90 days. They say 21 days is how long it takes to turn something into a habit . . . so, at 90 days, I’m looking at a habit that is more than 4-times ingrained in me.
I did not follow a specific diet. I did not follow a specific workout regimen. Simply, I logged every bite of food I ate – even if I knew I was going to obliterate my calorie allowance for the day, I continued logging (this was a huge downfall for me, previously — I’d basically “give up on the day” with the slightest moment of weakness). I worked out as much as I could — some days, this meant next to nothing. Most days, it meant 45-90 minutes of cardio in the morning (at the expense of sleep) and 45 minutes of weight-lifting and/or cardio over lunch. Some days, it meant an extra hour (sometimes two) before dinner before symphony.
I’ve given up artificial sweeteners, and I’ve made a concerted effort to eat breakfast regularly.
When I eat, which is often, I try to eat healthily. I try to maximize protein while minimizing simple carbohydrates. But, I don’t eat anything that I don’t enjoy eating (with the lone exception of the celery/kale/carrot/broccoli/spinach juice that I gulped down one morning – that was a mistake). I don’t make a concerted effort to eat less, more often – or to eat more, less often. I do try to only eat when I’m hungry (but old habits die hard, and dammit, I’m not about to skip dinner when I’m trying to make my own kids eat their dinner).
I try to limit alcohol, but I don’t deprive myself of anything.
I was afraid that I wouldn’t “stick with things” in the beginning, so I didn’t take measurements of my body. And for that, I’m disappointed in myself.
In the end, pants that were tight on me before I started the challenge now fall off of me. I need a new belt. I’ve gone from barely being able to do a single push-up to being able to eek out 47 in a single sitting. I’m 34.6 pounds lighter than I was when I started.
I have more work to do, but I’m well on my way.
I did not win the challenge (though there is no prize), though I lost more weight than anyone else. But, I wasn’t in it to win it . . . I was in it to make changes for myself. And I did just that.
Fridays are good days at casa de batzer. First off, it’s the end of the work week . . . I, typically, need to work very early in the morning every Sunday, so I have the ability to take time off Friday afternoon to compensate (meaning extra gym time). This is Duffy‘s full day at the library, and we get together for #DateLunch most every Friday. After working out, I pick the kids up from my mother-in-law and then we head home for a relaxed dinner and movie night (our bedtime rules aren’t incredibly strict, but they’re downright lenient on Friday nights).
But, in all of this, with the two people who can actually operate an oven being at work all day, dinner gets complicated. And, well, when you’re trying to keep yourself healthy, take-out really isn’t in the cards (especially if you’re doing take-out for lunch earlier that day). So, we deploy our slow-cooker. There are two meals, lately, that have been especially good.
- 3 pounds(ish) boneless, skinless chicken thighs
- 1 can of coconut milk
- 1 finger of fresh-grated ginger
- 1 tablespoon soy sauce
- juice of 2 limes
- 1/2 cup peanut butter
- 1 onion, finely diced
- 2 tomatoes, finely diced
- 2 cloves of garlic, finely diced
- pinch of sugar
- Mix everything but the chicken together, very thoroughly
- Place chicken in the crockpot
- Place mix over chicken
- Cook on Low for 10 hours
- Garnish with chopped peanuts and fresh-chopped cilantro
When complete, I served this over jasmine rice.
You can save calories by using light coconut milk instead of regular, and by using chicken breasts instead of thighs, if cutting calories is a priority for you – though I really like the way dark-meat cooks in the slow cooker . . . too often, I end up with dried-out chicken breasts if I have to rely on my slow cooker’s “keep warm” feature.
- 4-5 pounds, boneless pork butt or shoulder (I believe these are the same actual cut, but are named different based on your butcher and/or geographic region)
- 2 tablespoons salt
- 1 tablespoon cayenne pepper powder
- 2 tablespoons packed brown sugar
- 2 tablespoons garlic powder
- 2 sweet onions, sliced thin
- 1 cup of beef broth
- 1 bottle of BBQ sauce (your choice)
- Combine salt, cayenne pepper, brown sugar, and garlic powder thoroughly.
- Thoroughly dry pork with paper towels and rub salt mix into said pork
- Place sliced onions on the bottom of the crock pot
- Place rubbed pork over the onions
- Pour beef broth over pork
- Cook for 10 hours on LOW
- With two forks, shred pork, return to crock pot.
