Hi! My name is Ali and I blog about running, Crohn’s disease, and life in NYC with a side of sarcasm at Ali On The Run. I’m 29, and I’m a writer/editor doing digital marketing for a running company and taking on a load of freelancing on the side. I enjoy llamas, giraffes, yoga, and foods with little to no nutritional value.
Just some pleasantries, in case you’ve forgotten about this place on the internet. I know I had for a while.
I haven’t sat down to write since the New York City Marathon, in part because I haven’t had much time, and in larger part because I don’t have a whole lot to report.
But here I am! And here’s a bit about what I’ve been up to and what’s been on my mind…
Winter is kicking my very chilly bum.
I didn’t run for the past two winters in a row because I was sick and quarantined to my apartment (specifically the bathroom part of my apartment). I did take a zumba class at L.A. Fitness in Pennsylvania with my entire extended family last Thanksgiving, though. That was really super special.
Anyway, this week the climate shifted from fall to winter, and hot damn! Or rather, cold damn!
I’m remembering that winter running can be horrible! It’s so cold! And so dark! And so hard to get out of the warm bed in the warm apartment in the morning! Didn’t I grow up in New Hampshire and shouldn’t I be really fine with this, especially knowing it’s going to get so much worse? But I don’t have the proper gear, and proper cold-weather running gear is expensive, and I would rather spend my money at Potatopia. Every day. Soldier on.
The other thing about winter is that it is harder to spot pregnant ladies on the subway. I very often get a seat on the subway during my commute based off the stops at which I get on and off. There are almost always available seats and I love taking them because I’m lazy and love to sit.
Of course, I do have excellent manners and will always look around for people who need the seat more than I need the seat, such as olds, youth, people with canes or crutches or stress fracture boots, or, of course, pregnant ladies. I don’t care if you’re six seconds along (yeahhh, girl) or 10 months and mid-contraction: I will give you my seat. But just let me know you need it. Because it’s winter, and everyone is wearing bulky coats, and I can’t always tell if there’s a baby under that trench. So do me a favor, because offering up a seat to a lady who looks pregnant but isn’t pregnant is mortifying for everyone. Give me a heads up and I’ll give you a seat. Anytime.
I keep up with the Kardashians. I hate myself for it, and Brian complains whenever it’s on (“turn this shit off”), but I like Khloe and I love Kendall. And secretly Brian loves Lord Disick and thinks he’s “hilarious.”
I haven’t been “home” to New Hampshire since last Christmas. This is the longest I have ever gone without seeing those lovely llamas next door, and it’s a little sad. And I won’t be home for Thanksgiving, becauuuuse…
My parents are coming to me for Thanksgiving! My brother and his wife and the cute kids will be with Michaela’s (my sister-in-law) side of the family for Thanksgiving (they rotate, as I’m sure many of you marrieds out there do), and I didn’t want to trek up to the north country, so my parents are coming here, and we’re going to cook a little dinner in my little kitchen. I will also be running a Turkey Trot in Prospect Park on Thanksgiving morning, and my parents are going to cheer, because standing in the cold while I half-ass five miles sounds fun for them! Or actually because I told them it’s a new mandatory tradition.
Here is Tyler.
He is now 2.5 years old and he loves Elsa from Frozen. He insists on wearing a hoodie on top of his head at all times, and draping it over his shoulder and petting it and calling it his “Elsa hair.” Naturally I find this amazing.
Here is Abby.
She is three months old and she likes sitting and smiling and negotiating important business deals with her high-profile clients. And pooping and spitting up.
A Christmas song (“Underneath the Tree” by Kelly Clarkson) appeared on my playlist on shuffle last night and I didn’t turn it off. And I kind of enjoyed it. Last year, I was so sick during the holidays that I felt very little joy. This year, I’m practically bleeding glitter and bows already. It’s so good.
I’ve been doing a decent amount of freelancing lately. Here are a few of my favorite things, should you care to read along:
And also a few videos for Fitness…
But on that note, I’ve fallen into that trap of not being able to say no to anything. I was so good about this for a while, but now I’m healthy and I want to make people happy and I want to be involved and I like to do stuff. So my calendar is slightly too packed and my recently reinstated To-Do lists are getting a little too outrageous. It’ll pass.
I can’t stop with the string cheese. I eat so many string cheeses every day. I don’t think I trust people who bite directly into the string cheese and don’t make it stringy. It takes me about six minutes to eat a string cheese, while Brian always finishes his within 30 seconds.
This. Yes to this.
