Life

30 Days of Thanks

| cheriarmour

So, I think it’s easy to get wrapped up in the negative.  I’m a total social media junkie – I have an account on almost everything that there is to have, and it’s apparent – folks can usually go in one of two categories.  Humble braggarts (OMG my 17-month old totally just yelled at me in Spanish! WHAT! Jaja looks like those Spanish lesson are totally paying off! #blessed) or complainers (Are you EFFING kidding me I get to the front of the line in Starbucks and the rude whore behind the counter tell me they’re no longer serving RICE KRISPIES TREATS.  Day. Officially.  Ruined.  No one talk to me ever again.).

I try to fall into neither, and I do my fair share of humble bragging.  And to be totally fair about that, I work at the gym (part-time), and I work at fat camp.  So a lot of my tweeting/Facebooking/IGs/Snapchats may be workout of food related.  But I’ll admit it.  It happens.  So have me arrested.

So over the next 30 days, I’m gonna do my best to cut out the complaining.  Can’t guarantee you that about the humble bragging, so bye.  But we’re going to do 30 days of Thanks.  And we are gonna THANK. IT. UP.

Ready?

First day.  This one’s easy. It’s my brother’s 18th birthday.

FamilyBrother (Derek Jr.) is the tall one standing next to me.  I can’t believe it’s been 18 years, cause I totally remember the night before he was born (Halloween) and just staring out the window because my mother (understandably so) couldn’t take us trick-or-treating.  I honestly can’t remember if we ever got to trick-or-treat, but I do remember my brother was born the next day.  I’m thankful for him!  I’m thankful for family.  Some people don’t have that.  So for family, and for my brother on his 18th, I am thankful.  What are you thankful for?

 

Job Search.

| cheriarmour

Running came to me at a really….tumultuous time in my life.

I graduated from NC State University in 2011 with my Masters.  I was a Social Worker!  Werk, right?  Wrong, kinda.

I spent the next like, year, searching high and low for a job that would apply, even vaguely, to what I’d spent years studying.  And thus, began the infamous job search, and by default, how I became a marathoner.  Running kept me from tearing all my hair out, one loc by one, each time I went through the following process, one that would take you from hopeful -> despondent in a matter of weeks.

The black hole.

I started, like any job-searching dumbass, by applying for jobs using those online forms.  Then I’d get really, really, really upset when I never heard anything for like 100 years from whatever agency it was.  It completely escapes me why any agency/company would utilize these forms when it’s pretty clear to me that a million people apply using these things, and not a single one of them gets a call back.  The key, I found, was filling into the form, exactly what the form wanted to hear.

The courtship. 

Once I started figuring out the system, there was these incredible awkward experience called “the phone interview” that would befall me.  Here’s how it would go down.  You schedule a time with an interviewer, usually over email, to do the interview.  Say it’s like at 8:30 am.  You’ll do what you’re supposed to, find a nice, quiet place, and sit with your phone, waiting on this call.  Usually the interviewer won’t bother to call until 8:36.  This means that you will have been staring at your phone, on high-alert, for 6 minutes.  The phone rings.  And your heart jumps out of your chest.  Usually, at this point, you’re all, how the eff am I going to answer this, and sound professional?  I know!  I’ll use my racially ambiguous voice for this one!

“This is Cheri!”

So I’d chirp through the entire phone interview.  I’d usually fly through this part.

Froyo

The in-person.

After I’d nail the phone interview, it was time for the in-person interview.  Stress city.  This was the tricky part.  What do I wear.  Ugh, is my natural hair a little too “ethnic” for the position?  Too late, it’s nearly 10 years in the making.   What if I don’t look like what my voice sounds like? Have I done enough research on the company?  What might they ask?  What do I say when they ask if I have any questions.

The Break-Up

This, by far, was one of the most emotionally damaging parts of the entire search process.  You’d do the interview.  And you never really know how you did.  There’s the wait.  And then you sense that you’re about to be broken up with. There’s the email break up, days after you’ve sent your stupid thank-you note.  And the email reads like this.

