While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping

What I write after Joe and Henry go to bed

Archives for March 2013

A crushed bicycle and the end of a bad habit

by 7 Comments

Over the course of my adolescence and adulthood I’ve made many attempts to stop biting my fingernails. They’ve all ended in failure. As a reminder of this weakness I’m left with nubs so useless I’m forced to use paper clips to open pop cans, credit cards to scratch bug bites and tweezers to fasten necklaces.

It’s pitiful. And gross. My hands are ugly. Looking at them as I type this post, I’m reminded of the brief times in my life when I actually had real human nails. I can count these times on two fingers. (Pun intended.) Once: In 2007, when I went Kerouac-ing across the country. Twice: when I left the newspaper and a took a job in a marble yard . (Lesson learned from my marble yard experience: Having visibly filthy hands all day is the best deterrent to nail biting.)

So what does this have to do with a crushed bicycle you ask.

Well, let’s see here…

About a month ago I strapped my bike to the back of my car and drove to Sarasota to do some riding with Oma. (Note: I’m not talking about my sexy Bianchi. I wisely left her at home. I took Joe’s cumbersome, twice-crashed Specialized Crossroads – the one with Henry’s green seat mounted on the front.)

[Read more…]

Some men can’t tell a lie

by 6 Comments

Two true conversations – one recent and one not-so-recent:

When I was about 19, insecure and dating my high school sweetheart, I asked him if he thought I was chubby.

He replied, “You’re not chubby. You’ve just got a thin layer of fat on your stomach.”

I couldn’t argue with this assessment. It was true. And though his remark didn’t send me into a downward spiral of body hate, it certainly didn’t boost my ego. It stuck with me of course, not because it was purposefully hurtful, but because it was idiotically truthful.

Fast-forward to my marriage …

About two weeks ago, after walking out of the shower and glancing in the mirror, I noticed that my shoulders looked especially broad and my arms looked especially muscle-y in that she’s-built-like-a-tank kind of way.

So I asked Joe, “Do you think all this swimming is making my shoulders too broad?”

He replied, “You’ve always had shoulders like a linebacker. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”

At first I sighed. I’m a Hungarian shot put thrower. Then I grunted and flashed my teeth like a grizzly bear.

“Fine,” I growled. “All the better to kick your ass.”

You can still run fast in cheap shorts

by 3 Comments

My training style in a nutshell:

1. I don’t stick to schedules. I find workout “schedules” to be overwhelming and frankly, stifling. When I want to run, I run. When I want to bike, I bike. On sunny weekends when Joe is at home and can watch Henry, I break away to the public pool and swim.

2. When I train, I push myself harder than the week before. I run 6 miles. I run 8 miles. I run 9-minute miles, then 8-minute miles and the occasional 7-minute mile burst. I bike 20 miles. I swim 75 laps. The only piece of gadgetry I use to track these workouts is the Nike fitness app on my iPod. The rest of the stuff I jot down in a journal. I rarely go back and analyze this data. The numbers don’t matter to me. Here’s how I gauge whether I’m making progress as an athlete: If what I’m doing feels difficult, but not like the world’s worst chore, then I’m doing OK. This is my guiding principle.

3. Just because I don’t stick to a schedule doesn’t mean I don’t train regularly. I think the reason I’m able to wing my workouts is because I do something physical every day. Even on the days I don’t do JACK, I still walk to the grocery store. I count this as activity though it usually means I’m up at night with insomnia. Another reason I think I like training: it TIRES ME OUT and helps me SLEEP.

4. I’m not a gear whore. In the running (and triathlon) industry too much money is spent on Looking The Part rather than Being The Part. Just get yourself a solid road bike, quality running shoes, a few cute tank tops and be on with it. A lot of triathletes take themselves uber seriously. I’d rather look weird and perform well than look slick and perform lousy. I’m already pedaling a strange old bicycle. Why not wear ridiculous sunglasses too? I’m not cocky enough for overpriced sports bling. Triathlons are expensive enough! The $50 Izumi Tri Suit was a splurge at HALF OFF the original price. It was an early birthday treat because I’d gotten to the point where I was too embarrassed to compete in a $20 swimsuit from TJ Maxx.

5. I wonder what the neurosis is behind this little strategy: each time I embark on a run, I set the distance on my Nike app to 5K. My intentions are never to run a 5K. I always exceed this distance by at least double. I’d rather set out to run a 5K and surpass my goal, than commit to a 10K and achieve my goal. I don’t know if this is because I set low standards for myself, or because I like to overachieve. It’s probably a little of both.

6. No matter how hard or often I train, I cannot stop eating sweets. In fact, I like to inhale a couple frozen peanut butter cups right before a run. It fuels my turbo boosters.

A hapless blogger grows up

by 12 Comments

There once was a time when I kept things to myself. I wrote short stories and poems in a journal that I kept hidden from the rest of the world. It sat in my underwear drawer between the thongs I never wore and the granny panties I couldn’t live without. In it I’d write nothing of note, nothing scandalous and nothing hyper-intellectual.

For years I filled these lined pages with the usual crackpot observations, foul-mouthed sarcasm and melodramatic longing. Self-serving dribble if you ask me, sometimes cleverly articulated, oftentimes not.

From my 8th grade diary: Life already feels like a traffic jam, just ridin the ass of the person in front.

Then one day (five years ago) I started blogging.

At the time I all but ignored advances in technology, including social media, smart phones and online banking. Hell, I still considered books on tape to be blasphemous. But like many 20-something curmudgeons, I warmed to learned to tolerate social media. Peer pressured into joining Facebook in 2008, I denounced it quickly as a mindless fad, a time suck for people who spent too much time nosing around other people’s business. I uploaded an image of two greasy chicken wings and saved it as my profile pic.

My real friends already know what I look like. Na-na-na-bo-bo.

The first few times I left a comment on somebody’s page, I signed it with my name.

You look cute in this picture. – Heidi Kurpiela

Then someone told me I should join Twitter. So I joined Twitter. True to form, I let the account sit inactive for years.

[Read more…]

Things my Oma says

by 6 Comments

Last week I found a fifty dollar bill tucked under a book in Henry’s room. I knew immediately that my Oma had something to do with it. She’s like a misguided tooth fairy.

I called her when I found it.

Me: “Hello Sneak. I found your fifty dollar bill.”

Oma: “Oh vell. Nevermind that.”

Me: “You don’t have to hide money in Henry’s room.”

Oma: “I don’t HAVE to. I VANT to.”

Me: “You spoil us.”

Oma: “One day when you are a grandmother, you vill spoil your grandchildren as well.”

Me: “Let’s hope I’m out of the poor house by then.”

Oma: “Ve all start out poor. It’s part of living.”

Me: “Not everyone starts out poor.”

Oma: “It is better to start out poor. Dees is how you learn to appreciate things. People who have too much money at a young age do drugs and kill themselves.”