- Add BBQ sauce, mix thoroughly, and cook on HIGH for 1 hour
I served this on buns, with a slaw that I was making as the BBQ sauce cooked into the pork.
Snow-Pea & Avocado Slaw
- A shitton of snow peas (roughly one pound), sliced thinly, length-wise (I was typically able to make 3-4 slices per each snow pea)
- 1 cucumber, sliced into narrow 3″ strips
- 2 stalks of celery, sliced into narrow 3″ strips
- 1 cup of walnuts, toasted
- 1 tablespoon of extra-virgin olive oil
- the juice of one lemon
- 1 avocado, thinly sliced
- Toast walnuts as you’re slicing snow-peas, celery, & cumumber
- Combine snow peas, cucumber, celery, olive oil, lemon juice, & walnuts and mix thoroughly
- Add avocado slices and mix carefully
- Serve with the pulled pork on sandwich buns
- How the fuck is it April already? Seriously, I think there are still some Christmas presents for the kids that I haven’t taken out of the box yet.
- Life is better when baseball is being played.
- I’ve been thinking about how much I swear, and then there was this comment exchange with Kristin, and should I be using “douchecanoe1” more than “fuck?” So I hereby resolve to start saying “fucking douchecanoe” more often . . . except that my family reads my blog (seriously, Hi Aunt Laura!), and some day soon, my kids will probably read this blog. So, I shouldn’t, probably, even pull out “douchecanoe.” Meh.
- I ran over 20 miles in two days last week, and my legs are begging for more.
- I have a very odd bruise on my right bicep, but I don’t remember delivering a clothesline to a herd of stampeding wildebeests.
- I really thought the plural of “wildebeest” would be “wildebeest.”
- Words really don’t describe just how much I’m looking forward to heading to the beach this summer. Though I’m really, really afraid of the propensity of my workplace to call whenever my input might be handy — I can see myself after several alcoholic drinks, telling someone to format their hard drive, just to see if they were really listening to what I was saying. Such thoughts would not be good for my career.
- I’ve been thinking, a lot, about my father’s father lately (he would not be a fan of the number of times that I dropped the f-bomb in this post). Most recently, reading this post from the estimable Julie, I was brought back to a random summer day with my grandfather. He had to change the date of a meeting at his apartment complex, and this was before the days of email, and he didn’t have the time to send out letters to everyone – so we wrote letters and put them in envelopes, and then hand-delivered them to every door within the complex (well, I did most of the climbing up the stairs & delivering & stuff). Toward the end, he looked at one of the envelopes and he mentioned that he was certain that the recipient would die soon. I asked him how he knew. He answered me “because he used to be one of the funniest people I knew, and I haven’t heard him laugh in the last six months.” I’m truly glad to see that sense of humor, Julie.
- I have said “Kaizen” more than any human should be allowed to. It stops being fun when you’re using it in proper context.
- CJ will soon start martial arts — I don’t know if I’m ready for my three year old to start kicking my ass, though. If he’s not super into things after the first class, I’ll mention that he needs those lessons to become a Ninja Turtle.
- People keep endorsing me for random skills in LinkedIn. I do not know why.
- I hate how vain I’ve become. First, I actually cared about my time/place in the color run. Now, I’m focusing far less on cardiovascular workouts, and focusing more on push-ups and core exercises because, well, I’m looking forward to the beach (see previous bullet points). I know some amount of vanity isn’t a bad thing, but I don’t like the way that it’s manifesting itself with me.
- I should be posting the “and it’s over” pictures from the weight-loss challenge tomorrow. You’ll have to excuse me if I need a drink or two to work up the courage to do so….
If you’ve been stalking my Runkeeper Profile, you might have noticed that I haven’t been running all that much — it’s not for lack of want, it’s just a combination of lack of time and a real dislike of frozen-foot-syndrome. Basically, if I have the opportunity to get all sweaty inside, I’ll do that rather than let my feet grow numb by running outside. And I don’t do treadmills.
But, just because it’s been colder than frozen yeti piss outside doesn’t mean that I won’t pass up on a run . . . so last Saturday, I ran. Just randomly, I typed “Carlisle Color Run” into my freindly Googlething a couple of months ago, to see if one of these newfangled “color runs” might be working their way close to me sometime soon . . . and it just so happened that Harvest Health had just opened registration for their inaugural color run (it happens that they’ve started a whole race series, but I had no idea about that at the time). Excitedly, I signed up . . . despite the fact that I haven’t been running, I’ve been working out like a fiend, so being able to complete a 5k wouldn’t be a big worry – heck, the last nice weekend we had, I pulled a half-marathon from out of my ass.
