of fun when you're a) blind as a bat anyway without your glasses; b) wearing totally fogged up goggles. The first quarter mile was pretty shitty, what with the water being 62-degrees and choppy. Every time I tried to breathe, I sucked up a bunch of water because of one of those pesky waves. But the way back, the waves were at my back and I could get into a cadence I was comfortable with. Of course, my shoulders feel like they've been pulled from their sockets today. I figure I'll be able to finish the tri, but it won't be pretty. And I will be in a world of hurt come July 13.

2) Hello, Nature. Meet Noodles.
Nature and I have no beef. In fact, I dig almost all our furry friends, magestic sunrises, blah balh blah. So why, why, why can I not commit to going on a weekend-long camping trip at the end of the month? Oh, I know, because I'm insane. Here's my hang up. We get there Friday evening. We have a campfire. Eat. Go to sleep. Get up. Enjoy the scenery. And, uh, then what? Then I'm stuck in the woods for a whole other day. I mean, I'm sure I can keep myself entertained: there's lakes, and beaches, and row boats to rent. Bonding with friends. Beer. But I can't get my OCD Type-A head wrapped up around the fact that you just SIT THERE. And relax. Wha? No errands to run? No stores to visit? No projects to complete? You. Nature. A bunch of friends. And silence. And I'm scared shitless that I will go insane. Why!?

3) Sew, baby sew!
I'm teaching a sewing class. And by teaching I mean teaching-ish. And by class I mean, class-ish. Mainly, two of my girl friends want to learn how to quilt. They're taking a class, but they wanted to learn the basics of a machine without paying $50/each for a how-to-sew class. So they're coming over tomorrow afternoon for some girl time. We're going to make a project, which should be fun... currently I'm thinking patchwork pillows. Yay!

4) There's more, I know.
But I don't want to bore you guys. Plus, I need to clean my house for tomorrow's class since I have a D-A-T-E tonight and, er, may be home late. :-)

Sorry to have been AWOL. Promise to be better.

Love ya,
Noodles

Five, Seven, Five.

Remiss in blogging,
So, instead, haikus for you.
My life in April:

Cold in Chicago.
Oh, right! No surprise there. Sigh.
That's why we need booze.

April showers, huh?
Who knew that included snow?
Why do I live here?

Fuck you, Midwest. Grrr.
I bet flowers are blooming
in Atlanta right now.

Behold! A nice spring
day. Surely this won't last. Ha.
Mother Nature. Mean.

Tax Day came and went.
I miss my refund. It ran
straight to Visa card.

Boy got last of stuff.
Breakups still suck, months later.
Why are eyes leaking?

Baking treats with friends
reminds me how fortunate
I am to be loved.

Easter morning church.
Sunrise service at the lake.
Woot! New beginnings.

Bike versus taxi.
Guess who won? Sounds worse than you
would think. Am badass cyclist.

Sewing for my quilt.
Bride friends need sewing help, too.
One woman thread fiend.

Friends came to visit.
YAY! But too much stress to clean.
Next time: maid service.

Four people in my
small 700-square-foot
condo. Friends, or die.

We saw Ira Glass!!
This American Life! LIVE!
Am NPR nerd.

Jay taught mutt to heel
in a block at a half. Huh?
Me? Four years. No luck.

No luck at making
birds for friend's wedding cake top.
They look like monsters.

Am murderer of
plants. Accidental, of course.
No green thumb for me.

Crashing book club in
Milwaukee next month. We are
reading Lolita.

My pants still won't fit.
Whatever. Time to kick this
funk in the ass. POW!

Saw flowers blooming.
That must mean there is still hope.
Spring's eternal, right?

Like haikus a lot?
Leave me one below. Best one
might just win a prize.

ADDENDUM:
Contest is on. Best haiku posted by Wednesday at midnight CT wins a crafty surprise.

Paydirt, baby.

Sweet Jesus.

I just found a restaurant near my house that serves a prix fixe Sunday brunch, which, for $20, includes unlimited mimosas.

There too many good things to list about this. A) This is all of 30 feet from my church, which makes it a PERFECT brunch spot; B) Mimosas are, quite possibly, my most favorite-ever beverage. Afterall, who wants to start their morning with a screwdriver? Not me! Champagne, baby. That's where it's at. C) Did you see the UNLIMITED MIMOSAS part?

Take a wild stab where you'll find me on Sundays from now on.

Hells yeah!

Car conundrum.

Blogglings, I am plagued by indecision. I have made pro- and con- lists. I have sought the advice of others. I have researched. And agonized. And am still back where I started: stuck.

Here is my question. Do I really need a car?

Moons ago before I moved to Chicago, in a far away land called Indianapolis, I drove a perfectly respectable 1998 Honda Civic. It was approaching 100K miles and I decided to trade it in for something a little more sturdy and snow-tolerant. Which is when I bought my beloved Subaru Forester. With 9K miles (or maybe 11K), it was a year or two old and just lovely. It kicked winter's ass. It was roomy. It held my dog. The then-boy's dog. My bike. His bike. All kinds of work stuff.

