The A, b, c and d’s of Running

I run rather frequently. It’s my coping mechanism, stay sane solution and be fit formula. I highly recommended it. Since I have a rather regular running schedule (sorry for all the alliteration, I can’t help myself), I’ve been able to notice the pattern in which my thoughts develop. They consistently fall into a select number of categories. I’m calling them the “A, b, c and d’s of Running”.

A: Aerobic Exercise
I believe the only REAL exercise is aerobic exercise. If it doesn’t get my heart pumping wildly and for an extended period of time, then it might as well as be called sleeping. I find that I constantly remind myself of this when I’m running. I’m reassuring myself there’s a purpose to all the pain: “You’re exercising to exercise Jocelyn, and aerobic exercise is good for you!” or “Think how much better prepared you’ll be if you have to escape from an attacking wild animal! Because of all the aerobic exercise you do!”

B: Boys
Well, there’s only one boy in my life. He’s my stud, my John Doe, my Gangsta: Wes. I find running to be a time where I can reflect on my relationship. I usually try to think back to a year or two years ago and remember what stage our relationship was in. There was definitely a time where I would think about what a dysfunctional/“this is never going to work out” relationship we had while running. Not that this was ever the case, but I was crazier two years ago than I am today (if you can believe it). As much as I try to be positive, there’s a little doomsayer who frequently takes up residence my brain. I let him loose when I run, and then leave him behind on the trail.

C: New Criteria and Creativity
As I mentioned in category A, I frequently reflect on how physically painful it is to run. My knees are sore, my feet feel cramped and my legs are exhausted. I catalog all the different acute pains I feel, and then convince myself that this is forcing my body to use new criteria to evaluate how close to death I am. Even when it gets really painful and I think I’m going to die at any minute, I don’t. I survive! And now my body knows it can too!

I also try to be creative when I run. I make up stories about the people I see or try to imagine what their daily life must be like. It makes me feel like I’m being doubly productive. I’m exercising my body and my mind!

D: Drinking
Without fail, I always think about what kind of drink I can reward myself with after having burned all those calories during my run. I don’t think about donuts or ding dongs. I think about a chilled, crisp Riesling or a salty, frothy Margarita. Maybe I think about drinking because running makes me thirsty, or maybe because I really love my wine? I usually end up doing the responsible thing and reward myself with a huge glass of water, but that’s boring. There’s no way I’d be as motivated to run if I thought about all the lame water I’d get to drink when I was done.

And there you have it. My a, b, c and d’s of running. I'd like to think I've got a mind like a maniac, but the body of a babe.

Just kidding on that last part.

About Me

I updated the About Me section of this little 'ol blog, in case you're curious to see what I have to say about myself. It's over there on the right as a separate page called About Me (duh). I’m posting it here as well, so you don’t miss out on all the juicy details.

Happy Friday!

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Hi. My name is Jocelyn. Aka Jelly.
 
I live in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles, affectionately referred to as "The Valley". I'm just another Cali Valley girl trekking through her mid-twenties and trying to cause trouble, but not too much.
 
I'm a constantly curious, frequently emotional and occasionally funny type of gal. This is what I look like when I'm pouting:
 
Age 2
 

The angelic one on the left is my sister. The demonic one on the right is me!

Age 25

Classic.

I used to work in the entertainment industry, where I scheduled meetings and greetings between the bigwigs of Hollywood. I started this blog as an outlet from my current job, working as the creative director/bookkeeper/tax planner/customer relations/photographer/administrator/everything woman for my Dad's internet marketing company. I spend most of my day on the computer.

Since I don't have access to Tom Cruise's home address and dietary restrictions like I did in my past job, I needed to explore my creativity elsewhere. Enter The Jelly Logs. Now I have a place to share the crazy little stories I used to write to myself, but now I write and share with you! The World Wide Web!

And just to clarify: No, I do not nor ever did have access to Tom Cruise's home address (he wasn't one of my boss's clients), so you're better served buying one of those star maps on Sunset if you really want to know where he lives.

