Author: cheriarmour

Christmas 2015

| cheriarmour

Is anyone else as skeeved out by this warm weather as I am?

I know things are sort of varying if you’re reading in the US.  It’s hot as balls – literal balls – here in North Carolina, and yesterday, when I went for a run and did a little bit of speed work, I was dripping, summer-style, in my eyes and in my mouth.

So Austin and I have been making horrible jokes about how the high is going to be 120 degrees every day this summer, all the while feeling really nervous about global warming.

via Instagram
via Instagram

I’ve also heard that this is maybe like an El Nino type thing, and we could be fine. But all I’m saying is that I’m not trying to live through hellpocolypse ’16. So please, mother nature, if you can hear me, I just want you to know that I drinking out of non-disposable bottles and I recycle. So give me some good points for that, pretty please?

Christmas ’15

So, we’ve had a sort of eventful last week or so.  In addition to work being busy (as usual), Austin’s grandmother passed leading up to Christmas, and the week was full of a lot of phone calls, a day off work, and a lot of busy things with family.  We are at peace with her death.  She lived a really long life.  I enjoyed writing her letters, and actually, the Saturday before she fell ill (this is literal hours) we got a card from her.  She rocks.

So instead of heading down to Charlotte or Mint Hill for the holiday, we laid really low, and on Christmas Eve, we went to Irregardless Café for some vegan dinner.

Irregardless Cafe
Irregardless Cafe

I almost ordered something different, but I went with my standby, the vegan shepard’s pie. We drove around, and settled in and listened to a little bit of this week’s episode of Serial. Which, by the way, if anyone would like to discuss Serial, I really would love your insight. All I will say, so I don’t spoil it, is that Bowe’s logic is seriously screwy.

The night before Christmas, we watched A Christmas Story, and listened to my neighbors music.  They’re big reggae fans evidently.

Christmas Day, I woke up super early, and throughout the night, my neighbors continued playing their music.  They’re old hippies and really sweet though, so I can’t quite bring myself to go over there and crush their spirits.

Austin and I finally dragged ourselves out of bed, and managed to go for a long walk.  I made some dinner – salads to counter our nonstop holiday eating, and we walked again.

The next day, the day after Christmas Austin and I sort of split up.  He worked on the yard, and I went to Starbucks, and then took myself on a gorgeous run near our old condo.  I love that area because it’s always sidewalked, and I get to go house shopping in an area where it would not be financially advisable to buy.

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It was warm enough for no shirt, so I continued the workout in the driveway, until I decided to finally clean my car.

And THAT was Christmas ’15.

How was your Christmas ’15.  Was Santa good to you?

Trail Running as a corny symbol.

| cheriarmour

I know things have been a quiet here.

Things have been a little crazy at our house this week.  We had a lot going on last weekend, holiday parties and such, and on Monday morning, we found out that Austin’s grandmother isn’t doing well.  It’s worst for Austin’s mother, and we’re making plans to do some travel between Charlotte, Florence, and here over the next few weeks.

On Sunday, I was in a really weird mood, and after laying on the couch for a while, I decided to take myself for a really really short trail run so I could reset my horrible mood.

11227755_10100681075087043_8309451315502675141_nAs I was running, and picking my feet up over roots and leaping over a teeny stream that ran through the trail, I glanced down at my watch and noted that the first mile had taken me over 11 minutes.

“Why are trail miles so slow,” I thought to myself.

There’s the obvious answer.  Trail miles are more technical.  You’re not running on a treadmill or down a greenway.  There’s deer, tree roots, rocks, and branches.  Falling during a trail run is not at all uncommon.

And then I looked up at the leaves falling from the trees.

Maybe trail running is so slow because you’re supposed to notice the thing around you.

Maybe trail running is this huge symbol for life.

