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Kate Beckinsale. Katie Holmes. Princess of Pavement. All Katies. All beautiful brunettes. Those of you who read Sunday’s blog post, and looked closely at the photo, past the disgusting toenail, will have noticed a change. Gone is the frustrating blonde and in its stead, a rich brunette. I’d been struggling trying to achieve the perfect blonde for months, a blonde I’ve had before, a blonde that never used to give me hassles, a blonde that was my dear, dear friend, but this time around, from June to January, that Kaley Cuoco blonde was nowhere to be found. Oh but there was the blinding, glow-in-the-dark Marilyn Monroe blonde, which freaked Mario out in the middle of the night (and rightfully so!) and the various shades of dirty blonde which I had been avoiding for almost 20 years now. So I when I sat down in the hairdresser’s chair on Saturday afternoon, […]

When I walked through the doors of the condo last night and Mario announced that he had spent some time on the trainer while I was out at pilates my heart sunk. I held my breath as I asked him how long he’d pedaled for with fear and apprehension filling my insides. “An episode of True Blood,” he said. “How long was that,” I asked. Silence. He had a smile on his face. He was enjoying this, enjoying the sight of my face turning a frightening reddish-blue shade. Just as I was about to pass out, he finally broke the silence. “Fifty one minutes,” he said. Phew! The loudest, longest sigh I ever did breathe exited my lungs with that glorious news of 51 minutes. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was quite pleased to hear that he’d gone on the trainer, and on his own accord at that (he

Just when I thought my feet couldn’t get any uglier, my toe goes and falls off … well, the nail that is. Remember these: That happened three and a half months ago, the result of a rain-riddled marathon and of more than four hours of wet toes rubbing against wet shoes. For weeks they were the colour of fire-engine red, they blew up to the size of air-filled balloons, were angry and incessantly screamed out in pain. And then, when the pain finally subsided, they turned to the shade of purple and stayed that way. Normally I would have loved the colour purple, it used to be a favourite colour of mine, but on my toes, toes that did not EVER wear polish, the colour purple was downright ugly really. At first I thought the nails would fall off, but they were stubborn little buggers, oh yes they were. They

I’m not gonna lie, I’ve had some doubts, running the marathon doubts, doubts that were hollering in my head last night while running alone in the dark in the nasty areas of town with an ankle that seemed to get more and more tender with each cycle of the leg. And had I not run into one of my favourite running chicks before going home last night, a good portion of my blog would have been all about those ever increasing doubts. Instead, you get to read about them tonight. My inner ankle, as I’ve written about a few times already, has been suffering tenderness. Some runs it feels as though there’s a knife being twisted around and around and around, and others I hardly feel anything at all. (Oh how I do so love those runs.) It’s been this way since before the marathon, when I started kicking my

Taking a trip down memory lane can sometimes be a good thing, sometimes a bad thing, and then there are times when it’s just downright spooky. Today’s trip definitely fell into the spooky line. This morning I had to go back to my old high school for work; it was the first time I’d walked through those doors in almost 15 years. And my goodness, a flood of nostalgia nearly bowled me right over. Walking into the front foyer, I knew if I turned right it would have led me to the science wing, if I climbed the stairs, I would have ended up in my math and family management classrooms, and if I went left and took a flight down the stairs, I would have walked through the doors of Mrs. Collins’ English class, my favourite class. My class was the second graduating class of Bateman, everything here was