All of August has been one big lead-up to today. It’s like I’ve gone through the month as one big breath in, never exhaling until right now.

I imagine this is how many of you must feel when you sign up for a race and spend months training. That last final month is a countdown to race day and when you’re finally at the finish line you realize this is what I’ve been waiting for.

I feel like that, minus the sweat.

Today I received Mockingjay in the mail. The final book in the Hunger Games trilogy. If you haven’t read the series, I suggest you buy it right now. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

The books are addictive and fast-paced (I read each of the first two, The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, in a day) and brilliant and so fun. Plus, unlike another series (rhymes with skylight) the prose doesn’t weigh down the story or force incessant eye rolls.

So tonight after work I’m planting my butt firmly on the couch and not going to bed until I turn that last page. The Man will lose a wife for the night. Then I’ll pass the book on to him–because The Man also loves The Book–and watch as he’s sucked in for one final ride.

ALSO: If you think it’s a good idea to go google Mockingjay or Hunger Games and read about the series, BE CAUTIOUS. Seriously. There are all sorts of spoilers out there, so the best thing you could do is read the summary on Amazon or Barnes & Noble or go check it out at your local indie bookstore. After that, stop reading. Spoiled endings do not a good book make.

While I go devour this book, you can head over here to enter my final Totally Awesome Beauty Giveaway. Wee!

Have you ever so eagerly anticipated a book release—and which?

Who’s read the Hunger Games series? For those who have, two words: Team Peeta (♥) or Team Gale?

If you’ve been living under a rock, you may not have heard about Caitlin’s Operation Beautiful campaign and book. (And, um, welcome back. May your new digs be much warmer, softer, and more welcoming than your previous abode.)

Here’s the deal: People write meaningful things like “You’re beautiful no matter what” or “Hey, hot stuff” or whatever on Post-it notes. Then they go stick them all over the place for girls to see and smile about. And, no , I’m not talking about an Operation Beautiful note on the inside of a toilet stall (for a good time, call … www.operationbeautiful.com?) but more like a Post-it on the mirror. Sometimes they deface public property with uplifting sayings, which is OK because usually it’s already been defaced, and the words those people scribble on aren’t always so nice.

Anyhow, when Miz talked about the book the other day she mentioned that she likes to leave behind words she’d hope to hear. She asked what random note of kindness we’d like to see. And that got me thinking. One day I hope to randomly see a Post-it that says, “You rock—no matter what.”

Here’s why.

Let’s say you have terrible knees that hate you with every ounce of cartilage in them. Pretend you can’t do much at the gym because said knees will make you pay for it later on. It’s all pain all the time, which isn’t as fun as it sounds. Anyhow, since you were once majorly active you start feeling like crap, what with the severe lack of exercise and all.

You know how exercise can make you feel better about yourself? Yeah, well it works the other way, too, friends. Lack of exercise and movement in general can make you feel like a waste of space whose only purpose in life is to create a solid couch cushion dent.

But then one day you walk into a public bathroom at Panera or somewhere and you see a pink Post-it that says, “You rock—not matter what.” And then you start thinking, maybe you do rock. Maybe you rock more than you’ve been giving your stupid, weak, noncompliant body credit for and—goshdernit—a pair of faulty knees aren’t going to stop you.

That’s why I love the whole Operation Beautiful idea. It’s not even just about weight. Because we all have something we feel like absolute crap about. And once in a while it’s nice to hear from a stranger that you’re not a freak; you’re beautiful just the way you are.

What makes you beautiful no matter what?

Also: I get how strange it must seem to remind you that you can still enter my Totally Awesome Beauty Product Giveaway while talking about Operation Beautiful, but you know what? I think it’s OK to love beauty products while at the same time appreciating yourself for who you are. There, I said it.

Quiz time.

What’s worse than eating peanut butter and jelly for lunch?

Anyone? Anyone?

OK, I’ll tell you. Eating peanut butter and jelly for lunch for the past week straight. I know you’re all on the nut butter bandwagon, and I’m not dising on peanut butter in general. Still, eating it for a week straight is enough to make me hate the stuff from now until eternity. You’d think swapping jelly for honey would make a difference. But it doesn’t. The downside to going three weeks without grocery shopping. Is there an upside to that? I don’t think so.

So I just read a study that said having solid relationships is associated with living longer. The study says that people with strong relationships live an average of 3.7 years longer than those with weaker relationships. I know this study is talking about relationships with people you’ve, you know, actually met. And that’s why I’m thankful for my friends—the ones I could pick out of a lineup.

