Uncategorized

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who has the fairest arms of them all? Me! Me! Me! At the risk of sounding conceited, ahh who am I kidding, bring on the conceit – my arms are hot! At least in the mirrors at my pilates studio. For a good month and a half now I’ve been admiring my arms in the full length mirrors (and their windows too) seriously admiring them, like to the point of positioning certain equipment directly in front of the mirror to check out my super fine, super toned biceps, or turning my head towards the window next to me (which I’m not supposed to do) to again check that tone. And you better believe I don’t keep quiet about these revelations, nah, who wants to do that, I’m all about belting out how hot my arms are looking, how toned they are, how fine they are 😀 […]

And run! When that beautiful sounding (and looking!) Chris Cornell’s voice blasted through my ear buds this morning singing Rusty Cage, it seemed almost perfect really. This was my second run out since making my come back, and let me just say, it took everything I had to reign in the fire in my legs. For four weeks, they have been hating me, wanting to run, wanting to pound the pavement, wanting to be alongside their friends, the legs of my favourite running chicks. Sure they didn’t mind the trainer, and while they were grossed out by the toxins in the pool, they did what needed to be done, but neither of those activities made up for that loss that no running put in them. And so finally, today, when I promised them a run further than 4 km, it was as though they were the legs of a marionette

I’ve had spasms shooting up my neck now for two days. And I got to say, they’re really not  all that pleasant feeling, in fact, when they hit, my one hand instantly grabs the side of my neck and the other shoots up to my head reactively trying to stop the long, dull ache in its tracks. It doesn’t work. I’m sure there’s a multitude of potential reasons for the spasms, like maybe I overdid it the other night with my run and then my hard trainer ride, or maybe I slept on it wrong, or maybe I didn’t sleep enough. But no, I don’t believe any of those to be the reasons for my spasms. I blame stress. See, the spasms started yesterday morning, shortly after the arrival of my fancy schmancy new insulin pump. Why would a new pump be causing me stress? Well, just look at this

Turns out Animas pumps aren’t 100 per cent waterproof after all! When the alarm went off this morning and I saw the bright light of my pump shining through the duvet, I looked at it, and nearly had a heart attack. The time on it showed 4:35 a.m. I was NOT supposed to be getting up at 4:35 a.m. and poor Mario nearly had his head lopped off for awaking me at such an unearthly hour. But he quickly told me, with maybe a little fear in his eyes, that something must be wrong with my pump because it was in fact 6 a.m. not 4:35 a.m. I started pressing the buttons on the pump and nothing happened. The screens didn’t switch over, I couldn’t check the status reports, I couldn’t do nothing. It was also flashing between a bright and dimmed screen. I knew right then there was a

Maybe I should start calling this blog Princess of Pedals because as of late all I’ve been writing about are cycling endeavors, and today is no different. Well, maybe a little different. I’m not actually writing about my time on the trainer, or about cycling through the streets of Vancouver, but I am writing about the drool that almost always dribbles down my chin at the mere thought of My Bianchi. Le sigh. Folks, I want a new bike. Storm’s been great for me, but he was a starter bike, and it’s high time I acquired a much more advanced, and oh-so-sexy, pedal pusher by way of My Bianchi, Miss Bianchi if you will, Bianchi Infinito Dama 105 to be exact, which in English translates into “Lady in White.” Even her name is so super sexy! And she’s Italian too, which uhm hello is so perfect for me given that