It’s hard.  It’s hard on your body.  It can be hard on your mind.  There is stuff in your way.  Rocks, roots.  A straight-up body of water.  I’ve tripped and fallen down.  Hard.  But maybe that crap is all there to slow you down so that you can remember to look up and around and appreciate the things that don’t suck about the run.

Or maybe I’m a dumb dumb and just feeling really corny since Christmas is this week.

What is your favorite gift you’ll be giving this week?

Why I Loc’ed Up

| cheriarmour

If you’re new here and you don’t know what I look like, too damned bad.

Just kidding.

Me and AndrewThis is me and my friend Andrew at a brewery a few weeks ago.  You’ll notice a few things about me.  One, that I am stunningly gorgeous.  And two, that I have an entire head full of dreadlocks, or locs as they’re commonly referred to.

Kidding again about the stunningly gorgeous part too.  That actually took very much premeditation.  Like I actually showered on the day we took that photo.

But I’m getting off-topic.

So, people are really curious about my hair.  Less so these days, because locs are definitely far more common than they were, but the questions I’ve gotten about this hair, ranging from questions of hygiene to even my sexuality (yes) have been plentiful.

So here’s how I came to the style.

So when I was a wee junior in high school, I had literally done every style that there is to do on a little black girl.  As a kid, my mother had relaxed our hair.  We graduated to getting it relaxed at the salon, and then in the summer time, my mom began to allow us to do box braids.  When it was time to get the braids out, we’d stay up, all night sometimes, taking the braids out, washing, and combing our hair, only to spend another day in the african hair braiding salon for them to reinstsall.

After that, we’d be in agony for like two days waiting for the braids to loosen up because they’d be snatched up so tight.  It’s truly a wonder that I have any edges at all because the women braiding really were trying to make it a point that that didn’t happen.

This is a loose guesstimate, because I really didn’t realize the magnitude of my decision, but I want to say that early on in the year of 2003, I decided that I was 100% done with having my hair pulled, yanked on, burned off, and in general, sitting still for upwards of 8 hours, waiting for a style to be finished.  To this day I can’t sit still, so I’m not exactly sure how I did it when I was so young.  But I was really sick of it, and I told my mom I wanted dreadlocks.  I didn’t know much of anything about the style, which, today, sounds really bratty and sort of trustafarian of me, but I just knew I was done with conventional hairstyles.

Now, at the time, locs were not at all popular, and were mostly being worn by men, and by women of color who were either musicians, or stereotypically, lesbians.  (Which is where the comments about my sexuality came from in the early 00s.)  My father was fairly indifferent to the decision, however, he insisted, after I attempted to start them on myself, that I see a pro.  My mother, on the other hand, was really against the decision, since she associated the style with being unclean and some unsavory characters she’d interacted with in New York.  But we went to a pro who trimmed the relaxed and damaged hair off of the ends, and began to twist my entire head.  It was short.  Like really short.  And I wish I had photos of how long it was, but again, I didn’t realize how cool it would be to document, and I never thought to take a picture.

Prom

This is me at the prom in early 2005, probably about 1.5ish, 2 years into the process?

The thing that was really cool about starting the locs, and keeping them, was that similarly to life, you don’t realize the growth is there until it’s there, in your face.  When I started the locs, they were teeny-tiny, and I didn’t have anything to hide my face with.  I felt really exposed, and my dang scalp was cold.

With each wash, and then each year, they got longer and longer.  They’re long enough now to pull back, and for my wedding, I was able to pull it into a gorgeously complex style that served, not only as fierce wedding hair, but also doubled as a face lift cause this stuff is HEAVY.

The significance, since I’ve started my locs, has shifted a lot.  Locs went from being a style of convenience for me to being something more, something from which I draw a lot of pride, and I’ve fielded a lot of (good) questions about the process.  I think about cutting it sometimes, especially during the summer when it’s hot, or I feel like I need a change.  I think about cutting it, and starting it again, but I’m not sure what the future has for me.

What questions do you have about the hairstyle?

