Confessions of the Shopaholic

I’m addicted to clothes shopping. 

All it takes is for one little email telling me about an awesome sale and I start hitting the websites and checking out what clothes are available. My lunch break is spent at the mall across the street, but at least I spend the majority of my time in the sale/clearance section.

Basically, it's just like the movie, except that I can actually get rid of my clothes and my boss looks nothing like Hugh Dancy. (Kind of wish that someone like Hugh Dancy would show up in my life... but that's a blog post for another time).  

I blame my youth for my adult addiction. 

I was never a snazzy dresser. In fact, I wore a lot of hand-me-downs. I don’t blame my mother. I blame the 7 kids that came before me. They left little money over for my clothes shopping. (Although I can’t complain too much... they all had hand-me-downs as well. In fact, they have the school pictures to prove it. The same shirt is on three different brothers with a 14 year difference between the oldest wearing it and the youngest.) 

I also was a tomboy. I blame the six older brothers and if I wanted to “fit in”, I couldn’t be wearing fashionable clothes to play football or basketball. (Not that my mother would want me to shop anywhere. Usually we only went to TJ Maxx and Ross.) 

So again, I’ll reiterate—I had no fashion sense. I didn’t know how to dress myself or what looked good. A polo shirt and jeans were staples for me. 

Even on my mission, my mother sent me an AWFUL dress that I never wore. Another set of sisters saw it and it became a joke. And while I laughed about it with them, inside I felt awful. I wore frumpy, ugly clothes. I felt like Toula in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I was Frump Girl. 

During that time on my mission, I discovered H&M (which is WAY better in Europe than in the United States) and started wearing trendy but nice clothes. I started to figure out what colors and styles look good on me. 

And now, I’m starting to branch out even more. My goals are always to 1) Find new colors. 2) Look for texture or designs. 3) Colorblock (heaven help us... I usually have to take a picture and send a text to Heidi for approval before actually purchasing/wearing the outfit). 

My sisters-in-law have started to comment about how good I look, etc. And it makes me feel good. So then I go shopping again, assured that I’m picking good styles but I’m also dressing well for my body type. 

I’m currently trying to curb my spending habits. Especially since my landlord has commented to his wife that she and I should go shopping together since we are both constantly ordering clothes online. When your neighbors are noticing how many packages you get from clothing stores, it’s probably best that you stop shopping. 

But maybe I’ll just have to wait until AFTER Memorial Day. I mean... I do need some more summer clothes.

I Hate Running, So Why Do I Do It?

All I could think about on Tuesday as I ran 3.5 miles (the farthest I’ve ever run) was “I hate running.”

It’s true.

My back hurts (probably because I have bad form).

I sweat. It usually drips off of my neck and my forehead and I don’t have a way to catch it. Sure, I could wear a sweatband around my forehead, but we are not in the 80s, People!

I spend money on shoes once a year. Nice shoes so that I don’t get shin splints. Shoes that are made for running and are not always the most aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

Shin splints. Enough said. WORST THING EVER!

I have to spend money on clothes for which the sole purpose will be to sweat profuse amounts of toxins on them. And still attempt to look cute while doing it.

I never look cute. I’m running. It’s always a disaster.

So, why do I keep running? Why do I sign up for a 10K only in the 2nd week of training start questioning my decision to run a race?

First off, I’ve lost a decent amount of weight from running. Like... 30 of those LBS. Yeah. That right there—makes it worth it. So I continue to run.

Two—endorphins. There is a serious high that I have when my ipod tells me “Congratulations, you have completed 3.5 miles.” Say what?! It doesn’t matter how long it took, I completed something. And for the girl who has goals that I never seem to reach, that completion means the world.

Alone time. I know. I’m single. I already have plenty of alone time. But running gives me that chance to sort out thoughts in my head. The problems I have can either be motivating (as in I’m pretending I’m running away from them) or minimized (because I think, “that little problem there? Nothing compared to the fact that I can’t breathe right now!”). I think more clearly while on a run. I’m more rational. And what girl doesn’t need to be more rational?

Yes, I curse and complain and whine the ENTIRE time I’m running. In fact, some people who see me may think I’m crazy. But I keep running. Because I’d rather be a sane, skinny, happy girl than a fat couch potato.

So, are you with me?