I unsubscribe from the Anthropologie newsletter every day, and yet every day, there it is, in my inbox again. How do I make it stop? I am not at all interested in those farmy, hippie but sometimes cute clothes. I don’t want that newsletter. I unsubscribe but it keeps appearing. The internet is hard.
I was getting ready to go to a party the other night, and I was like, “Hey, jeans! I remember those! I should wear jeans!” I tried on every single pair I own, and not a single pair fit. I had a bit of a meltdown because yes, even without weighing myself I know that I have packed on a few in recent weeks and months. But also: In every lady magazine every month, there are articles assuring all the little princess readers that “no way, running totally won’t bulk up your dainty legs, pinky promise!” And I am here to offer a rebuttal.
Here is Exhibit A:
And Exhibit B:
Exhibits C, D, E, F, and G will remain unseen to the public eye. But trust me, I’m bulked, and while some of that is owed to the Nutella crepes I’ve been inhaling, part of it is also on account of multiple marathons this fall and some brutally high mileage. Also I should really clean up my diet.
However… I’ve been cooking a ton lately! Now before you get impressed, let me remind you that “a ton” for me is equivalent to once a week or twice a month. But I make enough so that I have leftovers, that way it is basically like I cook daily-ish. Anyway, I made those Tacos al Pastor from the Runner’s World Cookbook, and I made this soup. Both were deeeelish.
The giveaway! I didn’t forget. Here’s your Runner’s World Cookbook winner:
Email me, BFF. Hook me up with your address and I’ll get you your stuff. Consider it an early Christmas and/or Hanukkah gift! Or let’s go with birthday present to be safe. Unless you’re a leap year baby. Whatever, it’s a free cookbook, and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to everyone who entered the contest. I love you.
I’m going to Hawaii for 10 days. Thank god. Aside from all the fun and sarcasm I’m throwing around here, I’ve actually been in a bit of a funk lately, and I need a break in a major way. The past year has been a little intense, and I am overdue for an escape. I haven’t taken a proper vacation in two years, so I’m beyond excited for this trip.
You may recall that I was supposed to take this trip last year! Brian and I were going to Hawaii for a wedding, but that was during my “rock bottom.” So he powered on without me (aw, poor guy, had to go to Hawaii alone, such sad) and I went to New Hampshire so my parents could take care of me.
In order not to lose my entire flight credit, I was able to pay a re-booking fee ($100 or $150, I think?), but I had to re-book the flight within a certain time period. Of course, being sick at the time, it was hard to know when I could reschedule the flight for, because who knew when I would ever be healthy again. I picked a 10-day period as far in the future as they would allow, and now here we are! It’s kind of unbelievable to me.
Brian put together a kickass itinerary for us — we’ll be spending the first five days in Honolulu and the second five days in Maui — and I’m so excited to get away, relax, and leave my phone in the hotel room. Plus, it will be warm there. And I will probably never come back.
In the meantime, all I want to do is lay underneath a blanket watching “Scandal” and “Parenthood.” I really hate that they’re both on past 7 PM, which is my desired bedtime these days. I kind of hate Olivia Pope, and I love Abby, and I’m sad that David Rosen is sad now (spoiler? not really), and I really wish Julia would stop being an asshat to Joel because sometimes people make mistakes and she needs to forgive!
I also wish Lorelai and Everybody Loves Raymond would stop existing. I care so little about that relationship and storyline. I am excited for Amber and Drew to co-parent her baby, and also for someone to steal that baby in the night because Amber never locks her sliding apartment door. That got dark, and I’m sorry, but I told you this post was about what’s on my mind, and what’s on my mind is that Ryan is going to show up and steal Amber’s baby and bring it to the army with him. I hope Haddie/Hattie comes back for the finale. She would really get along with Dylan. Meanwhile, Max is allowed to do whatever he wants with no repercussions. “Hey bud…” is not a punishment. It’s more like a hug.
That’s about it for me! Thank you for still being my friend even though I go absent for long periods of time and then want to come back and act like nothing has changed. (I’m also a bad pen pal, just a heads up on that front. I’m decent via text, and I’m an excellent cuddler in case you’d like to just be real life friends. I have two copies of the Pitch Perfect DVD.)
PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT SCANDAL AND PARENTHOOD. Or the Kardashians. Don’t be embarrassed. Don’t be ashamed. Remember Rob? Do you think Rob Kardashian is somewhere with Hattie/Haddie, plotting world domination and talking about the pressure of being a part of an overbearing family?