I guess I owe all of you a big fat Thank You, too. Because I think blog relationships totally count. One of the researchers even said: “[Friends and family] help support good health habits: They remind us to put that seat belt on and ask us about that pain we’ve had, have we had that checked out? That may be the biggest factor.”

Sound like anyone in particular? Like, maybe the entire health blog community? Yes, yes it does.

So, friends, every time you leave a comment here I gain another hour of life. It’s like It’s a Wonderful Life: Every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings. Or something like that.

It’s really sweet of you because, as you know, my cranky knees make me about 85 years old and at this rate I’m going to be a centenarian before I hit my real age of 45.

I’m going to get a bit mushy here. Consider that a warning if you have a heart of stone and need to skip this part.

I didn’t consider the community when I started blogging. I considered the fact that there were probably other people out there with knee pain who might want to know my story. (Because everyone obsesses about their injury like I do and wants to know every single detail of everyone else’s injury too. Right?)

Well, imagine how shocked and awed I was to find out that there were real live people on the other end of this Internet thing, and these real live people happened to be really cool and fun and supportive and a lot of other gushy words. In short, you’re great.

Hey, Tin Man, come on back. I’m over the whole mushy part.

I’ll end with something a little more manly to balance things out. Grunt, grunt. You guys are, um, you know, kinda cool.

Oh, by the way, if you haven’t heard, I’m spreading the love. I’m giving away 16 beauty items on Monday. Friday is your last day to enter, so head to this post to join in the fun.

What do you get out of the blogging community?

Hey guys.

Remember when I told you my weekend plans? We went a little crazy.

See, The Man bought me a king-sized mattress for our four-year anniversary and I was infinitely happy. (Even more so because he gave it to me the day I got home from my week-long work trip to Orlando, after which I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for 20 hours.)

So after that we decided to keep our old mattress since it was in great condition. Besides, we figured our family and friends who come to visit us would appreciate the upgrade from the couch. (You’re all welcome.)

Anyhow, this weekend we decided to turn our office into an office slash bedroom. But once we started moving things we thought: Hey, while we’re at it, why not clean our entire storage closet and get rid of some of our clutter? Isn’t that what all married couples do on perfectly nice July Saturdays?

Right now, there are two things you should know about me:

1. I’m a neat freak.
2. Clutter makes me anxious.

So there we were, staring into a closet full of some stuff we didn’t use and some other stuff we couldn’t identify. What to do? Why, take the contents of the closet out and go through the boxes one by one, of course. (Don’t feel bad for me. I love this kind of deep cleaning and major purge. Feel bad for The Man.)

The former office looked like our closet puked junk all over. You’d think we just moved in.

Oh, and our living room didn’t escape the mess, either. Let’s just say that closet was pretty packed.

Oh look, my crutches. Ah, fond memories of my worst knee days. (Purging those memories, too.)

Then we organized. This is The Man organizing all of the nuts, bolds, screws, and other manly type things we owned into clear plastic containers.

Nicely organized beauty products. Yippee.

Oh, and sheets wrapped up by set. (Don’t get on my for the pretty ribbons. The Man already told me I’m a bit of an OCD nut for that. Whatever, it makes me happy.)

But not as happy as this.

And this.

And this.

(Yes, I know my house is white, white, white. But when you move every year (Every. Single. Year. As in, six times since 2004) it’s the only way to go. That’s also the reason I have zero artwork on the walls except for the five I tacked up yesterday. Not so fun to take down yearly. Just sayin’.)

Friends, we trashed or set aside for donation about half the stuff in our closet. Seriously, cleaning is like a cold swim after a run on a 90-degree day.

And. AND! My knees didn’t act up once. Go me. Honestly, that was a shocker considering how much I was moving around. And I’m so proud of them.

What are your thoughts on cleaning: Love it or hate it?

Sometimes I’ll poke fun of a study because the researchers spent mullah to discover something incredibly obvious. (It’s genius, of course. Which is why I’m soliciting funding to determine whether water is healthier than Tang.)

Today, though, I’ll tell you about a study that shocked me. Nah, it didn’t find that steak cures headaches—though that’d be nice because I’m craving a steak right now and have a massive headache. (What else is new? My brain hates me and I’m considering that brainectomy idea.)

Anyhow, I read about a study today that found men are more affected by the ups and downs in a relationship than women are. Yeah, men.

Maybe you’re not shocked, but I stunned that guys benefit from the happy times—and feel the pain of the bad times—more than women.

Apparently after a big fight, while you’re stuffing your face into a pint of Chubby Hubby, your spouse is doing the same. Only probably not literally since guys don’t have that drown-your-feelings-in-sugar gene. But he’s mentally gorging his inner chick.