I hope you don't find this site too offensive or dumb, although I can't promise anything. I'm just another Cali Valley girl after all. Stick around and we'll have some fun!

News Flash: Blah

Things have been a little on the blah side around here. Not blah bad or blah good, just plain unexciting blah. With that in mind would you like to go for a little tour?

Here we go!
Where you're going, you may never know!

Look there's a cow!
Now I need to go find my plow!

Two houses on a hill!
This tour is such a thrill!

And the runway's up ahead!
There's plenty of room for airplanes on this homestead!

Also on my mind: lawyers. This is because as we were lying in bed last night, Wes got a call from a lawyer… at 9:45 at night. Let me tell you how much I know about lawyers:

1) They practice something called law.
2) Law has three letters.
3) I like to break laws (not really).
4) Lawyers work late.
5) There are tons of jokes about lawyers. My soon-to-be brother-in-law knows a lot of them. He also happens to be a lawyer. Since he’s not here, let me find an example for you...

Q: What do you have when a lawyer is buried up to his neck in sand?
A: Not enough sand.

OR

Q: What’s wrong with lawyer jokes?
A: Lawyers don’t think they’re funny, and nobody else thinks they’re jokes.

As for Wes’s conversation with the lawyer, I wasn’t really listening, but it sounded like a jolly good time. I am therefore anticipating the bill we’re going to receive. It was about a 22 minute convo (I might have to get a second job).

So there we have it. Just a good ‘ol blah week. But I have high hopes for the rest of the week! Some sweet potato muffins may be in my near future.

Adventures in Aviation, Part Neuf

Saturday marked my fifth official flight lesson after not being in any plane for almost a month. All the hustle and bustle of the holidays kept us grounded. Wes had left early Saturday morning and I was commissioned with getting to the airport by myself. Speaking of Wes, the gangster got his multi engine rating this weekend (he can fly planes with two engines! Wait, we don’t have a plane with two engines… oh well!). He impressed his FAA examiner by completing the practical test faster and more competently than any other student the examiner had seen. What a show off.

Anyhoodle, this post is about me, not my strong, capable, handsome chunk of a man who possesses unparalleled problem solving and time management skills. So I arrive at the airport and am tying my shoes just as Mr. Instructor shows up, destroying my plans to have the airplane checked and ready before Mr. Instructor showed up. Guess I need to work on my time management skills. I’ll ask Wes about that. We pull the plane out of the hangar and I remind Mr. I that this is only my fifth lesson and that I haven’t done any flying since our last lesson. I was feeling a little nervous, but didn’t want to say it outright. I believe you shouldn’t let anybody smell your fear. It’s counterproductive.

It was a cloudy day, so Mr. Instructor decided we’d stick to flying the pattern as opposed to practicing ground reference maneuvers, which would have been the day’s curriculum. For whatever reason, pulling up to the runway threshold and getting ready for takeoff wasn’t as overwhelming as it had seemed before. Maybe it was because there were no other planes waiting to takeoff behind us, or because the skies were releasing good vibes, but the checklist then lights, camera, action and full throttle went off without a hitch. We were airborne and setting up to fly the pattern.

Flying the pattern is basically circling around the airport in an established route and altitude. Each airport will have their own specific traffic pattern and altitude requirements. The altitude for Camarillo’s pattern 875 ft. I’m not sure if 875 ft. seems high or low to you, but climbing out at full throttle, we were hitting 500 ft. within 30 seconds, at which point I would have to turn left crosswind and reduce the throttle, then 10 seconds later make another left turn to fly upwind and reduce the throttle even more because BAMN we were already at 875 ft. To sum it up: flying the pattern happens fast! Which is why we made at least 15 loops in the pattern. And you know what that means: 15 loops = 15 landings. Sweet lordy, there is nothing more fun than landing.

