Tag Archives: South Boston

Today: Let it flow.

16 January 2012

17 Comments

I had every intention of waking up early this morning and seizing the day, but ten o’clock rolled around and I was still snug in bed.  The shock of single digit temperatures certainly woke me (and my furry sidekick) up in a hurry.

After a very brisk walk with Clark, I headed to Dedham to for my first platelet appointment in over a year.  I used to give every month, but sort of fell out of the habit.  I always get a bit nervous before donating, but once I am all bundled up in my cozy, heated chair all I can think is let it flow.  And by it, I mean my blood.  I’ve got O- blood, which makes me a universal donor, and have never minded needles, so giving blood or platelets seems like an obvious way to help out.  Plus, I am easily persuaded by charts.

[Image source]

The process is a bit different from donating whole blood.  I usually give platelets using both arms, and today the process took over three hours.  Essentially, blood is drawn from one arm and the cells are separated.  Platelets are removed and collected (in my case, from my left arm), and the remaining blood cells are returned, along with some saline (through an IV my right arm).  The sensation of having the blood returned is a bit strange (I sometimes get a metallic taste in my mouth, and a feeling of fluttering at the vein), but it’s not at all painful.

Check out my sweet bandages... and man-ish thumbs.

Donors are given their choice of movies, plenty of warm blankets, and Tums (I am not sure why… but um, I take all of them.  No questions asked.).   I’ve learned my lesson the hard way (trying not to cry while watching The Blind Side, while attached to a blood sucking machine, while in a room full of strangers… not a good look), and usually watch an old standby.  Today it was The Devil Wears Prada, followed by the end of the Ravens and Texans game.  Feet up, limitless supply of juice.  Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

If you’re considering donating and have questions, let me know.  I’m not a phlebotomist (such a fun word), nor do I play one on TV, but I sort of know what I am talking about.

I got home just in time to let it flow at South Boston Yoga.  I loved my first class there last Sunday and decided to advantage of their new student special ($25 for two weeks of unlimited classes).  I’ve taken classes here and there, and always leave feeling more limber, more balanced and more smiley… but I have never really committed to a regular practice.  Perhaps 2012 will be the year I become a yogi.  Who knows.  I’m already seeing improvements, though.  Last week I stayed in bridge pose, afraid to take on the wheel.  This week: proverbial balls to the wall.  It was, um, wheelie exhilarating.  Bahaha.

It’s past my bedtime.

Also On Tap for Today:

What was the highlight of your weekend?  

Today: You gotta let your soul shine.

1 January 2012

9 Comments

I haven’t missed a single day of running this year.  Mostly because there’s only been a single day this year.  I cranked up the music this morning (including my favorite warm-up jam, The Return to Innocence, straight from 1994), and headed for the waterfront.

Despite having slept in, the streets were still deserted, and I had the Harborwalk all to myself.  Which meant a lot of singing along to the Allman Brothers, at the top of my lungs.  I was thinking how 2011 will be hard to top, running-wise, but I am looking forward to taking on new challenges, including a relay with some of my favorite people.  My race plan, so far:

February

March

April

May

July

September

October

December

No marathon this year, no traveling for races.  I am planning to keep things simple in 2012.  Please remind me of this intention when I inevitably go off the reservation and end up registering for who knows what.  :)

Also On Tap for Today:

Do you have any fun races or events planned for 2012?

Today: Frenchie karaoke.

24 September 2011

13 Comments

Look no further, the next American Idol is sprawled out on my sofa.  After months of rehearsing this song on the streets of South Boston as fire trucks fly by, Clark is finally ready to film his first music video.

No French bulldogs were harmed in the making of this video.  My eardrums, however, may never recover.

Also On Tap for Today:

What’s your go-to karaoke jam?

Today: A day late, a mile and a half short.

18 September 2011

3 Comments

3.1 plus 9.4 does not equal 14.  Even I know that.

I woke up Saturday feeling the effects of all of those sprints, lunges and squats at Fighter Conditioning and decided to delay my long run by one day.  I planned to crank out 11 miles after this morning’s Whole Foods 5k, but as I neared the 9 mile mark, I knew it not going to happen.  I made a quick detour, reaching for the stash of ones I keep in my Camelbak as I entered the sketchy convenience store near our condo, and asked if they sold ice.  They do.  They also sell travel-sized toothpaste alongside single cigars.  Makes sense.  Sort of.

