What I'm Gonna Need to See

The running thing isn't going so well. Well, that's not entirely true. Some days it goes! It goes strong, it goes in good form and some days it's even--dare I say it--fun. The fun days conveniently seem to exclusively be the days my lil Nike app tells me to run four miles or less. And then there are the long run days...yeah...those days aren't so much bad as that they don't really happen. 

I think I'm failing at the training aspect of this race. Yes, there are moments of triumph. Yesterday I worked 9 hours, and got my ass to the gym and ran four miles. It wasn't my best time, but I didn't stop once and I did it in a little over 40 minutes. It doesn't hurt the day after anymore. My calves are starting to look like sculpted muscle, and I have been able to stick to a commitment of running every other day, or at least four times a week. I just can't seem to force myself past the four to five mile markers. This race is six weeks away. I'm getting nervous bout it. 

I was gifted the book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami for Christmas this year and it's been helping. This man and I have almost polar opposite feelings about the art of running, mainly the fact that he seems to enjoy it. Murakami doesn't drink when he's training so I'm not drinking. Murakami stresses living a scheduled life of routine and early mornings when he trains so I am getting up...earlier. The bits we don't agree on are centered around one's core impetus to run; he runs for personal discovery--void of competition--so that he can simultaneously derive pleasure and pain, whereas I feel all the pain, none of the pleasure. The only thing fueling me is the competition. And pride. I said I would do this so I'm going to do this. The only other thing that drives me as I listen to Britney Spears' "Stronger" club mixes on repeat? Why, that would be what I want to see at the damn finish line of this damned race.  

What I'm Gonna Need to See As I Finish This Half-Marathon

1)  Anyone I've ever kissed on the mouth/shared my cousin's HBOGO password with/conned into stopping at Dunkin even if we didn't have time/been late to dinner plans with to show up and cheer me on wearing homemade, glitter puffy paint shirts that say things like

• "Go Bligh-thing!"
• "Yes Bliggles"
• "Stay strong biddie!"

2) At the halfway point, I want to be handed a warm mixed berry scone from Alice's Teacup. The butter must be cold. This is important. Actually, I'd like Alice's Teacup to sponsor snacks for my friends who've come out in support. Everyone gets a scone! But the temperature of their butter is on them.

3) After I cross the finish line I'm going to cry. As I'm wiping away perfect television tears, I want Liza Minnelli* to be singing a cover of India Arie's, "Just Do You." I would like Aziz Ansari to not only introduce me to the crowds via megaphone, I'd also like him to tell me I booked that 5-and under I auditioned for yesterday for his new show. He should also be willing to hug me because I think he's wicked cute and funny. I bet he smells nice.

4) When I run past, I want people (all people, not just the ones I know) to scream "YAHHHS MAMI!" ...because I've never been called "Mami" before and I think I can ask for whatever I want. 

5) I want my girl Whitney who is  running with me to high five me. A lot. I love high fiving. I wish we all high fived more. I also want to wear matching hats but I don't want her to say no so I'll spring it on her about 10 minutes before we start.

6) Finally, I want everyone (I mean EVERYONE) to lie and say I had a great running stride and I looked so good. Lie to me so good babies! Also, if you take a picture of me running and you wanna post it, please filter it with either "Mayfair" or "X-pro II" as those make me appear tanner.

*FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS FOR LIZA:

First of all, thank you for doing this! I've admired you since I inappropriately watched Cabaret at the tender age of eight and legitimately thought Sally Bowels sings "Maybe This Time" because she lost out on a big role she was auditioning for. Then in college, a group of amazing friends and I skipped school to attend your out of town try-out for "Liza's at the Palace" in Woonsocket, Rhode Island and you blew us the fuck away! We came all the way from Boston to see you. I still talk about that concert. You did not STOP. You also didn't wear pants but instead opted for the FANCIEST black sequined men's shirt I've ever seen. Your legs were a show enough! My favorite favorite part? When you had not one but TWO encores, the first being a song entitled "Mammy" (questionable choice) and "New York, New York" where you modulated up FIVE UNNECESSARY TIMES. I was on my feet by the third and the last two were the most thrilling moments of my life. Okay, I'll stop fangirling you and therefore offer you, diva, some alternate songs you may sing if you don't have time to learn "Just Do You" although, it's a badass song and you should add it to your rep for sure. Below is the short list of suggestions. Finally, I'd like to wrap this up by saying the race is April 19th, at 9am. I hope to be done around 11am-11:15am (god willing) so you should get up to steam the gift around 8am? I'll defer to you.

- "Jolene" by Dolly Parton

- "Power" by Kanye West

- "Rock Me Baby" by Tina Turner

- "Domino" (I'd prefer the Van Morrison song but I'll settle for Jessie J's "Domino" too...you pick)

- the opening credits song from "Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt"

- "Amazing Grace" but uptempo with a tambourine

Babies. Skipping tap class to love on Liza. In Rhode Island.

