date night

Mr. Bump and I just got home after a long date. It's been a fabulous day.

After sleeping in this morning and a leisurely breakfast, we drove down to Boulder to visit McGuckin's Hardware, which is always a great place to wander around. A hardware store that's so much more than that, both of us usually find something or other we want. After that we had lunch at Smashburger and wandered down to the Pearl Street Mall. Any time we're in Boulder we generally have two stops. The first is McGuckin's, the second is The Peppercorn.  They've got all sorts of kitchen stuff, all of it interesting, most of which I covet. Today we got out of there with a few cookie cutters, a new whisk and spatula, some measuring spoons and a couple of Christmas gifts.  We found another little store on the mall that sells Toms, and since I've ravaged my last pair within an inch of their lives, I bought a pair (this time gray instead of red--hopefully they'll age better) and then another pair because they were on sale and woobie on the inside. It was that kind of day.

This evening we had a date night, which is so rare we couldn't remember the last time we had one. We had a Groupon-thingy through Amazon local for a local restaurant called Venue bistro.  It was really yummy. I had a spinach salad with pepitas and goat cheese, with a Lion Stout vinaigrette. Mr. Bump had a cheese plate with fruit, nuts and homemade lahvosh.  For dinner I had a worcestershire glazed pork chop with barley risotto with cheddar cheese, apple and pear. Mr. Bump opted for gnocchi bolognese.  Normally when we go to dinner there is a winner declared for who ordered the best dish. Sometimes we get lucky and each of us likes what we ordered more than the other. And rarely, we both love both dishes and get to share. Tonight was the night for that. 

None of the desserts, however, looked interesting, which was a pity. But I had the idea to wander down the street to Apres Dessert Bar.  You got it, a restaurant that focuses most of it's menu on dessert. You can get small dinner plates too, but after all dessert is in it's name.  Mr. Bump got the belgian waffle with butter pecan ice cream, maple syrup and maple candy.  I ordered the banana bread french toast with oatmeal ice cream, spiced apple butter, and candied rice krispie treat.  As far as I'm concerned, it was no contest. I won. Oatmeal ice cream? Ah.maze.ing. Crispy cubes of banana bread, and candied rice krispie treat? Fan. Tas. Tic.  The piece de resistance, however, was the spiced apple butter, which married it all together. Yum.  Mr. Bump's was good too, but not as good, I'm afraid to say.  If you haven't been here, go try it. It's only open on the weekends, from 2pm to midnight, but soooo good.

And now, it's 8:30, I'm already sleepy, and the skinny jeans were a really bad idea. If I'm not careful, I could pop a button and put an eye out.

How's Operation Swimsuit going, you ask? Yeah. I'm not gonna talk about that tonight. Maybe when I come down off my sugar high. I know I'm not the best role model, but you know what? Some days look like this. And you just have to deal with it.

Really, that dessert was worth it. And the pork chop risotto was nothing to shake a stick at either. 

this post is brought to you by the number ten

I've got some deep thoughts and revelations from the marathon that I'd like to share, but I'll save that for my next post (coming soon!). Today, I'd like to talk about Mr. Bump. Warning--it's about to get all schmaltzy up in here.

 It's been ten years since I married this guy.

We've been to a lot of places. Seen a lot of things. Eaten a lot of ice cream.  I'm a lucky girl.

 

I know you'll find this hard to believe, but I'm not always the easiest person to be with. I'm grouchy when my blood sugar is low. I'm argumentative. I'm emotional and dramatic. I spend too much money at Target and I've been known to eat the fun size Butterfinger Mr. Bump was saving for himself. I always want to talk, I'm overly fond of asking my husband what he is doing, which I happen to know annoys him greatly, but I can't seem to help. It's like a reflex. But Mr. Bump is very patient. He knows when to hand me a snack, when to listen to me rant, and when to shut the rant down before I spiral out of control. He is superb at not rolling his eyes when I'm channeling Crazy Lady.

Of course my husband presents his own set of challenges. But marriage is signing up for each other's crazy, and hoping it doesn't show up every day.