Cheri’s Most Fascinating People of 2015

| cheriarmour

Before we start, will you do me a favor?  If you like this post, share with yo frands.  Then like me.  Then follow me.  Or tweet me!  I’ll try not to be annoying about this, but I’ll remind you about once a week if you’re new here and you want to read more about how I can’t sit still.

I totally stole this from Taylor, and was laughing so hysterically, that I had to replicate my own.  We’re counting down backwards from 5, so get really pumped, number one is gonna be good!

5.  Rachel Dolezal.  This one really confuses me.  Part of me feels a deep need to make fun of her.  Part of me wants to slap her.  Part of me feels sorry for her.  If you’ll recall, Rachel was our friend who pretended to be a black woman for some time.  It sounds to me like she’s got some pathology in there (hellloooo social work degree), but I can’t be too sure.  But if that’s the case, she really needs to be under the close care of a professional.  Shoutout to this moment…

rachel-lied-about-race BOLTS FROM INTERVIEW

4.  Justin Bieber.  This fool went from 0-hero after a really thinly-veiled attempt to curry our favor with a roast on Comedy Central.  It worked.  He’s back.  At at last glance he was like songs 1, 2, and like 4 on Spotify’s United States Top 100 and Global Top 50.  That is ridiculous.  My words to you, Mr. Bieber are DON’T FUCK THIS UP.  You have been touched by an angel.  Take this opportunity and RUN WITH IT.  And stop wearing those long shirts.  I love you but no.

IMG_5630 IMG_5631

3. Ben Carson.  I thought, just by nature of him being a doctor by trade, that this would make him smart.  But…some of the things he says?  It’s beyond confusing.  Like…why?  Also thrown in there are Donald Trump and his supporters.  Fascinating as in…why are you a thing?  HOW are you a thing?  An honorable mention goes to the BMW driver who had a Ben Carson sticker on his or her car.  WHY WOULD YOU STICK A STICKER ON THE BUMPER OF YOUR CAR THAT COSTS ABOUT 2 YEARS OF SCHOOLING AT A PRIVATE LIBERAL ARTS UNIVERSITY?

https://vine.co/v/eY1FBnOVZ61/embed/simplehttps://platform.vine.co/static/scripts/embed.js

2. Zola and her weekend adventure in Florida.  This tale contained horror.  Trafficking.  Suspense.  And was told all in a series of Tweets.  Did Zola embellish?  Sure.  Do I still eat it up with a spoon?  Yes.  Zola actually responded to a tweet I sent her regarding her interest in starting locs.  I respect her hustle.

And finally…

1.  Black Twitter.  Black Twitter is a wondrous place with zero chill whatsover.  A few examples?

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Honorable mentions go to:

Curtis Jackson a.k.a. 50 Cent.  Bankrupt?  Orrrr you just don’t want to pay your child support?  Pay that woman, Curtis.

People who leave their carts out in the parking lot at Harris Teeter.  Still really intriguing.

Rob Kardashian.  Taylor mentioned this.  WHERE ARE YOU ROB?!  Are you ok?

On that note, Aaron Carter.  His Twitter is a strange, strange place.

Old people on social media.  Most specifically, our mothers.

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via Tumblr

Who are your most intriguing people of 2015?

Athletes foot. ON MY HANDS.

| cheriarmour

It’s been a really long time since I’ve talked about gross things that can befall you when you go to the gym.  Mainly because that stuff doesn’t faze me as much as it should, and because I want to encourage you guys to work out, not scare you off.

With working out, you are, for the most part doing something awesome for yourself.  But the nature of doing things that involve sweat and being in close quarters with someone else means that sometimes, really gross things happen to you.  You catch a cold, pinkeye, you rub the skin out from under your bra, you start to be able to smell yourself when you wait just a smidge too long after your workout to take a shower…you get it. [Side note: every. single. one. of the above. has happened to me.]