Now, typically, race day is a very early morning. I’m used to a run starting at 7, which means I’m looking to pick my packet up and pin my number on at 5 . . . but, this run started at 11, and I picked my number up early. So I had some time. Around 9:30 the morning of the run, I dressed1, left my house, and went for coffee before working my way to the Carlisle hospital (the location for the run). Once there, I sipped my coffee while trying to keep warm . . . but the race-time temperature was 36°F (2°C or 275Kelvin) with a biting wind. Before long, I was out of coffee.
Fortunately, the race volunteers were out of the local YMCA, and there was a Zumba instructor on hand . . . so, before race time, I was keeping warm by shaking my money-maker. It should be said that I have the grace of a one-legged antelope, so I’m pretty sure that onlookers might have worried that there was big guy having a conniption, but I was keeping myself warm (so warm, in fact, that I was able to take off the earmuffs before run time). After Zumba, and a trip to the portapotty (never fun to race with a full bladder), I chatted with a few Twitter friends before working my way to the start.
Now, as I said before, I haven’t been running. And I really had no idea how to start the race. I knew this was a “loop” track — three loops, each about a mile in length, but I didn’t know the terrain and whether or not I’d experience any hills (the race wasn’t completely flat, but it was pretty darn close — like Kate Hudson). Not knowing how the color stations were going to work (I was afraid that there might be queues formed), I went out just a little bit faster than my typical “going out for a run pace.”
It turned out that I didn’t have any reason to worry about the color stations — bunches of volunteers were armed with colored-dust, and they threw it at you as you passed — there was no fear of having to slow down . . . but I maintained my slightly-faster-than-normal pace throughout the first lap because, well, it felt good. And I remained pretty consistent until the end of the third lap, where I turned on whatever I had left in my tank and sprinted to the finish-line.
Back at that very first color station, the dust covered my iPhone screen, so I couldn’t see my time throughout the entire race. And there was no great big clock to tell me my time at the finish line, so I was quite surprised when I saw a time of 22:11 on my iPhone . . . each loop was closer to .9 miles than a full mile, so this wasn’t quite a 5k, but I was running 8-minute miles. My previous best mile, ever, which was run on a treadmill, for precisely one mile, was 8:24 . . . so I blew that out of the water, and that was kind of cool.
And, because I ran well, I decided to check the overall standings . . . there were prizes being awarded for the top three males & females, and, well, you never know. I did not finish “in the prize,” but I did finish tenth overall (and the 5th male), and that was kind of cool.
Of course, there were some things that I would have really liked to see differently:
- Registration was cut-off due to participation. Basically, the event reached maximum capacity, and I had friends who were looking to run that couldn’t get in. I hear that next year’s event won’t have a maximum number of entries, so hopefully this is a one-year-only thing.
- Loop races are pretty boring – but they’re a bit dangerous when you’re including runners and walkers, like this one. Typically, you have to keep “on your toes” at the beginning of any race, while people look to find their own pace, but after the first half-mile, you can run your own race. That wasn’t true here — early on, things were pretty easy (I started near the very front of the pack), but I ended up weaving my way between walkers and slower runners through the final two laps.
- This wasn’t chip timed (and it shouldn’t have been — I think too many races, where the entry fees, ultimately, benefit charities, spend too much of the money that should go toward the charity to the company handling the timing), but they were collecting the little tab at the bottom of your number to determine place. This meant that you had to stop and wait for someone to collect that little tab . . . but I didn’t realize that this was what they were doing. I’ve lost a fair bit of weight since the beginning of the year, but I was in a dead sprint, and I’m still well over 200 pounds . . . so I had to stop quickly to prevent a crash. If they had told me that we needed to turn in our tabs, and stop in the “finish line area,” I wouldn’t have
nearly trampled a family of four to deathrun with reckless abandon at the very end of the race.
- I specifically wore a plain, white, cotton t-shirt . . . but at the end of the race, it looked like I was wearing a plain, white, cotton t-shirt. I don’t know if the cold temperature meant that I was sweating less and, henceforth, the colored dust didn’t stick, or if cheap colored dust was used, or if I was just running so amazingly quickly that the dust never had a chance to stick . . . but I wasn’t very colorful at the end.