We've spent all but a handful of nights together in that 10 years. He's been there for me, every day, literally through thick and thin. We fight sometimes, but not that often. But even if you don't fight, it can be hard sometimes in the day to day slog of dirty dishes and shoes not put away (always mine) to remember to cherish each other. Every day is a choice. Every compliment you give, every hand held, every kiss is a choice.  That's what I've learned after 10 years. That's my marriage advice. Cherish each other, even when it isn't easy. Choose each other, over the argument you're having, over being "right," over all the things that will slowly, silently push you apart. I know you've heard it, I know it's cheesy (I warned you!), but love is a verb. It's work.

No matter what's going on in our lives or our marriage, our deal is always kiss me goodnight. And it works for us.

I'd be lost without him. Every day I'm grateful that he chose me, that he continues to choose me.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. Bump. It seems like just yesterday I was breaking into the church with my bridesmaids because I couldn't wait to marry you.

big huge major

So this week made the mistake (mistake! dumb, dumb dumb) of sending out a mass email inviting all and sundry to come and cheer me on on Sunday.  I know it would really help me if my loved ones popped up along the way.  But then came the "I can't make it" emails.  Which is fine.  I wasn't expecting everyone to come.  If no one came, would I still run the race? Yes, because I'm not doing it for anyone else but me.  But it was a dumb idea because now I feel worse that I invited people and they're not coming than I would have if I hadn't invited them and they weren't coming, if that makes sense.  I am high up on the "self-obsessed" scale of personal self-interest. I get that. Also, high up on the "I must control every tiny aspect of my life" chart.

Sometimes I just can't help myself.  You know how something happens to you, or you plan something and it totally and completely takes over your life?  Where you have moments where you shake your head at other people because don't they KNOW that your flugelhorn recital is on Saturday?  This is a big huge major deal for me, but for me. Not anyone else.  I'm obsessed with it because I've spent the past four months' worth of weekends running for hours at a time.  Weeknights of 7 and 8 mile runs, in rain and snow and dark. I have clothes with Gatorade stains (and man, that stuff can stain).  I am sunburned and freckled and on my second pair of running shoes for the year.  I'm closing in on 400 miles logged on my Garmin. So yeah, big huge major.  But aside from Mr. Bump and a couple of close friends, no one else is bound to get it. It's day after day of not just the runs themselves, but planning runs, researching gear and fuel, and stretching. Oh the stretching.  And if you didn't have a ringside seat for all of it, picking me up with a cooler full of ice packs and chocolate milk, making dinner because I don't get home from my after-work run until seven o'clock, always asking me "How was your run?" and buying me pepper spray after that one dodgy by the train tracks run--well then of course you don't get it.  My marathon is just way too early and too far away and right smack dab in the middle of your Sunday morning.

But that's ok. Because I know your trip to South America or your dog training class or Mother's Day aren't on my radar, but they're your big huge major deal.  And I probably won't appreciate how hard you've worked, or how much energy went into your big huge major. Maybe because you haven't told me about it, or I haven't listened well. It may even be that we haven't connected lately enough to know what's going on with each other. And that's just how it goes.

Just so you know, Mr. Bump will be there, Mrs. Bump my mother-in-law will be there.  My parents will be there.  Mr. Bump's aunt will be there.  I'll get plenty of love and cheers.  And every single person I've heard from that can't come? They've all promised to keep me in their thoughts Sunday morning.  The security guard at work who's from Boston and has run the Boston Marathon 3 times?  He's going to be thinking about me and wondering how I'm doing. My co-worker the triathelete? She's going to remember me when she's out on her Sunday morning run. And you all--I'm sure you will too.  So what am I whining about?  I have absolutely no idea.  