How I Got a Faux Boyfriend at Trader Joe's

I don't know if anyone has told you, but this week in the New York of Cities was a cold one. No one's been talking about it, so, in case you were wondering. It was cold here. But that's alright because Downton Abbey is back on, I'm a wanted woman in the state of North Carolina due to a reckless driving ticket and failure to appear in court (exciting!), and my mother gave me a Trader Joe's gift card. That's right. I'm 25 and I got a gift card. Gift cards are the nucleus to living the most bougie life possible in NYC. I know this in my heart to be true. I'd like to preface by saying that while I wanted to spend the entire card at the Trader Joe's Wine Shop, I refrained from doing so. A lady has to eat once in a while, and how does one even BEGIN to entertain without a fridge stocked with a variety of cheeses and cornichon? I fucking love those little pickles. So to Trader Joe's you go. With your gift card. At 5:30pm on a Monday. In 5-degrees. Fahrenheit...that's the measurement scale that's supposed to be a big number.

Now the thing about the Union Square Trader Joe's is that, once in a while, you have to wait to get inside. Like it's some hip speakeasy that you shouldn't "know" about but was written up in TimeOut, so everyone does. And the thing about waiting outside on a Monday at 5:30pm when the temperature is in the single digits is that you start to lose your mind. Or any semblance of sanity you had possessed earlier in the day. And it was at this precise moment when I proclaimed to the entire line, "This is Russia. We are in Soviet Russia I think." "Yes," says an elderly woman in front of me. She knows because she was probably there. The NYU student behind me just giggles, but I know she agrees. She's probably hiding her copy of Animal Farm in her backpack and trying not to create waves, I get it.

We wait. And we wait some more. Four come out, and two are let in. What is this fuzzy fucking math going on here?!? It's FREEZING. I hallucinate how I need to rush home to care for my ailing grandmother. She needs new shoes, she needs a new coat. I must provide. In my mind, my grandmother sounds like Angela Lansbury and we are playing with this little music box. She tried to catch my hand and hoist me onto the train, but I hit my head and OKAY I know this is now embarrassingly historically inaccurate. But again, it was so cold.

Finally, I get allowed in. It is warm! I can start to feel my toes again! Life is so good. But then, I see the line. It's easily distinguishable because it starts forming the minute you enter. And then it wraps around the circumference of the entire store. Men and women carrying large flags that read, "LINE STARTS HERE" in obnoxiously bubbly font want you to join the line. I don't want to join this line! Where is my choice? I want to wander around the aisles searching for those dark chocolate covered marshmallows! I want to grab four packages of Inner Peas, not because I NEED THEM but because everyone else is grabbing them and they might be gone and then when I do WANT them the moment will have passed me BY. I think about revolting and joining the damn line when I'm good and ready...but I'm not trying to be in this Trader Joe's for the next four hours of my life. So I join. Reluctantly.

As we wind at a turtle's pace in and out and around each aisle I start to notice a common trend. Couples. Couples in Trader Joe's are killing the game! They start together, as a family, by joining the line at the beginning of the store. Then, one stays with the cart while the OTHER ONE GETS TO WANDER. The cart person collects the groceries easily accessible from the line and gets to check their Facebook and send emails and read Buzzfeed articles. This is some brilliant new-age hunter/gatherer shit and I want in. I noticed a single man behind me. Would me maybe wanna...I don't know...couple up with me in this Trader Joe's? A biddie doesn't know until she tries. "Heyyyy," I say while smiling and displaying my good dimple, "I don't know what your plan is in here today, but what say you to sharing a cart with me and you tell me what you want from those middle aisles and I'll go run get it for you? Before we make this commitment to one another I think it's fair I warn you: sometimes I run, sometimes I hide, sometimes I'm scared of yo---" "Omg!" handsome man shrieks, "I'm so gay stop quoting Britney lyrics to me! Let's do this!"

Something magical happened to me during this Trader Joe's excursion. What originally appeared be an inescapably long night, alone, fighting for the last Spinach and Kale Greek Yogurt Dip turned into a beautiful partnership. Shawn has long-term boyfriend and a fancy-town apartment on Irving but that didn't stop me from dreaming about our adopted Asian daughter who we would name Perestroika, but call "Roika" for short. She would take tap on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but if it got in the way of her Suzuki violin training, we would pull her out. Every Monday night we would go to the Trader Joe's in Union Square, all three of us, shopping together in perfect harmony. Taking only what we need, leaving what we don't. The reality? I may never see Shawn again. But what we shared, the camaraderie we felt will never fade. We'll always have Roasted Garlic Hummus. Do svidaniya, my love, until we are back in the U-S. Back in the U-S. Back in the U-S-S-R.