Cheri,

I wanted to let you know how AWESOME I think you are.  You’ve been such an asset to this company in the capacity that you work in, and you’re SO good at what you do, we want to KEEP YOU THERE!  That’s right, we went with this other guy for the position that you interviewed 3 times for! (Sorry about the humiliation!)

I know it seemed like the interview went really well, and we even showed you where your future office was going to be to tease you, but we really really, really wanted to fool with your emotions, that way, when you open this email, you’re absolutely sure to burst into tears.  Hope to embarrassingly see you around the office!

Awk

Oh. Gonna drink anything that’s a liquid now.

This happened to me really too many times for me to recount, and in the most painful, and humiliating off ways.  I’m not lying, once I was interviewed like three times for a position, and I didn’t get it.  Once, in a lunch interview, one of the guys interviewing me asked me how I do my hair when I run.  I believe he was just intrigued by my locs.  I didn’t get that job, and I found that out when I called the woman in the interview back after she’d left me a chirpy sounding email.  I was pumped! She’d called, all happy, to let me know that they’d given the job to some guy, who ended up resigning a few months later.

The Resolution

All of this was eased by a few things.  I never really accepted the situation, and it would be a lie to claim I had.  That might have made things a little easier, but my parents are successful, my friends are successful, and I compared myself to that.  Plus I have student loans to pay off.  But what did make it a little easier was Fleet Feet, running and generally working off the jobless anxiety, and eventually finding a job in my field.

I’ll leave you with the one and only Job Search Tip that you’ll need.

You guys know all the tips.  Your resume is top-notch, you have degrees, and you’re qualified,  In the time when you’re unemployed or underemployed, be good to yourself.  Work out.  You’ve got more time than most working people, so take advantage of it.  Go the the gym.   Do some yoga.  It’ll render you a little more ready to take on your situation, plus, you’ll have a 6-pack and look like a friggin supermodel when you actually do get an interview.  It’s tempting to sit around and gain 1000 lbs while going through this, but don’t let this process win.  And when you do experience rejection, and you will, chalk it up to another frustrating experience.  You know there are better things out there for you. 

Recipe

| cheriarmour

So, twice this “fall” (it’s been warm as a mother frick, so that’s accounts for the “) I’ve had this incredible soup from Panera, their squash soup.  Squash is happy.  Squash is a really pretty color.  And it screams fall.  However, not for no $7.00 like I was paying for it.  I’m a social worker who’s getting married in less than a year, I really don’t need to be spending that kind of money on a bowl of soup, how delish it is.

Panera's Version
Panera’s Version

So I grabbed 4 small bags of frozen squash from the Super Target, and got started on a Crock Pot Creation that would mimic the soup I’d paid nearly ten bucks a few days earlier. Here’s how it turned out.

My Version!
My Version!

So here’s the recipe, especially if you’re in one of those places that actually gets a fall.

If you don’t have anything in your kitchen but Lean Cuisines (tsk, tsk, sodium watch!) head to the store and grab a few things.

  • Curry Powder
  • Rosemary
  • Some decent black pepper.  Cracked is cool.
  • Some salt.  I like big fat kosher salt.  Thank you, summer camp. 
  • Veggie Stock (low sodium!) Like two of those cartons should be good. 
  • A few bags of frozen squash OR if you have some extra chop time, some butternut squashes (can you make squash plural like that?)
  • Heavy Cream (it’s next to the milk)
  • A medium onion.

Now, you’re ready to crock.