So, a few weeks ago, my palms began to itch.  First off, in Haiti, that’s a good thing.  It means you’re coming into money, which I’m totally fine with.  And one time, my palms starting itching really badly before I got a new job, so I knew something good was going to happen.

Then I figured it was just my acne medication.  After years of battling with problem skin, I’m still using Proactiv even though I’m no longer 16 and it’s sort of expensive.

After a few days of the itchy palms, I looked down, and saw this.

Athlete's Foot.jpg

It appeared that my skin was peeling.  And it got much worse than this.  Like way worse. I backed off, tried to apply the Proactiv with my fingertips, and even tried to crowdsource the info.  Which is disgusting and TMI, but I couldn’t get an appointment with Ginger, my dermatologist forEVER.

It wasn’t until one of the trainers wandered into my office a few mornings ago that it started to click. She pointed out that it seemed to stem from an area around my wrists, which meant that it might be related to something I’d touched with both hands.

Something I’d touched with both hands….what do I touch with both hands? A SPIN BIKE FOR MY WEDNESDAY MORNING CLASSES?!

I’d picked up a fungus from a spin bike.

After I figured that out, it was pretty much an easy fix – I bought a few tubes of lotramin and some spa gloves and it was cleared up within a week. But talk about gross/embarrassing?

What the heck gym? I thought we were cool! And then you betray me?

So in addition to strep-pinkeye-chafing-bacne…you can count Athlete’s Foot not on your feet as one of the perks of your gym membership.

I really don’t want to hear about what you’ve picked up from the gym if I’m being completely honest.  Instead, please share with me what you ate for breakfast this morning!

I think I “ate” a smoothie made with old frozen berries, Trop 50, some Whole Foods protein powder, and a handful of spinach!

When did you become aware of your body?

| cheriarmour

I have been really struggling with my body this week.  Which seems silly.  My body is capable of amazing things.  I’ve run marathons.  I teach multiple classes a week, sometimes multiple classes a day.  Sometimes, I look in the mirror in the morning, and see something awesome.  And yet, this week, when Aunt Flo decided to visit a few days early, and I put on a teeny bit of weight after what I felt was an amazing week at the gym, everything went to hell, and I became uncomfortably aware of how much physical space I was taking up.

I found the responses to last week’s post really interesting.  IRL, as well as online, I heard a lot from you guys (which I love).  However, the most intriguing responses came from the folks who’d shared on it in an online Trail and Ultra Running group I’ve been a part of.  Many folks commended my friend for calling me out, as they should have.  A few folks commended me for admitting what an asshole I’d been.  And more than most admitted to feeling poorly about their own bodies.  Some admitted to doing what I’d done, turning the things they felt were negative about themselves into rules that dictate what others should wear, and how they should wear it.

What’s so interesting about this group is that these folks are capable, strong humans.  Some of them truly do look like models.  Some look like fitness models.  Some are overweight.  Some don’t look like “typical” runner.  Some do.  However, their running and their capabilities are in no way defined by their looks.  So why all the angst as it relates to our bodies, especially considering the fact that at the very least, in that group especially, our bodies are capable of running endless miles on rugged terrain?

When did we get so aware of our bodies, and what they should look like?

For me, I remember being 120 lbs as a freshman in high school.  I struggled with my looks, the way I’m sure all 14-year-olds did.  I was sitting in a civics, and I looked down.  I was wearing a fitted top, and noticed the part of my tummy that was hanging over the edge of my jeans.  I pinched it.  I pinched it again.  To this day when I’m feeling anxious or particularly down, I will look down, grab that little roll, and pinch.  No matter how small or how round it’s gotten.

I’m not sure how I learned that behavior, or what drew me to became aware of this part of my body.  However, at 13 or 14, I knew that there was something “wrong” with it.  And, as I talked about last week, the things I find “wrong” with myself, I look for in others.