And then, I found out that I might be headed to Chicago. (Point of fact, I actually negotiated the terms of my hire in Chicago while sitting in my 'Ru while pre-partying in the parketing lot at a Jimmy Buffett concer, margarita in hand. but I digress.)

This mark my three years in Chicago. In that time, I haven't even managed to get 20K miles on the odometer _ not 20K more miles, just 20K total. (And several thousand of which was added during my moving back and forth from Indiana.)

Truth be told, I rarely drive and try to force myself to use it once a week, if for no other reason than to justify my $403 monthly car payment. (Which makes for a freaking high per-drive ratio.) I walk to the grocery store. I use public transit for work and to meet friends. I walk to church. When it's not sub-zero I ride my bike practically everywhere. Parking is tight in my neighborhood, so I don't use my car after 5 p.m. because I'll have no hoping of parking otherwise.

Now the economy is tanking and I'm a little nervous. I'm not sure I need my car. And I'm fairly certain I don't need *this* car. But it's a great car. I'm not upside down on my payments and if I can last another 18 months, I'll own it free and clear with a car that will likely run until I die.

Or, I can sell it pay off the rest of the note, put the extra toward lowering my credit card balance and sock a little away for a down payment should my life situation change in a few years and I decide I need wheels again. If I sell the car, I'd probably get a zipcar or igo membership. Plus I get the benefit of paying off debt. And I could actually run errands in the evening, thanks to my car sharing service.

I keep falling back on the phrase "penny wise and pound foolish." But I also don't want to be "penny poor and pound poor," you know?

But you guys are smart. And urbane and clever. What do you think? You won't make my decision for me, but maybe you've got other points I haven't thought of that might help tilt the scale.

Graceful, I am not. Or, why winter can suck it.

Regardless of whether I completely change my tune in the dead-still heat of summer and get all wistful for autumn and crisp air (sweaters! yay!) and shit like that, let me go on record as say this: WINTER CAN BITE MY ASS.

Seriously.

Winter in Chicago is like a special breed of sadistic, pain-enducing, alcohol-swilling, blanket-layering, extremity-numbing cold. (I like to refer to this as bitch-ass cold.)

I know it's not Alaska and there are other places with latitudes worse than mine where it sucks even more. But that does not keep me from frequently (and with an expert amount of only child finesse) complaining to all my friends who live in the practically tropical climates of the Mid-Atlantic and deep South.

In fact, my complaints have become so standard that we have an unspoken deal. I am given unfettered complaining rights from roughly October until mid- to late-April. And then, it's their turn. I have to shut up and listen to the freakishly hot and humid stories of life in Tennessee, Georgia, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Alabama, just to name a few. I think it's a fair trade.

In addition to cold-weather bragging rights, Chicago's winter also involves learning to navigate the slip-and-slide that is virtually any flat surface within a day of snowfall. Sure, shoveling sidewalks is required by law. Does it happen? Riiiight.

Twelve hours after flakes fall, unshoveled sidewalks start to get slick. Twelve more and shoveling is almost impossible after all the trampling. Twenty-four more and you may as well strap skates to the soles of your shoes to try to make it to the bus stop without a concussion.

This makes for particularly dangerous walking when you're someone like me, who might be charitably described as gracefully challenged. (I have on more than one occasion been called a walking bruise. Also, a gazelle. By, um, my mother. Seriously, there was the Ass-Over-Elbows Escalator Fall of 2006 that almost required an ambulance; the Gushing Mountain Bike Injury the summer before that really should have involved stitches. There's a list.)


Anyway, this is a long-winded complaint that leads to this:



That's my knee cap after a rather stunning fall this morning on the bus. Ice-caked shoes and a snow-soaked floor are not a good combo and I bit it. Hard. Making matters worse, the bus had barely started to pull away from my stop. I really should have just gotten off at the next stop and hobbled the hell home to mope in the comfort of my bed.

But noooooo.

Fast forward 45 minute to me, grateful to have shaved in the last millennium, sitting at my desk with with my jeans and long-johns rolled up while icing my bare leg. Classy.

Is it spring yet?

Quiltology's throwing a par-tay...

Hey Chicago gals...

Check this out! Our favorite (and only) Chicago quilting store is having a little holiday open house on Thursday evening from 6-9. Wanna go, meet up and feed our tummys AND our fabric obsession?

Drop me a note if you're around and think you can make it. Perhaps there will even been WINE! (Especially if, you know, I bring a few bottles...)

Sexy pants.

I broke out the long johns today for the first time this season. This is depressing for a number of reasons, mainly because I like to try to see how long I can go before I need a base layer. It's like some weird sadistic game I play.

But, we're supposed to get a snow storm this afternoon and even thought it's a balmy 30-something degrees, tonight's temperature is expected to be around 15. (Talk about getting heat on time!)

Since I've got a bunch of stuff to do after work, I won't be headed home until 9-ish. And I'll be walking the 20 minutes from my final destination be on a long walk through the snow.

So alas, I only made it to Dec. 3.

Le sigh.