The researchers guess that women can better handle the relationship pits because they have strong relationships with friends and family. But guys don’t get all emotional with their pals, so if your relationship with them sours, so does their life. (Maybe that’s too dramatic, but I think it’s true.)

Anyhow, when life sucks, women call their girlfriends and vent for four hours straight. Guys grunt, tell their buddy chicks suck, then talk sports. So I can see why the whole relationship thing is so important for men. Even if they’d never, ever admit it. Ever.

Or, you know, guys are more sensitive than I give them credit for.

Does that surprise you? Could you ever in five gazillion years imagine that your husband or boyfriend would be feeling the hurt in your relationship more than you?

I also told you I’d describe our ride home. Instead of shooting north to D.C., The Man and I took the scenic route. We drove 75 miles of Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park, which took about four hours with the amount we stopped to take in the views and spot deer. (The Man tried to snap a picture of one, but deer are faster than The Man.)

So, we spent one more night in Charlottesville.

Even though the sky was overcast and hazy, we could see for miles from overlooks in the park.

We took in the trees.

And flowers.

And panoramic views that got more spectacular as the elevation increased.

We took the obligatory tourist photos…

Each of us alone against the backdrop. With squinty eyes looking into the sun.

And The Man went for a quick climb. Where’s Waldo The Man?

Then nothing but country for miles and miles. Suddenly Alexandria seems much busier than it was four days ago.

This place gives me a sense of calm. Where do you feel calm and at peace?

You think you can do whatever to your brain and it’ll just take it. You’d be wrong. I found out the hard way.

I’m no stranger to headaches. I get my constant brain tremors from my mother (thanks, mom) who is also dear, close friends with Excedrin. And yes I called them brain tremors. It’s the most honest description I’ve got, mkay?

But on Wednesday I was assaulted somewhere between my hypothalamus and medulla oblongata. (And, yes, I did just want to write medulla oblongata. It’s got to the best body part.) My brain was revolting. Bigtime.

To be honest, I kind of deserved it. I have been staring at a lit-up screen for 11 hours a day—long enough for my ears to forget the machine even made a hum. It was like air: unnoticeable until it was gone.

So my brain put it’s metaphorical foot down. Though it didn’t feel metaphorical. It felt like it stomped its foot right into my grey matter. I could barely open my eyes, but if I did—to, you know, avoid walking into walls—I was pierced with a million little knives. Straight through the eyes.

I’m not sure if it was a normal migraine (mine are usually more like mini strokes) or just a massive, awful, killer headache, but it was bad. And it hung on Thursday, too.

Then I did something so unlike me. I took a sick day. I never take a sick day. I’ll pretty much go to work no matter how deathly I feel because of the massive guilt I get from taking a sick day. (I did, however, take off back in 2008 when I puked in a box in The Man’s car on the way to work. Sorry for that image.)

You know what? It’s just what I needed: A day away from the computer and the eye strain that comes with it. A day to sleep in and let my eyes rest. A day to force my head to stop pounding and pounding and pounding.

Which leads me to a Yoda-like tip as you head out on your weekend:

Overloaded, most of our brains are.

May you enjoy a weekend of brain rest and relaxation. Do something outside. Read a book. Visit with friends. We spend so much of our lives perched in front of the computer, why not take a break?

I’m doing just that. The Man and I have a fun weekend planned. Expect a recap next week. Until then, over and out.

What are your weekend plans?

Confession: I’ve been swamped with work this weekend.

Reality: This post is much lamer than it should be.

Hope: You’ll forgive and forget.

Because I’m still in a mad dash to complete work that needs to get done right now, I’m leaving you with some interesting reads.

The New York Times ran an interview with Dr. Vijay Vad, who just wrote a book about easing chronic pain without meds. As you can imagine, this captured my attention because a) I’m blessed with chronic pain, and b) meds have failed me. It also piggybacks on our discussion of alternative meds last week.

This Fit Sugar roundup of celebrity trainer tweets is worth reading for all the wrong reasons. You probably won’t walk away with any valuable knowledge, but you’ll see why celeb trainers are worth following on Twitter. And the reason is: So you don’t miss jems like this: “Take a long deep breath. Let it go. Take another. Repeat all day.” So that’s why I’ve been passing out…

I like the idea of helping charities, but as you all know, 5Ks aren’t my thing. Neither are 1Ks in case you’re interested. I blame the knees. Anyhow, I had to laugh at this article on sleeping for charity. Do you know how much money I could raise if I were paid by the hour of sleep? A lot.

Whatdya think … wanna donate to the Tracey Sleeps for (fill in charity)? If you’re on Twitter, do you follow any celeb trainers that give good tips?

