Book Review: 25 Shades of Grey

That book? The one that's getting all the buzz? Yeah, I read it.  Well, I read half of it, thus confirming that I will read half any piece of crap if it gets sufficient buzz.  And I have to say, it was awful.  I know you are thinking, "but Kerry, you have an incredibly high tolerance for all sorts of crap, how bad could this book have been?"  Well, writing-wise, not worse than much of the other literary swill I have chugged in my life: for sure the writing in this book is toward the bottom end of the swill spectrum, but, to be fair, not in the dregs.  Maybe dregs-adjacent. The thing with this book is...it was...it was ugh.. it was just.... ARRGHH.  No, not the sex parts.  If you have ever read Primitive Sex One, Two, and Three, or, you know, are an adult, there is nothing in 50 Shades that is really that shocking (at least in the first half of Book One).  I just hated the main character, Anastasia Whatsherface, and hated even more that a female author would create such a weak, wishy-washy, powerless, mostly spineless female character who is so....ARGGHH.  The basic premise of this book is that the male lead character is a super rich dude into BDSM who offers the "heroine" a deal where she will be the submissive to his dominant for 3 months or so, and during which time she will do everything he requires of her, no questions asked, in every aspect of her life down to what she will wear and what she can eat.  And the main character CONSIDERS this.  At which point I started screaming "what? WHAT?!! IDIOT GIRL WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT."  And then. AND THEN. Mr. Billionaire presents her with a "contract" to sign that outlines--in fake legalize--the terms of the deal, and my inner lawyer has a stroke from the stupidity, and that is how far I got in that book.  I have no idea what happens in the rest of Book One or in the rest of the series because I suspect neither Anastasia or the dude fall off cliffs, are accidentally impaled by icicles, or slip on the tile and drown in the infinity pool, which are I believe the only palatable resolutions to that story.  So. Yeah.  I wouldn't really recommend this book.

Imogene 2012: (non) Race Report

Race morning, Telluride, CO

I don't know, but it might be time for me to break-up with Imogene.  How do you know when to call it quits? How to say, "thanks for the memories, but we're through?"

We've had an off and on relationship now for more than four years.  Our rocky past (pun totally intended) began in September 2008.  I had no idea what a seductive, if treacherous and fickle race it would be.  I was pretty sure that first year I would run this once and it'd be out of my system; it'd be that great one-off race I'd talk about forever but never do again.  That first year was so long and so painful that I thought for sure that was true, we were over.  But something about Imogene gets under my skin, its siren song loud, its pull magnetic.  The following year I signed up again.  Later in the summer, I found out that my annual work conference was scheduled for the week immediately preceding the race, and there was no way to reasonably get from San Diego to Telluride the afternoon before the race.  I was actually disappointed we didn't meet that year.

2010 was our golden year.  I signed up a third time and made it to the starting line, although with much trepidation, and finished 45 minutes faster than my first race.  I hurt when I was finished but not nearly as bad as the first go.  I thought we finally understood each other.  I giddily signed up again for the summer of 2011.  I knew what this race was all about, I was just going to go knock this puppy out and maybe I would even shave a few more minutes off my time.  Two days before the race, I came down with a head cold but, for the sake of Imogene, told myself a thousand little lies along the lines "it's just allergies, you'll be fine."  Like an idiot, I thought I knew Imogene, knew exactly how steep were its hills and high were its summits, and figured I could still make it over, if slowly.   I was so confident, I didn't even bring my phone.  Between miles three and four, I was dizzy and seeing black spots from a general inability to breathe, and realized I wasn't going to make it.  For the sake of my husband (who has warned me many times "you better not die before me") and our son I turned around, walked back to Ouray, and cooled my heels for four hours while I waited for the one bus back to Telluride.