I'm glad we had this talk.  I feel so much better.

never fear husband's here

So Mr. Bump fixed the water heater yesterday morning after I left for work. It was the thermocoupley thingamabob-a-jiggety-dodad-bit.  Or something like that.  But all that happened after I left for work with a gym bag full of toiletries and a beanie cap full of bedhead, to shower once I got there.  But I must say a big Hip Hip Hooray to Mr. Bump!  I love my husband for many reasons, but the fact that he's handy surely is one of the reasons I think he's a Choo-Choo Charlie. :)

ok, i'm just going to say it

Riding the bicycle sucks. It hurts my knees, I don't get much of a cardio workout from it, and my butt really hurts when I'm done. I will concede that much like running, when done out in nature it is much more enjoyable. But then I run the risk of interacting with cars, which terrifies me. Let me give you some examples why:

Once, when I lived in Davis I was trying to go around behind a car on my beach cruiser and the car backed up into my leg. Once Mr. Bump and I were on a ride and I tried to shift while pushing down on a pedal and the rear wheel and all its bits came out the back end in the middle of the street. And then, of course, there is the fact that my husband got hit by a car while riding his bike home from work and broke his face so much they had to screw it back together with plates and screws.

So yeah, I'd like to keep the bike on the stand, if you don't mind. Which brings me back to my point at the beginning--the bike sucks. But I keep hearing all this jabber about trying different forms of exercising, switching it up, burning fat at lower heart rate, etc.

Mr. Bump is always very sweet about making sure I have everything I might need for cycling. In fact, this year on Bike to Work Day I actually joined him and biked to work. He was kind enough to take a more isolated yet slower route which required us to walk our bikes up and over a bridge above the railyard. He doesn't sail out in front of me when we're riding, and he even will run interference with cars by edging further out into the road while he follows behind me.

I've always run alone. It's my thing. Maybe it's a little John Wayne (or probably more aptly Clint Eastwood) of me, but I like it that way. I get inside my head, I listen to my music, and I spend some time thinking about myself, my goals, what I want and how I'm going to get it. I don't have to run at someone else's pace, or stop when they feel like stopping. But when Mr. Bump expressed an interest in going for a run with me, I knew I had to step up to the plate.

So yesterday I had the day off (yay Veterans!) and Mr. Bump took the day off. And among the errands we jotted down as possible ways to pass the day was "go for a run together." I wasn't sure it would happen, but hey, I put it on the list, didn't I? As the day progressed, the weather was perfect--crystal clear and in the 70s, and I really wanted to get a run in for myself, so I transitioned into actually going for a run rather than maybe.

So we went for a run. Mr. Bump wore one of his cycling shirts and a pair of nylon shorts, and some sneakers. They were New Balance shoes, but more than likely not of the running persuasion (I'm not sure, actually, what their purpose is). We set off for my normal short 3 mile run from our house to Berkeley lake, around the lake and back home. I was itching for a bit longer run so he said he would just walk while I ran a second lap around the lake, which was fine with me. I decided we should do intervals, so we started out walking 2 minutes, running 1 minute, the progressed until we flip-flopped those two.

Here's how it went (it's getting late and I'm cutting to the chase (ha!)): Mr. Bump is 6 foot 2 inches tall, and about 110% of that is leg. So he has this incredible impala-like gait. I run more like a warthog (the similarities stop there, please). So he tried running shorter strides, and I tried running faster, and so we had some pace issues. But Mr. Bump has all the lung capacity you could ever wish for, and the cardiovascular system to go with it. So he was comfortable with the walk/run intervals--so much so that he wanted to take that second lap around the lake with me. The truth is that it was hard to run with him. I felt like I couldn't keep up. I was the one who had been running for 10 months now, I was the one who had just finished a half-marathon a month ago, and here he was outpacing me on his first run. (I had my vengance later than night and the next day, when Mr. Bump had to pound the advil.) This was frustrating. This was hard because I enjoyed being with him but I just wanted to breathe in and out and do my own thing. Also because I wanted to be the show-off and I couldn't pull that off if he kept running out in front of me. I never settled down and just focused on me, my breathing, my alignment, etc. I was always thinking about if Mr. Bump was ok, if we were going too fast or not fast enough, etc. I imagine his sentiments on a bike ride with me are similar.

But, it was lovely to have someone to talk to. It was lovely to try and match my husband's stride. It was lovely to return the favor for all the care he's given me on all the bike rides we've taken together. And it was lovely to beat him in the sprint on the last few yards home, even if, as I suspect, he let me win.