Overall, it was a great time, even if I wasn’t quite technicolor in the end. Apparently, Harvest Health is starting a whole race series . . . the next one I’m looking at will be a “Trick or Trot” right around Halloween . . . which should be fun. I really think that’s the secret to smaller races – keep them fun . . . let the long runs let the distance dictate what they are — you run a marathon because you want to run a marathon. For a 5k or 10k, make it something you want to do while running — I want to run through a mud pit or breath fire or get painted like a rainbow or wear fairy wings or fight zombies…while running.
I’m in a funk — I don’t know why I’m in a funk, but I am . . . and writing, well, it becomes a chore when I’m in a funk. So today, you get bullet points from my draft folder.
The new Yahoo! CEO put the kibosh on working from home. For an internet company. And this seems like it’s backward process. The argument seems to be that working from home affects worker timeliness and productivity. Obviously, for any company, these are two key pillars for success. But, I’d question why those are potential employee pratfalls.
In my job, I have the opportunity to work from home, on a very liberal policy. However, it’s rare that I do work from home – not because I feel that I’d be less productive, but because my kids just don’t understand “daddy is working, so his not playing with you doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you.” Typically, when I work from home, I feel much more productive – partly because I’m working when I would be commuting, and I don’t have a parade of people who stop by my desk (allowing me to get more of my own work done, rather than assisting others with their own tasks — it’s far easier to stop by my desk to see if I might know something about something else, rather than sending an email). But, more than anything family or work related, when I work from home, I have a pantry full of food that, if I find that I am waiting for a meeting to start, well, my willpower might be lacking.
Anyway, I can admit that there have been a time or two, while they’re few & far between, that I work from home, take off my pants, put on a movie, and then pay more attention to the movie than work. And that’s bad – like, really bad. But, I’d argue that my productivity is greater during those days that most of my coworkers on Monday mornings during fantasy football season, or any day at the beginning of the NCAA Championship games. There are times that work isn’t a top priority, whether you’re at the office or not. But, I’d argue that most people, just to prove that they’re being productive, will not allow things to ever slide when they’re working from home. For the most part, I’m ultra-diligent. I don’t want to be called out for “being that guy who doesn’t work when he’s working from home.”
But all of this just brings something else up — if I’m not to work from home, does that mean I can leave my job at the office? I have a laptop. I have a VPN fob. I have a cell phone. Almost every night, I’m logging on, to check my work email and get to anything that I couldn’t get to before the end of the work day. Any time something goes wrong, I’m called (be it in the middle of the day during a vacation day, or the middle of the night). If I’m not to work from home, does this mean that I can actually leave my job at the office? Because, if so, I’ll gladly work for Yahoo!
Lance Armstrong. Wow. Now, the title around here might be Daddy Runs a lot, but, truth be told, I prefer cycling to running. Heck, when I rode #RAGBRAI, I finished the one leg that Lance rode, before Lance1. So, what to make of this…well, on one hand, I knew. I think I’ve always known – in a sport that doping was so prevalent, when it seemed that there were few people who could testify to his “being clean,” I think we all knew. But we didn’t want to know. We want our heroes pure — and Lance was a hero. But he was also a dick.
Anyway, Lance came clean and nobody was truly shocked – but lots of people were hurt & surprised. And I include myself among those. Part of me really, really wants to say “screw it,” and just let professional athletes do whatever the fuck they want to do to themselves. But kids emulate their heroes. So it’s not as simple as that. Then you add in my competitive streak, and I’m taken back to the early days of organized sports. As you may, or may not know, I’m a tall individual. And I’ve been tall for all of my life. This meant, in the early days of basketball, I was quite good. Well, no, I wasn’t — but I was tall, and that made me part of any team, automagically. And I tried hard, even if I was uncoordinated. Anyway, I remember, in 6th or 7th or 8th grade, playing another team, and our team was not the team with the most points. And we, as a team were pretty dejected. The coach, in the locker room, gave a pretty simple pep talk. “Guys, I’m proud of you. When you take an L, you either lose or you’re beat. Ain’t no shame in being beat – when you try your best, and you don’t wind up on top, good for the other guys. It’s when you lose – that’s when you hang your head.” To this day, I still take that little pep talk to heart – if I try my best, and someone tops me, good for them. But damn, do I get pissed when someone else does something untoward to put themselves ahead of me. When you see better assignments being passed to brown-nosers, for the simple fact that someone is an effective brown-noser . . . well, it makes you want to stop concentrating on just doing good work, and wanting to just kissing the right ass. I can see an athlete realizing that “I can’t win if I don’t dope, because someone who does dope is going to win,” and that being the only reason for which they do cheat . . .