Enter June 2012.  Imogene and I were at that point in our relationship where the shine starts to fade.  I knew exactly what a bitch it could be.  But I also knew how beautiful its course is, how great it feels to finish, and how much I enjoy the weekend in Telluride.  I also suspected that another year of consistent running at altitude might mean I could shave off another chunk from my finish time.  I was pretty diligent about my weekly running; it wasn't far but I did it three to four days/week almost every week this summer (with the exception of vacation).  I got in three long hikes--not as many as I would like, but better than nothing.  Moses could not go this year, so I knew this was going to have to be my baby.  I also decided that G. was old enough to tag along for the weekend and his aunt agreed to watch him during the race.  We left for Telluride around noon on Friday. That put us in Telluride around 7:00p.m., Arizona time and needless to say, by the time we got there I was beat.  I was already feeling like I did not have 17 miles of up and down in me, and then I found out my brother wasn't running because of a recurring foot injury.  Suddenly it seemed like I wasn't going to really know anybody on the course (which is silly because everybody I know is always in front of me anyway--it's not exactly social hour) and any remaining motivation was seeping away.  I prepped my race gear and clothes that night and set alarm.  When it went off at 4:30 a.m. (3:30 Arizona time) that little voice in my head said "dude, you are an adult, this a foot race, not saving the world or even earning a pay check, and if you don't want to do it you don't have to." So I didn't.  I shut off the alarm, went back to bed and spent the morning with G., my brother and his wife, and my new niece (who I totally monopolized for more than an hour--you've got to take advantage when grandparents are busy).  I felt a twinge of regret as we watched the racers come in, until I realized that at the three hour mark I wouldn't even be at the summit, I would be in a lot of pain, and I would still have had two or three more hours to go.  G. told me later he was glad a I didn't race because I didn't seem that motivated and "you probably would have been last." Too true.

So, I'm wondering now if it is time for Imogene and me to take a break.  Get a little breathing room. Re-evaluate what we want out of this relationship.  See other people, other events.  Maybe events somewhere easier to run, like the beach.  At sea level. Where it is flat. Maybe it's time for me to just enjoy a Flagstaff summer without worrying about training, to go hiking because I like to hike and running because I like to run.  But. There's a big part of me that wants to do this thing right, train like a crazy person for six months, and go kill it next year.  I don't know.  Maybe we just need counseling.

Zen and Art of Household Maintenance

Being the awesome, full-of-life, adventurous soul that I am, I used the precious third day of my three-day weekend to.....clean my house.  That just sounds so. lame.  I didn't intend to.  My house was not that bad (comparatively) and I had fully intended to do something fun.  At a minimum read my book.  [I know you are going to ask: I'm reading Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Slayer.  Vampires! Abe Lincoln! Woo hoo!  Also, alleluia for the public library for having this book so I didn't have to spend money on it.  Even if the librarian who retrieved it for me from the hold desk looked liked she was going to have to go home and shower because she had to touch it (I figure she must be new, because that cannot be the worst book in the library) and even if it is the large-type version, which is really like reading ABRAHAM LINCOLN VAMPIRE SLAYER! As if my normally melodious inner-narrator went on summer vacation and was replaced by Great-Uncle Milt from the senior center who forgot to put in his hearing aid.] But then G. went outside to play and seemed happy, Moses had to go into work for a bit, and that insidious little voice in my head started thinking about the next three weeks which involve Moses on travel, the Imogene Pass Run (fourth time-go me!) lots of solo parenting (hello every single pick-up and drop off for school, marshall arts, and piano lessons) and then work travel for me.  I decided I'd clean for two hours and then quit.  But then it just felt so good, I gave into my latent OCD and kept going.  I cleaned all those little things that only take five minutes to deal with but you put them off because they are outside of the normal routine--like banishing 9-yr-old boy finger prints from the bathroom door frame, cleaning the brown spots off the wall where the dog likes to sleep, and--most satisfying of all--cleaning the dust off the floor moldings along the stairs.  I could just sigh with pleasure thinking about it.  I also bothered to do the regular stuff like clean bathrooms and vacuum and then actually put the clean clothes into the closet.  And I'll tell you what--it wasn't relaxing, but in terms of my mental health it was better than any spa day.  Next three weeks: bring it on.

Comeback

From an awesome trip we took in the last year
that I may or may not tell you about someday.

I'm coming back-really and truly-and aiming for one post per week.  Not that you need to know that, but putting it out there might help me focus in a bit.  I've been struggling with my online presence over the past year: how much of myself or my family I really want to put out there in the world; respecting my son's growing need for privacy and not having his life exposed for the entertainment/sentimentality of his mother before he ever gets a chance to define his own online presence; and living life from a first-person perspective-being present while not always thinking about how I'm going to cast "this thing I'm doing" on my blog.  And in many ways, the past year without blogging has been very freeing, of my time and how I interact with the world.  On the other hand, I love writing, I love telling stories, and many of my past posts have captured events, for me, that I would otherwise have forgotten.  I didn't come up with any grand theories about how to balance stories/privacy/presence but I think that if I practice enough, I can figure it out or at least find something I can live with.  So I'm going to try to get back to telling the stories I want to tell and starting the conversations that interest me and see what happens.  Because, to loosely quote (my favorite movie) Joe vs. The Volcano, "that's life, right? you jump and you see."