Some dude, seated by the Keno machine, gave me ‘tude as I hobbled my way past his folding chair to the makeshift ice chest.  I thought about talking back, but I was fresh out of Gu and really didn’t have the energy.  Instead, I lingered a bit longer than necessary so that the smell of two hours of sweat could ruin his day.  Just kidding.  Or, am I?

Clark would prefer not to be seen with me.

One ice bath, two bananas, a three hour nap and four layers of lasagna later, I feel (mostly) human again.  For a split second, I was tempted to hop on the treadmill and finish that last mile and a half, but I decided to get a life instead.  And by get a life, I mean continue to lay on the sofa making injured cat noises.

Also On Tap for Today:

What was the highlight of your weekend?

Today: Who are you? Who, who, who, who?

16 August 2011

6 Comments

This post is neither about CSI, nor owls.  It’s about genealogy.  Prepare to be bored amazed.

On Saturday night, as I tried to quell my pre-race jitters, I flipped through the channels on our hotel television to one of the few English-language programs (we watched an entire show of daredevil bloopers in Spanish, which was totally awesome).  Rosie O’Donnell was scrolling through microfiche (the bane of my college existence), hoping to find a link to her Irish ancestors on a show called Who Do You Think You Are?.

While Nick gave me a look that, if it were an NBC show, would be called Who Gave You The Remote?, I got completely sucked in.

Who was the mysterious woman in the photograph that hung in her childhood home?  Did her grandfather know he had a half-sister?  How did the person who hand-wrote those parish logs have such perfect penmanship?  Will she ever find her Irish roots?  (In case you were doing something less embarrassing on Saturday night, the answers are: her great-grandfather’s first wife who died after an oil lamp explosion, yes, I don’t know, and yes.)

I’ve been thinking a lot about my own family tree (not the Japanese maple by the pool, the imaginary one that we’re all attached to).  Having moved to the neighborhood where my paternal grandfather grew up, I often wonder about the places he went, who he hung out with, and what he would think about my taking boxing lessons in an old warehouse on Dorchester Ave.  I wonder what people’s parents were like, what they ate, and how they kept busy.  I wonder what it was like to come to America, long before Neil Diamond wrote a song about the process.

In a world where we’re so seemingly connected, I can’t help but want to know the people who aren’t on Facebook or stored in my digital camera.  I want to know my roots (and not the ones I dye).  So, I did what any gullible person watching Rosie’s family story unfold would do, and joined ancestry.com.  In a matter of minutes, I was looking at a hand-written census report from the 1920′s.  My maternal grandfather, according to the record, was 4 and 4/12 years at the time.  I bet he was so cute.  I doubt he understood fractions yet.  After digging a little deeper, I found a photo of his parents, including his mother who died when he was very young.

I felt like I was opening a time capsule, or was following a path of clues deeper and deeper into the past (if you’re looking for a new procrastination tool, this is it), or just plain old being creepy.  Before I knew it, I had navigated out of Boston to Nova Scotia, Northern Island, the Irish Free State, and Scotland.  Suddenly it was 1790.

I hit a bit of a digital dead end when approximately 9 million people shared the same name as one of my great-grandfathers, but never fear.  My dad’s father was a bit of an amateur genealogist, and kept detailed records of our family history.  I can’t wait to get my hands on his old blue binder and start plugging in names and dates, as the adventure continues.

In the meantime, I am left to ponder… If my great-grandfather was so tall, my parents and siblings, too… where the heck did I come from?  Maybe I should start wearing a top hat.

Also On Tap for Today:

How well do you know your family history?  Any good mysteries to solve?

Today: A tartey for the party.

7 August 2011

5 Comments

After having such a great run on the Harbor Walk last weekend, I thought it might be fun to bring a few pals along.  Tina, Ali, Anne and I tackled six miles this morning, running from Southie to Charlestown and back.  It’s sort of fun to hop from neighborhood to neighborhood in the rain.

I stole this photo from Anne, while wondering what on Earth my hand is up to.