All of that said, I do identify with the fact that not everything I’m thinking is logical or right.  I recently ran a marathon.  I have incredible physical strength.  I just completed a grueling vinyasa sculpt class with minimal nausea.  I should have incredible gratitude for my body, these limbs, these muscles that get me from more than point A to point B.  But, my first instinct, my first learned behavior is to be critical of the physical manifestation of who I am.

At what point did you become aware of your body?  What does your body mean to you?

What I’m looking forward to this weekend :)

| cheriarmour

Hi!

Wow.  The response to yesterday’s post was absolutely overwhelming.

In a good way, I’m pretty sure.

I did a mean thing.  I said a mean thing.  I’m still processing why I felt it necessary to say something so nasty.

It sort of was a great reminder – what my friend pointed out to me – and the overwhelming response I received on the piece, of the rules you remember before you make a comment.

  • Is this true?
  • Is this kind?
  • Is this necessary?

Sometimes I say things because I think it will be hysterical, and humor is sort of my default setting because there isn’t a ton that I can be serious about.  But I don’t realize how it comes off, or how truly negative and hurtful my words can be.

I appreciate yesterday’s yank back down to reality as a reminder that one, words mean things, and that two, we pick other people apart when we’re not 100% comfortable with ourselves.  And in my effort to be better about this, I’m gonna have to not only stop even mentally tearing others down, but also, saying mean things about myself.  It’s not doing anyone any good.

All that said, I can’t believe that we’re staring the weekend right in the face, and we’re barreling down on January of 2016.

Here are a few things I’m excited about this weekend:

  • I couldn’t find anyone to teach aerobics, toning, or step, back to back to back this weekend, so I’m going to eat a nice big healthy breakfast, and then take a crack at it.  Bring on the terrible comment cards!
  • Stacey, a trainer at the gym, told me that I could have her old treadmill that she doesn’t use anymore.  In addition to the activity I get outside of the house, it will be SO nice to hide out sometimes and just hop on the treadmill, even if it’s just for a walk while I listen to my podcasts.  I DO need to be careful though, that I don’t become somewhat agoraphobic.  My anxiety has been a little more active lately, and I don’t want this to be a way for me to hide out from all people all the time. 
  • Napping with my husband.  Sometimes, on Saturdays or Sundays, he will lay on one ratty end of the couch, and I will lay on the other, with our knees and feet all tangled in the middle.  That’s always the highlight of my week, because we work so much, and we don’t always make a ton of time.  
  • Running.  Always a good time to check in and say hi to my body. 

I’ve had quite a week.  Quite a week.

What are you excited about for this weekend?

Oh yeah, as a bonus, here’s a picture I took of one of my instructors teaching his class.

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How cool right?

As much as I damned whine sometimes, I am SO lucky.  I write.  I get to work out.  I work in nonprofit.  And I live in a zoo with my husband.  I am thankful!

I got called out (and I totally deserved it)

| cheriarmour

It started a few days ago, when a nude picture of Amy Schumer started circulating around the internet.

via CNN Style
via CNN Style

One of my initial thoughts upon seeing the picture was, “that is not flattering at all. Just, why?”

I immediately hated myself for thinking that, and tried to pretend, every time I saw the picture circulated again, that I didn’t think that the photo was unflattering, or that I’d be too embarrassed to let the world see my tummy rolls.  But it sat in the back of my head.

I fought with myself over that picture.

And then, the other day, when I was at a pretty rigorous training, I spied a tall woman wearing a bright pair of leggings.  I immediately checked out her bum, because that’s what I do, and was less-than-impressed.  I sent a snarky comment about the leggings and the bum to the group chat, and put my phone away.

Thank God for good friends.

I thought the comment was sort of funny, and the others would share in my laugh, but instead, a friend of mine in the chat pointed out to me that not only was what I said unkind, but that the comment made her question what sort of things I might be saying about her and her body.

I was a little blown – of course, she had to understand the comment was meant to be funny, right?

But was it?

