Endorphins, Quotations, And 100 Ways To Say I Love You

101, actually.

Man, that whole "exercise releases mood-boosting endorphins" line is SO. TRUE. Since the marathon six weeks ago (six weeks ago!?), I've been sick twice, out of town, and insanely busy at work; these factors have all contributed to my month-long absence from the gym. Turns out, after almost a solid year of training for triathlons and marathons and whatnot, this wasn't the best idea. I've been in an inexplicably bad mood for weeks. And then, lo and behold, I run five miles and feel like I'm sweating sunshine and rainbows and kittens. Needless to say, the workout schedule is back.

I saw this quote a few days ago from some guy named Wayne Dyer - I have no idea who he is, but this statement struck me as very true. So I'm sharing.

Love is the ability and willingness to allow those that you care for to be what they choose for themselves without any insistence that they satisfy you.

Speaking of love, if you've ever been at a loss for how to express those three little words (and for some reason you can't just (101) turn on The Weepies and be the big spoon for awhile), here are 100 very unique ideas for you.

Even Though The Weather Is Far From Frightful

I do love me some Christmas music.

The classics like Burl Ives, Andy Williams, and Nat King Cole, of course.

The stuff my parents always played, like Mannheim Steamroller, Amy Grant, and Kenny G.

But, a Christmas album featuring the likes of Jack Johnson, Leigh Nash, and The Weepies? Uh, yes please. With a cherry on top.

Enjoy.

The Chrysler Of Ethnic Groups

Jeep Grand Cherokee indeed.

A conversation I overheard at Target today:

A little girl is talking to her mother about her day at school. They learned about Thanksgiving.

Little Girl: And then the pilgrims had a big meal! And they invited all the Made In Americans!

Mom [barely containing laughter]: Honey, do you mean the Native Americans?

Little Girl: Yeah, that's what I said.

Happy Thanksgiving!

MA NA MA NAAAAA

doo doo doo doo doot

Oh, Maroon 5

how you take me back.

The minute you start singing about how it is getting increasingly hard for you to breathe, I am transported back to the summer of 2003 and the shores of a lake in northern Iowa. I can recall all too well the sounds and smells of the fancy resort kitchen I slaved in all summer long. The steamy, overwhelming heat that was not at all relieved by the wide open back door. The stereo blasting an assortment of CDs as varied as the seasonal summer staff: from Abba to Phish to Bloodhound Gang, the music came pouring out at incredible decibels to be heard over the clanging of saucepans and the swoosh of the dishwashing station and the shouting of the chefs.

I can see the sugar melting and browning atop the Crème brûlée, as I wield my blow torch and rotate the ramekin at just the right angle to ensure an evenly caramelized crust. I see the rows and rows of dinner salads and organized trays of salad dressings awaiting the rush of waiters and waitresses, where an errant grab will knock them over like dominoes, the raspberry vinaigrette mixing in pink swirls with the homemade Ranch dressing (gallons of mayonnaise and buttermilk and ranch seasoning all mixed together in a giant bucket and doled out into tiny metal cups). The slick floors that contributed to my fall into the oven and the subsequent searing of my forearm and tearing of muscles already painfully taxed from the previous days attempts at water skiing. Spending long working days in the kitchen and late, chilly nights gathered around a bonfire with such an odd assortment of people: a lesson in tolerance and acceptance and assertiveness. Driving one moonless night to a remote part of one of the lesser lakes where the dark was so complete that the stars seemed to multiply exponentially, their light just enough to outline the silhouette next to me on the car hood.

So thank you for the memories, Maroon 5. It almost makes me forgive you for the atrocity that was your second album.

Great Scott!

Anyone have a flux capacitor?

That's WHY you have kids.

Proof(s).

See, I really did run it.

:)

All photos © 2009, Marathonfoto