I’ve been rather enamored with the waterfront lately; nothing makes me happier than a salty sea breeze.  Besides cheese doodles.  And my dog.  And a few other things, too.

After our run, we enjoyed mimosas and brunch at our condo, while Clark and Murphy provided the entertainment.  I found these fun Japanese vegetable cutters earlier this week and was excited to put them to use.  I cut some fresh watermelon, honey dew melon and cucumbers into tiny flowers and tossed them with mozzarella and fresh basil.  The perfect summer salad.

I also whipped up my first berry galette, a free form tarte perfect for showcasing the summer’s best blueberries, raspberries and–my favorite– blackberries.  I used a Martha Stewart recipe for the dough, and sort of winged it from there.  You know Martha would never steer you wrong.  Clearly, this tartey was perfect for our little party.

All that remains is a piddly, little blueberry.

Running with friends, towards a delightful brunch… now that’s how to train for a marathon.

Also On Tap for Today:

Make anything tasty this weekend?

Today: Glove up.

23 June 2011

7 Comments

I like to think of myself as a peaceful person.  I tend to gravitate towards balance and calm, and shrink away from hand-to-hand combat.  Fighting on television, in movies and in real life (obvi) makes me extremely uneasy.  Magical violence is especially terrifying because there are totally no boundaries.  I missed most of the last Harry Potter movie because I was hiding behind a throw pillow.

 

In addition to being a peacemaker, I like to think I have street smarts.   Street cred, however, is another story.  I know that you’re not really supposed to hang out in back alleys and abandoned warehouses.  When you see a man with a neck bigger than Jason Giambi’s coming at you with fire in his eyes, you’re kind of supposed to cross the street.

Unless that man’s about to teach you how to jump rope like a non-idiot.

No pink gloves for this little lady!

For the past month or so, I’ve found myself going very much against my natural inclinations and instincts.  I have been busting my bum, learning how to fight in a sort of dodgy part of town.   Twice a week, I’ve been gloving up at my local boxing gym, sweating like a man, and throwing punches with all my might (right now they’re more like limp high fives to the heavy bag, but whatever).

I’m sure I look like a complete dingo, but I am having the time of my life.  I find myself squaring off in the mirror, Googling things like “are my hands supposed to feel partially broken when I wrap them?” and wondering what sort of hairdos female boxers keep under their helmet things.  It’s both terrifying and exhilarating.

Mostly exhilarating, though.

Also On Tap for Today:

What’s something new you’ve tried recently?

Today: A pugly start to the weekend.

5 June 2011

5 Comments

Nick and I got to Castle Island early yesterday morning, only to be confronted by an angry deliriously happy mob of pugs.  We met our friends Tina and Mal, and their pug Murphy, for the inaugural Pug Rescue of New England 5k, a small, local race to support a good (and terribly cute) cause.

The course hugged Day Boulevard from Castle Island, past the gazebo and turned around just past the boat houses, looped around the Sugar Bowl and behind the fort.  I was met at the finish line by a very happy boyfriend, who finished 12th overall and placed 3rd in his division.  The man is on fire.  This was his third PR of the week, following the Run to Remember and the Corporate Challenge.  If I didn’t know better (and if I didn’t drink the exact same water), I’d think there was something in his water.  But since I see how hard he trains, I am pretty sure I know his secret.  All his work is paying off.

Nick wasn’t the only champion yesterday.  Murphy crossed the finish line as the first pug to run the full 5k.  He really flew!  If Clark understood English, I am sure he would have been truly impressed when we told him all about his partner in crime’s accomplishments.  Instead, he looked around for treats.

The race was really well organized, with great raffle prizes, vendors (mostly pug-related) and refreshments at the finish.  Oh, and we walked away with the most awesome race shirts of all time.  Though our Frenchie dude will always be #1 in my heart, pugs are pretty cool, too.

Also On Tap for Today:

How did you kick off the weekend?

Today: Service from hell.

22 May 2011

3 Comments

What's that smell?

I woke up this morning and thought, Oh good.   We’re still alive.  Nick and I took Clark for a nice long walk around Castle Island and then to BYOD for a much needed oatmeal bath.  That little dude gets stinky in a hurry (Clark, not Nick).  His natural b.o. takes on four distinct phases.