So glad you all enjoyed this month’s Q&A. I always think learning about the person behind the blog is fun. And I can’t always work details into each post—though I’m sure I could have figured out a way to tell you about my former CIA dreams at some point. (By the way, good thing I chose writing. I don’t think I’d be much of an agent without the ability to run. Or walk.)

Today I was thinking about alternative therapies. Don’t ask me why. I’m not sure how my brain works half the time.

Anyhow, I was never a big believer in alternative medicine. Up until a few years ago, I swore by pills and tried-and-true treatments to cure me. I looked to Western medicine first for my knees, too. I tried icing and anti-inflammatories. I tried physical therapy, which I still do. And ultrasound. And cold laser therapy.

That’s when I schedule an appointment for acupuncture. Here’s where you’d expect me to say it cured me. (Let me just imagine that for a minute, mkay? A little longer…) OK, I’m back from that fantasy. I’ll get this out of the way fast: It didn’t work.

But that’s not my point. The point is that it took daily excruciating pain to get me to open my mind and get an alternative treatment. Since then, I’ve gone on to try prolotherapy and platelet-rich plasma injections. They’re on the fringes of current medical therapy, but they’re helping me.

I went through this entire process with my allergies, too. I tried every medication available, but couldn’t get past my constant nasal congestion. And then the magic of Twitter clued me in to oregano oil. Taking the supplement helps me breathe. Ahhhh…

And here’s where you’d expect me to say it cured me. But that would mean that the thick cloud of cigarette smoke coming from my neighbor’s place stopped flooding mine. (Let me just imagine that for a minute. A little longer…) OK, fantasy over. Sadly.

I think I’m past the point where I believe Western medicine is the only cure for my ills. I think there are safe alternative treatments just as there are safe modern treatments. There are also risky alternative and modern treatments.

What do you think? Do you believe in alternative therapy? Why or why not? Have you gotten any alternative treatments? Did they work?

There was a giant cul-de-sac bordered by a weedy field that rose to a hill at the far reaches of our neighborhood. You could get there by turning onto Yankee Hill Road about a mile down the hill, at the white house where all the kids went to get candy and 50-cent coins from the old woman who lived inside. On your way, you’d pass a brown Colonial with an above-ground pool and a top-secret fort in the backyard. That’s where you’d find Kim. My best friend.

When we were younger, we’d hop on our bikes and circle the cul-de-sac until we got dizzy or bored, then we’d race down the hill, sometimes with no hands. Or we’d sit squarely in the middle of the circle—because no cars drove down that far—and talk about the things second graders talk about. I could tell what Kim was thinking without words, not because I was special but because we were friends. And that’s what friends do, right?

Maybe not.

There was an article in the New York Times that got me thinking about childhood friendships. It mentioned a recent study that found half of all American teens send 50 or more text messages a day. (Among other tech stats, like the fact that most kids don’t know what a land line is. Kidding. I think.) The writer and the experts she interviewed wondered whether technology is changing what friendship means. Instead of talking face-to-face, teens are texting or leaving messages on each other’s Facebook walls.

And now for the priceless quote:

“I’ve definitely done phone calls at one time or another but it is considered, maybe, old school.”

(In other news, I’m old.)

The article made me think about my friendships growing up, from elementary school through college. What would it have been like if my friends and I had communicated virtually instead of in the same room?

Sucky day.

Y?

Hate boys.

OMG. Totally.

M didnt notice me.

He’s a Lsr.

Im ovr him.

U shld b

Crying

Got 2 go. Cya.

I’m not convinced I’d be better off. I think I’ll keep my two-hour chat fests.

On the other hand, I hate talking on the phone. I always have, and I’m pretty sure that’s not changing any time soon. In which case I get the virtual life thing. I much prefer to watch TV, eat, and catch up on blogs all while talking to someone online than do all of that while talking one on the phone. (I’m not that good at multitasking.) Still, I can’t imagine those interactions as my main source of contact for all of my close friends.

There’s so much you learn about a person face-to-face, like what they look like when they laugh so hard they cry (hint: it doesn’t look like LOL). Or what a friend looks like when they’re hiding something. Or when they are hurting. Those are things you can fake in writing—especially with emoticons, because who ever doubts ? You can’t fake ’em in real life.

Here’s my last point before this post becomes a novel: There are a lot of ways that technology has the opposite effect. Like here. I would have never met any of you. I love you all very much, and I think it’s so great we have a virtual friendship going on here. Still, I think we’d be even better friends in person. For one, I always show up bearing chocolate.

What are your thoughts on what the New York Times dubs antisocial networking?