Mr. I: You’re coming in a little fast. Reduce the throttle a bit.
Me: Ok.
Mr. I: Aim for the numbers. No, pull your noise up a little bit.
Me: Ok.
Mr. I: Now you need more throttle. Just a little.
Me: Ok.
Mr. I: Steady, steady, steady. Whoa your sink rate is too high.
Me (unsaid): I have no idea what you’re talking about! This plane is landing itself!
Mr. I: Good, good. Now let it come into ground effect. Down nice and easy.
Me (unsaid): Seriously. Who is landing this plane? I don’t know what I’m doing! It’s not listening to me!
Mr. I: Nice. You landed that one yourself!
Me (unsaid): Landed it myself? Wow, this is dangerous.

After all that pattern work, Mr. I and I decided to take a nice flight along the coast for the last 30 minutes of our lesson. I was curious if we could see the remains of the landslide which has closed portions of PCH for the past couple of weeks. That little flight along the coast really changed my perspective on flying. I felt in total control: I was keeping our altitude at a steady 500 ft., monitoring airspeed and plotting our course. It was the first time where I felt that Mr. I was my passenger and I was his pilot, not the other way around. I could go anywhere I wanted! The freedom! The independence! It was awesome. Mr. I just sat there and pointed out the houses along PCH he would buy if he had that kind of money. He didn’t correct me or tamper with my flying. He also took my picture.

It’s nice to end a flying lesson on a good note. Oh, wait. I did taxi the plane up to the hangar “too close to my brand new Mercedes! Now it’s going to have a bunch of pebble scratches and marks on it and it’s brand new! That’s not how we do things here at Camarillo. You need to try to be considerate.” That’s what the old man in the hangar across the way told us of after our flight. Can you imagine? A car getting scratched? That’s quite positively the worst thing that could happen in the whole world! Butthead.

The End.

Moo

It’s Friday, the end of the first week of the Nmoo Year, and I’m mooverjoyed that it’s over with. It’s just been one of those weeks. I’ve been somewhat moofficient. I’ve gotten the year’s W-moos and 1099-moos finished and I’m well on moo way into tax preparation. Isn’t that moognificient? I think because it’s Friday, and because I’m such an amoozing person, I’m going to treat mooself to a cocktail. But I’m going to be very mooture and do something I’ve moover done before: I’m going to buy a remoosable champagne cork! You see, I mooght have a problem. I am unable to let champagne go to waste once the bottle’s been moopened, which means I usually end up moorinking the whole thing. That all changes moonight!

And finally, I should tell you that I spent at least 2 hours today drawing that cow in Illustrator. It probably explains why I have moo on the brain.

And no, I haven’t been drinking.

Yet.

XOXO Jelly

Resolutions

I hereby resolve to continue to be an imperfect human being. I shall accept that my left eyelid droops lower than my right eyelid due to years of squinting with my left when taking photos. I will discard the thought that plastic surgery could fix this deformity and give me a perfectly symmetrical face, because 1) I can’t afford it and 2) I’m too chicken to ever get any plastic surgery, oh and yes 3) Wes says no plastic surgery to the face (but he says I can get my boobs plumped to the size of watermelons if I want! What a nice guy!)

I hereby resolve to consider every day an adventure. Our trip to Mammoth wouldn’t have been the same if the power didn’t go out on a blizzardy night. Who needs electricity when you can have a romantic dinner by fire light? And shoveling snow is much more fun if you consider yourself a great explorer like Lewis and Clark; trekking your way through the unpredictable terrain of undiscovered America.

And lastly, I hereby resolve to take more photos and write more crazy stories about this imperfect adventure I'm on: life.

Special

If you live where I do, that means sunshine and sandy beaches on Christmas.

It means indulging in sweets and snacks. Or maybe a 6.5 lb. USDA prime cut of Prime Rib at $26.99/lb. (you do the math), and being able to share this once-in-a-lifetime meal with your loving family.

It means presents and surprises. Some come wrapped in festive paper, while others come wrapped in a fleshy womb. Don’t they look thrilled?

I hope everyone’s holidays were as special as mine were, and here’s to an awesome 2011!

I’ve just had a great little break from my normal work/blog/run/fly/read routine, and it’s made me reflect on how special the time around the holidays is.