  • Phase 1: Clean dog
  • Phase 2: Cool Ranch Doritos
  • Phase 3: Did you eat a entire sea lion?
  • Phase 4: “Toxic” by Britney Spears
This cycle takes any where from several days to several weeks to complete, but by the time Phase 4 hits, I fully believe that Rapture is upon us.  We then took a stroll around the SOWA market and a few stores in the South End before meeting my parents and sister for dinner at one of our favorite restaurants.  After a heavenly day in the neighborhood, we found ourselves dining in hell.  Our server made mistake after mistake before we learned, as I suspected, this was his first night on the job.

I remember my own first night waitressing, as a nineteen year old on the Cape.  I was training with the scariest waitress in the restaurant (she made no less than three of my co-workers cry that summer), and was charged with bringing salads out to a table of college-aged guys.  I had memorized who ordered which dressing, balanced my tray and set out for the dining room.  And then I dumped an entire cup of balsamic vinegar directly onto one of their laps.  When I reached for a clean napkin, completely mortified, the training server boomed “Do not even think about touching his crotch!” It’s a miracle I didn’t die or, at least, faint.  For the record, my plan was simply to apologize and hand over the napkin.  I’ve never made a habit of touching people inappropriately.

When I finally moved beyond the training phase (I think that first night set me back a bit), I was pleased one night to have a big party of adults sat in my section.  Apparently one of the hostesses missed a few of the specials menus when swapping them out, so when the two ladies seated farthest away from me both ordered the “second special from the top,” they expected to be served the previous night’s haddock.  Instead they each ended up with a full rack of ribs.  I need to enlist the help of two other waitresses to bring those honking things out.

The entire table completely freaked out, and left without paying.  Technically, they left a penny, which I quickly learned to be old people speak for GFY, but needless to say, one cent does not pay for one, let alone two racks of ribs.  That table’s meal was deducted from my earnings, which meant it cost me money to work that night.  For the rest of the summer, I demanded that customers ordering from the specials menu describe their desired meal in gross detail.

I did my best to make money, rather than owe money, at the end of each shift, and so it didn’t take very long to develop a hierarchy of desirable customers.  No offense to old ladies– I very much intend to become one in thirty years– but a pair of old women was at the bottom of the list.  A close second were tourist families with children.  Neither groups tipped well, and the latter often left behind a wake of Cheerios, broken crayons and drool.  Anyone who brought their own solar-powered calculator was bad news.  I learned a lot that summer, including that I am not cut out to be a waitress.

I have a feeling our server might be learning a similar lesson tonight.

Also On Tap for Today:

What’s the most mortifying on-the-job experience you’ve ever had?

Today: Seven in the rain.

25 April 2011

4 Comments

For the first time, and likely last time,  ever I outran Nick this weekend… um, but only because he got injured at last week’s soccer game.  We planned to stay close to our little team’s home base at the South Boston Running Emporium due to the drizzly weather and his busted hamstring.  We ran side-by-side (awww) until I complete ate sh-t on D Street (owww) and watched Nick continue to motor on, unaware that I was face down on the sidewalk.  What can I say, when he’s in the zone, he’s in the zone.

[Photo source]

After I dusted myself off (and spit on the offending slippery grate for good measure… just kidding, I’m a lady), I tried and failed to catch up to my speedy boyfriend.  When he looked back, I was already up and running, so he assumed I had simply slowed down and wanted to run my own run.  That’s often how I roll.

[Photo source]

I saw him run one way at the Sugar Bowl, so I ran the other way expecting to meeting him head-on at the halfway point.  Unfortunately, he had turned back for the store, while I tried to hunt him down, asking strangers if they had binoculars or overhead satellite access.  In the meantime, I ran a bunch more miles.

[Photo source]

I eventually made my own way back to the store, covered in sea spray, a bit bruised and cut up, but proud of myself for sticking with it.  It’s not every day that you wipe out less than a mile into your run, but I suppose that any day you get to run is a good one.  Those seven miles were character-building for sure.  Speaking of characters and Wipeout!, I really want to be on that show.

Also On Tap for Today:

Have you taken a trip lately?  Or enjoyed a lovely fall perhaps?