I don’t really have an answer here . . . people are always going to cheat, when cheating opportunity exists. Always. But, at the same time, how do we adequately verify/reward a non-cheater? I don’t know.
- My son has started asking me how work was. How do I make him stop growing up?
- Since I’ve replaced a brush & comb with a Bic, I now put hand-lotion on my scalp. Yet every time I do this, I’m convinced that I’ve left a portion not rubbed in, and then I wonder what others think about someone who has a strange white blob on the top of their head.
- This year, I’ve made concentrated efforts on running more, drinking less wine, drinking less beer, drinking less coffee, drinking less caffeine, ingesting less artificial sweetener, eating fewer processed foods. So far, I can honestly say that I’m eating fewer processed foods and I’ve nearly kicked artificial sweetener from my diet . . . but the rest has gone by the wayside2
1 I started the 108 mile bike ride several hours before Lance hit the road, but we’re splitting hairs here — I crossed the finish line before Lance Armstrong.2 I might be running more if it weren’t for such cold mornings – I am quite hopeful to be running 6-10 miles every morning come warmer weather, and I think the cardio I have been doing in the morning would suffice for training . . . but you never really know if you can do something until you do it. Which is why I want to do an Iron Man.
It’s not a secret to many that I’ve been working on a musical . . . while it’s still in the infancy stages, I figure if I give an intro here, well, other people will know about it, and if other people know about it, maybe I’ll be enticed to work on it. So here goes.
I’m writing over at Liberating Working Moms today, kicking off a “Liberating Working Dads” series, writing about how things have changed for me, since I’ve become a father. Hop on over!
Wednesdays (or, on some weeks, Tuesdays1) have turned into my favorite night of the week. I leave work, drive to the gym, and I work out with Duffy while the kids spend time with either a family member or in the “child watch” room at our local Y2. After the work out, and a quick shower, we head to the local Panera for dinner (toddlers are creatures of habit, and a dinner of soup, bread, fruit punch, and a cookie is something that they like, and request, whenever possible). After eating, we head back to the gym and get ready to swim. And then we take advantage of “open pool” hours until the kids are sufficiently tired.
Anyway, after swimming, we make it a “bath night,” (whether the every-other-night baths were scheduled or not); Duffy showers with Leila, I shower with CJ, and we both put the kids into their PJ’s before driving home for what should be an easy beditme. In fact, I believe the original plan in scheduling these evenings was, really, to tire the kids out so that an easy bedtime could be had. Alas, my children seem to pull out some sort of demonic magic energy from swimming in the pool and spend the night dancing about the bed, trying to find a goat to sacrifice, to give proper thanks for this wealth of bedtime avoidance energy. The lesson, of course, is that no parenting plan ever executes as expected. Ever.
Last night, after getting out of the pool, it was downright cold, and I was quite eager to get into the shower, just to warm up. But, as soon as I turned on the water, CJ looked at me and said “I have to pee.”
When you have a recently toilet-trained little boy, you don’t tell him to “hold it.”
But I was shivering. And naked.
“Just pee in the shower,” I said, as this is a rite of passage for every man.
CJ said “oh, ok,” and nodded.
And then, just as I was warming up from the warm shower water, I see a stream heading toward me that wasn’t coming from a shower head.
My son took the “just pee in the shower” to heart, and was wielding the urine stream as a weapon.
I quickly said “no, pee straight down the drain,” but, by that point, he found the practice hilarious.
So yeah, I taught my boy a new trick.
I don’t get too many guest posts around here1 — but that’s, mostly, because none of y’all send me stuff to post here. So, when I checked my email today and saw that Shoe Mom (who has no blog of her own, but wanted an outlet for this story) had a story to share, well, imagine my excitement. Without further ado, here’s Kim:
Thank you for allowing me to guest post – I don’t blog, but I have a number of friends who are bloggers… and I read a lot of blogs. This is a story that needed a blog home.
I cried at a Junior Mini Basketball Jamboree game, today. You probably already guessed that I’m going to tell you why.
