Faire du jogging.

"Faire du jogging" is French for "going jogging."  I always thought that was so funny.  You would think it would be, like, "jogelle" or something.

I went jogging outside in the freezing elements today.  Which I shouldn't have done, on account of my plantar fasciitis.  (I love when people say "on account of."  I use that phrase whenever possible.)  My physical therapist sister advised against it until it heals.  Until my HEEL HEALS.  Heh, heh.  But Ben took my car to Pocatello today for yet another test (4 of 7) for his architecture license.  (This one is going to be a beast.  He studied really, really hard for it.  I hope he does well.  He finishes in a couple of hours.)  And I wasn't about to drive the Baby Blue Beast to the gym for a nice, warm yoga class.  Ain't nothing going to make me drive that thing ever again.

I could have skipped working out today, but I haven't worked out in, like, four days.  And I'm not saying that to be all, "Look at me, look at me, I work out, I'm so amazing, blah blah blah."  I try to work out on the regular (another favorite saying - "on the regular"), because if I don't, I hulk out.  I get 'roid rage.  (Those are two of my brother-in-law's favorite sayings.  He uses them on the regular.)  I work out for my brain and my heart.  Because whether or not I work out, I'm always a size 14.  My body wants to be a size 14.  The only thing that has dropped me below that was Post Micah Pregnancy Stress Disorder.  I was so ill when I was pregnant with Mikey that I actually lost weight.  I looked really freakin' awesome after I had him.  But that's because he took me straight to death's door.  I think it was a sign of things to come.  He's a killer even now.

Much to my surprise today, I was able to jog for the whole half hour - no stopping.  This is a big deal for me.  Whenever I haven't jogged for awhile, I have to kind of...start over.  Run for five minutes, walk for one.  Run for five, walk for one.  But for some reason, my body let me jog for the whole half an hour.  And I haven't jogged on the regular in, like, months.  I felt really empowered.  So much so that I made my son Dylan take some Rocky-themed pictures of me:

Wow, my hair is really dark.  I really need to find a different hair color dye.  I look goth.

Enjoy these, guys.  I seldom put selfies on here.  Or even take them.  That's what happens when you're forty pounds overweight.  And never have time for hair and makeup.  You avoid the selfies.

And by the way, nope, the house hasn't closed yet.  Don't ask me why.  All of our paperwork is in.  We're just...waiting.  And waiting.  We prepared an extension just in case this happened.  It ends on Friday.  Fingers crossed the magical Closing Powers That Be allow us to close before then.