  • Chop, then sauté a medium onion in an oil.  I used butter, but you can make it a little lighter with some olive oil, or a light butter, if you’re watching the saturated fat.
  • Throw a few bags of frozen squash into your crock pot.  If you have fresh, chop it, then throw it in.
  • Throw those onions with oil into the crock pot.
  • Thow in a tsp of rosemary
  • For a little warmth, throw in a spoonful of curry powder
  • Throw in a cup and a half of heavy cream.  Cut it with some water if the cream seems a little fatty to you.
  • Pour your veggie stock over the mixture, til your crock is pretty full, but leave a little room for it to simmer toward the end.  There’s nothing worse than cleaning burnt mixture out of your crock pot.
  • Add a tad bit of pepper, and only a teeny bit of salt.  You can add more to taste, but you don’t want to oversalt, especially in the crock pot.  It’s really annoying to fix.
  • Crock it for 10 hours.
  • This is the only weird part of the recipe.  When you get ready, spoon however much you want into a bowl.  Pour the entire mixture into the blender, and purée it so all the chunky squash is like, creamy and stuff. 
  • Most important part.  Eat it.  Make sure to casually bring up in conversation how you made this in the crock pot and you’re so domestical and stuff.  Very key.

Random and disturbing observation.

I think Panera must put food coloring in their version of this soup, because it’s always been slightly more orange than what I’m comfortable with.  Also, mine was not so orange.  For the love of God, why color a SOUP?!

Anyhoo,

Let me know how yours turns out, folks!

We Found the Culprit of the Stomach Upset

| cheriarmour

I wouldn’t say I cruised through the first 13.1 of my first marathon back in March. I was running unsustainably fast, as you do in a first. It was windy and cold, and I’m pretty sure, by that point, that I was missing a glove, which is like the kiss of death for someone is Raynaud’s. But considering, it was good. (Get ready for the tmi, but this is so necessary.) When I passed the 13-mile marker, the tummy-ache started. And I have a nearly medically diagnosed aversion to porta-johns. So I was in trouble. I figured it out, eventually and it involved a skanky public restroom. But what the heck had caused that gnarly, acute stomach upset?

20-miler

I ran my last 20 today before the end of October’s marathon. It wasn’t fast, but it was consistent, which is what is important to me. Even if I run this race slower, as long as I’m consistent, start to finish, I’ll have learned something, is how I feel. But I digress. I began my nutrition plan with two non-caffeinated items (Shot Bloks and and raspberry PowerGel), all about 6 miles apart. And then came the deadliest catch.

20131006-220744.jpg

I found this at REI. And going down, it was pretty cool.  For the consistency to be as raunchy as it was, it actually tasted kind of like what the label said, coffee. And the caffeine was amazing. 10 minutes later, I played raunchy Latin music, clapped, sang, and let out a “WOO” on more than one occasion. And then it hit. I couldn’t wait another minute without finding a bathroom. And I was sort of lost, as the trail that I was on abruptly ended, leaving me in a fancy neighborhood.  And this time, I had to use this traumatizing public park men’s restroom.  I was positive that when I entered the facility, I was going to find a body, but luckily, it was just a restroom that smelled of…I can’t even say it.

Long, and gross story short, I can’t do the caffeine, which makes me totally sad, because prior to the upsets, I’ve always felt awesome, and like 20 miles was no problem.  But something about that combination really doesn’t agree with me.  So Shot Bloks and decaffeinated Gels it is.  Luckily, 20 miles felt totally awesome, and is leaving me feeling positive about my slow, slow race on October 26th.

Be kind to yourself.

| cheriarmour

Hey, I need to follow my own advice.  I’m sometimes horrible to myself, and I’m on the more confident end of the confidence spectrum.  I’d be lying if I said I don’t stand in front of the mirror and kinda turn, and assess what’s going on.  More often than not though, I wink at myself, do a little dance, and conclude that I’m pretty boss.

But at yoga last week, the sweet, kind little teacher reminded us to “be kind to yourself. Be kind to everyone you meet.”  And I was so glad she’d reminded me of that, because I can use a little help in this department.

Zumba

One evening, earlier in the week, I taught an evening Zumba class.  Two of my regulars, loyal faithfuls who keep me on track, were present, and totally ready to go.  When the blonder of the two started.

“What’s wrong with these mirrors?”

“Girl I know!”

And the whole while, I’m standing there, completely puzzled. What were these two even talking about?