And 30 seconds into me trying to rationalize my wretched comment, I realized that she was completely correct, and that I’d made a mistake.  A big, mean, nasty mistake.

The woman’s leggings were not affecting me in the least.  They didn’t take away from my workout.  Her body was a strong, healthy, functioning body.  So why, oh why, for the love of all things holy, had I felt the need to snark?

Because I don’t always feel 100% about myself, and I was picking apart in her, the things I don’t love about myself.

I’m preoccupied with my stomach – it’s the first place my body will let me know that I’ve gained weight, and I feel like I’m the only woman in the world who gets the donut when she’s wearing a bikini and bends over.  (I know, in theory I’m not, but stay with me).  My butt has grown since I’ve started lifting heavier.  Though I’m tall and thin, sort of that ecotmorphic shape, I have wild stretch marks on my thighs that have been there so long that I almost don’t notice them any more.  My boobs are bigger than I’d like, and I take care to hide them – I was actually (very kindly) told by a photographer for the Y recently to put my boobs away when they’d escaped my top.

And THIS is why I pick other women apart.  Because, in a really fucked-up way, I pick myself apart, and when other’s don’t abide by my rules of what’s flattering or what’s sexy, I can’t handle it.

And that’s not right.

I’ll conclude by saying I’m disturbed by my behavior, but that I know I can be better, I know I can change my thinking, and I plan on starting like yesterday.  And in making a pure, concerted effort not to pick part the bodies of others, I will start to forget those little things about myself that are, in my mind, less-than-perfect.

Thanks for reading.

X

Currently

| cheriarmour

I borrowed this from Becca Dorr, but I thought it was a good way to catch up from the holiday weekend.  That was filled with way too  much eating, and way too much stuffing.

ANTICIPATING 2016.  We’re not far off, and I just am ready to make some things happen on some things that have been stagnant.  Or not stagnant, but things I’m ready to move on.  I’m still working on our house, need to hang things, and change colors around, and I’m just ready for it.

CLEANING my innards!  I ate way too much gross stuff for Thanksgiving, and it was good, but it also feels good to eat a salad and drink a few smoothies.  I’m not used to eating that much, and at that frequency.

DREADING cold weather.  I know it’s coming.  I’m not sure I’m ready.  In fact, I know I’m not ready.

DRINKING Michelob Ultra.  Everyone makes fun of me, but I got into it when I was back at camp in Pennsylvania, and started to enjoy the taste.  That and vodka are my two nostalgic, Pennsylvania drinks.

FEELING kinda fat.  Thank you, Thanksgiving.  Lots of green things this week.

LISTENING to Khloe Kardashian read off the back of a Jif label.  #KUWTK

PLAYING “Love Yourself – Justin Bieber” on repeat.  That song is gorgeous, and I hear that Ed Sheeren wrote it.  Me and my friend Mollie have done some wild speculation on who it could be about.  Hailee Steinfeld is the frontrunner, and she said something sort of weird at the AMAs last week.

READING ok, technically listening, but I am listening to Aziz Ansari’s book.  I’ve always been into his humor.  I find it interesting because I met my husband prior to Tinder and online dating being a thing, so I never had that experience of dating in the modern age.  But I did have the experience of sort of texting…and waiting, or flirting via Facebook chat, or being on the other end of trying to ignore someone.  So I find his take really interesting.

RECOVERING from food-fest 2k15.  I know I’ve referenced this a lot, but I really don’t feel great.  I hate overdoing it.

TRYING to plan workouts and food for this week.

WAITING for my big student loan payment to come out :/ I will be so glad when I’m done with that mess.  I feel like I’m in prison paying these loans.

WALKING the dang poodle to the door so she will go to the bathroom outside instead of in the house, which she likes to do when it rains outside.

WEARING nasty workout clothes.  I did a two-fer today – went for a hike with a friend this morning, then a short track workout this evening, so I  kept the clothes on and I totally reek.

What are you reading this week?