Mina came to the breakfast table this morning with a dollar bill and said, "I'm going to show you a magic trick I saw." I swiveled towards her and watched. She folded the dollar into a little bitty tight square, showed it to me, tapped it, then unfolded it to reveal the exact dollar, facing the same exact way. She looked down at the dollar when my face revealed that I was still waiting for an end result. She said, "Oh man, how'd he get that to work?" I said, "What was supposed to happen?" She said, "It was supposed to turn into a hundred dollar bill."
Have I told you lately how much I love this kid?
I just want to innocently report that I still love the thought of baking. The idea of sitting down to cinnamon cake and tea, or the waft of blueberry pie nearly done, the image of a mound of rosewater cookies under a clear, dome cover or eyelet aprons and steel whisks and flower-patterned oven mitts . . .it all makes me swoon still. But I haven't baked lately. I had to give up the eating of it all -- the testing and perfecting --and the ragey after affects; even if the affects were only safely swirling wildly within my mind and body. I didn't even bake for Valentine's Day, which is kind of unthinkable, but since I'm in hardcore training mode I couldn't bring myself to go back, and now I just fondly reminisce about when baking and I were in love. We may still have trysts now and again. Loves like that die hard. However, I've been teaching Maya how to bake. She requested this last year and for Christmas I got her a set of utensils and some equipment she could call her own. I shoved over some pans in a cupboard for her things. She's been baking away, a perfect student. I'll test her things a tiny bit, but not much. I see the effort she put into it. I see the finesse building. She'll be a fine baker.
Also, I've been writing a food log to show My Coach. He doesn't really know he's My Coach yet. I mean, he kinda does because our relationship is organically molding itself into this, but it's not official; we haven't said it aloud yet. I started a strength-bootcamp with him. Me and five others go to get our cores kicked in at five in the morning two days a week. Dudes, let's not talk about the FIVE IN THE MORNING dynamic, but somehow it just works. Somehow getting up at 4:30 is not much different than getting up at 5:30, which I do all the time. During the first day of bootcamp he said, "I'd like to see food logs though last bootcamp all but one person ignored me on this request." And I think I'm the only one who's doing this from our group. The first week, I ate so cleanly, so perfectly, I thought, anyway. I thought he'd be all, Wow, let me take some notes from your food log for myself, or, can I get the recipe to your Spiced Lentil Soup, but when I saw him before class on Saturday he said, "We need to talk." I said, "Uh oh." "Nothing bad," he says. I said, "Uh oh." I internally got defensive because I thought he'd give me the ol' Vegans Need More Protein gas, but it wasn't that at all. You know what he said? "You're not eating enough." And you know what I said, "Oh, thank god." So, he's got me on the eat every 2-3 hours plan, eat right after working out thing -- I've only read it five million times from athletes and celebrities -- and I gotta say it's pretty genius. I love getting to eat all the time. Yipee! Next week he might just say, "Ok, whoa, I didn't say three courses six times a day . . ." Feh, it's all a learning curve. But here's the (one of my many) point(s), I don't want to write down in my log that I ate six cookies and then show my coach. Is that funny? He'd probably be like, It happens, whatev, but the thought of writing it deters me - which is probably the partial point of the food log - duh! Last week, Maya came home from Las Vegas and brought a bag of vegan donuts from this killer spot in Vegas called Ronald's Donuts . . .yo, these people make vegan donuts that would go up against any Winchelle's or Dunkin Donuts anytime, anywhere . . .but I wouldn't have one. I said, "I AIN'T WRITING DOWN A DONUT IN MY LOG. Forget it." Donuts make me feel like shit anyway, which is probably the point, really.
Did you hear that they recovered Lance's time trial bike in Sacramento? DOH - I promised myself I wouldn't mention the Tour de California in the blog again . . .but for the record I don't think Cavendish is a prick. OK I'M DONE.
Happy Friday, Friends.
Shirts for Skirts
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