“The mirrors over here! They make you look bigger.”

“I know!”

They turned to me. Shit.  What did I do?

“Except for her.  They don’t ever make her look bigger.  I been coming for over a year and I ain’t never seen her look any bigger.”

I was stunned.  Let’s do the math.  So, according to these women, the mirrors in the studio are selectively choosing folks to make look bigger?  I don’t think so.

So ladies.  And gents, really, I don’t discriminate.  Be kind to yourself.  Spend the next week choosing your words wisely.  And the very second you’re tempted to poke at your tummy, frown at your skin, or pinch your butt, say something nice instead.

That time I auditioned for X-Factor.

| cheriarmour

I was singing in the office the other day, and someone said “You should audition for one of those American Idol shows!”

Funny enough, I had.

Spring of 2011, I was standing outside one of my grad classes.  I’d heard that the show that produced my lady-love, Leona Lewis, was coming to the States.  I sing, and I’d never auditioned for anything of the kind.  I wasn’t sure I was good enough, and I certainly didn’t have an interesting story.  But why not?

The-X-Factor-2x13-Results-Show-1-stills-demi-lovato-32652012-3028-2169

So that night, after class, I packed up my car, called my cousin, and headed to NEW JERSEY, an almost 9-hour drive, the closest city to me, to audition. Let me tell you about this process.

I drove all night in my fringed boots and cut-off shorts, not anticipating that Jersey was a good 20 degrees colder than Carolina. I listened to the BBC, the only thing that came on NPR that time of night, and arrived right around 6 am. And the line was already long. This wasn’t a line to sing, either. It was a line to get into a building to get a wristband to sing the next day.  I waited outside for hours in the cold – luckily I’d changed in the car, and parked on a Newark side street before I’d gotten out to wait.  I shivered for 6 hours next to a mother and son duo who were under the assumption that they were the next Osmonds.  And finally I got into the building, and donned my wristband until the next day, where I’d sing for “judges”.

The next day was a little warmer, and I made my way back to Newark, the happiest city on earth.  (Eh).  This time, the wait outside was short, and I headed into Newark’s surprisingly nice Prudential Center, where I waited, and waited, and waited.

First off, the sheer volume of delusional weirdos that audition for these things is peanuts.  There was the woman in the baseball uniform.  There were those people who felt the need to showcase their “talent” in order to make you feel inferior.  Except like a good 90% of them couldn’t sing.  It was really confusing.  So I spent the day making new friends, and quietly (I was actually quiet) observing the thousands of strange birds the audition brought out.

The Audition

If you were under the illusion that there were any actual judges, you’re wrong.  I was herded down to the floor with my row to see tired, cranky, and unsmiling producers.  Which I get, I mean, I’d be sad too if I’d heard thousands of delusional folks singing their little hearts out.  So I close my eyes, and belted some Whitney.

“Do you have your other song prepared?”

I started singing the Stevie.

“Thank you. You’re through.”

And like that, they handed me a “golden” (yellow) ticket (piece off paper) and ushered me through to the bowels of Prudential to fill out a packet of paperwork.

The next day went the same, but a much smaller group.  I sang for more producers, was ushered through, where finally, I sang for a British dude and his Fox cameras.  They told me they’d contact me, and like that, my incredible New Jersey adventure was over.  I was cut after that round, but dang, what a ride!

You thinking about auditioning for a show?  Be prepped for a wonderful, delightful, and ridiculous experience like this one.

Ready to feel kind of inadequate?

| cheriarmour

Okay, not really, I’m never writing to make you feel bad about yourself.

original

This woman. She’s a schoolteacher. A marathoner? And she takes a wrong turn on a half course and runs the full.  She didn’t just run the full though.  She won the full.  Get it here on Gawker.  I pray, I pray, that the running gods will bestow upon me a teeny tiny bit of the magic she’s got, to allow her adrenaline (and obvious athletic gifts) to push her through.  (Oh, and read the comments.  There are some haters with a capital ‘H’ out there….)