I am a single mom, to a 9 year old son. He plays basketball. He’s not a very strong player, but he has heart. He doesn’t get the most baskets, but he is a team player who passes the ball and has fun on a team of 8-10 year old boys. They aren’t the best team. In fact, they finished the year at the bottom of their division. But they practise, play together, and both the individual players and the team have steadily improved this season.
This weekend was the final basketball tournament of the season. We were playing our final game of the year, and it was evident that, in this game at least, we were the stronger team.
There was a small player on the other team – considerably smaller than all the other kids, on both teams. I would even go so far as to guess that there may be a medical reason for his height, although that is truly just a guess. He tried hard, but he rarely got the ball. But what I’m going to describe next? Well, it had me in tears this afternoon and has a lump in my throat, now.
I learned afterward, our coach “suggested” to our boys to let him get a basket. What happened was an amazing thing. All of a sudden, there was one team on that court, not two – our team passed the ball to the opposing team, and one of them would set this boy up to score. Red jersey or orange jersey – it didn’t matter. These kids had a single goal.
He got the ball, took a shot, and missed. And the kids set it up, again – another shot, another miss. Soon the parents realised what was happening, as both teams set him up, again. Eight times he took a shot and seven of those times, a miss.
And then he got the ball, again and took the shot. Mercifully the ball found the net! Both benches of parents cheered and yelled and clapped. And the game went back to being the red jerseys vs. the orange.
But you should have seen that boy’s face. If he had sunk the winning shot in an NBA final, he couldn’t have been more excited! The other coach came over and shook our coach’s hand; ultimately and firstly, they are both dads.
Who won the game? Well, I could tell you who got more baskets – but who won the game? The kids on two teams who learned the meaning of sportsmanship and teamwork today. The kids on two teams who realised that the game is not ONLY offense and defense. The kids on two teams who had fun, today. And the kids on our team – who up until today had never met or even seen this boy, but whom they treated like a teammate and a friend.
And that is why I cried at a Junior Mini Basketball Jamboree game, today.
- I have absolutely no idea why people are looking to replace black, ever. But I also have no idea why it’s frowned upon to wear white shoes, or pants or undergarments, or hats, after flag day.
- I’m very particular about my grammar, word choice, and punctuation. For the most part, this makes me a better writer – but when I’m working on a truly creative endeavor, my pickiness gets in the way. While the story is writing itself, in my mind, I get hung up on choosing the perfect word/phrasing/sentence instead of just transcribing
the crazy voices in my head in those rare times that they’re not telling me to do evil thingsthe story . . . so that, by the time I try to catch up with the story, it’s gone.
- I need to find the time for song lyrics. Badly.
- I’m a huge fan of the ampersand, but I cannot allow myself to ever place an ampersand at the beginning of a sentence1, or after a comma2, or as the beginning of a parenthetical aside.
- I believe the semi-colon to be the most misunderstood (and therefore underused) punctuation mark.
- As I’m approaching my “target weight3,” I’m finding that I’m changing my strategy at the gym. I’m focusing less on cardio and focusing more on weight-training (though I’m still targeting the same amount of time at the gym). This means that most of my cardio comes
at the buttcrack of dawnin the early morning. Part of me wants to say that this is just a natural progression as I need to burn fewer calories, but that’s not the case at all. I’m vain. I’ll be on the beach before too long and I want to look good without a shirt on.
- Along those lines, my new obsession is the #corechallenge. While I said, last week, that I’m approaching being able to complete forty consecutive push-ups, that’s from a rest . . . after a thirty-minute weight-lifting circuit and fifty crunches, completing two sets of fifteen push-ups, as sweat drips off of your nose, is difficult.
- I played a concert with the West Short Symphony Orchestra yesterday. Since I’ve been with this group, it was the largest crowd we’d ever had, and we played exceedingly well. I was proud to be part of the organization (not that I wasn’t, previously, but you know what I mean . . . or maybe you don’t, but if you don’t, well, I just need to choose my words better).
- Several people came up to me, after the concert, to say that they love watching me play. On one hand, it’s great to know that I’m making someone happy — but, it’s probably not a great thing to stand out so much while playing with a symphony. The thing is, during a concert, I tone my moving with the music back. When I’m learning a piece, I look like a perpetual motion machine.
- I nearly posted a vlog last night of me playing piano – but only because I was still wearing a tuxedo from the concert. See? Vain.