Tag Archives: healthy potstickers

Oh hai, allergies! I really missed you when it was raining! Ok, maybe not.

Moving on….do you remember the President’s Physical Fitness test of the 1990′s? Do they still do that? You’d do a whole bunch of track and field-esque exercises, and EVERYONE got a certificate with the President’s seal, and the careers  winners would get badges/medals? (and the right to LIVE…ok, again, maybe not)

My favorite/most pathetic memory of the PPFT was my fifth grade year, the year I went home with a medal. My cup overfloweth with pride that day. I was possibly the LEAST physically fit fifth grader that there was. I hated any exercise that wasn’t in water, the only thing I ran was my mouth, and I avoided sweat like cable news networks avoid objectivity. Needless to say, I still have that medal.

It was an EPIC day. It was close to the last day of school, and we were all itchy to get out of class to soak up Ohio’s sun scented June air. Everyone wore their most comfortable running and leaping gear. Everyone except me, that is. I wasn’t really planning on “running” or “trying”, so I was wearing a sweet pair of near knee length, tight, cut-off jorts, jelly sandals (they came back in popularity briefly, on and off, between my 5th and 8th grades.) and a pretty awesome puffy silk shirt that I stole from my sister’s closet. (To be fair, she hated it.) This is not typical “track and field” attire. Or more likely, not typical anything attire. I fancied myself a “Clarissa Explains It All” type gal. Clashing was cool, and I desperately hoped it would lead to a strange, cute boy to hop in through my window without my mother castrating him. In my head, it was AWESOME….

Either way, we all HAD to sign up for an event. I weighed my options. There was a relay, hurdles, long distance, 100 meter run, and 50 meter run. I deduced that if I did the 100m run, I’d end up decently far from the gym teacher’s gaze, and ever closer to the boy I so desperately wanted to be the cute boy who’d hop through my window, and tease my brother, Ferguson. When it got to the time where we had to raise our hands for which challenge we wanted to complete, the 100m came up and I raised my hand…only one other person raised their hand; the boy I was all butterflies and batshit over.

Two people. Two people were running the 100m dash, and I was one of them. I wanted to fake an injury, claim insanity, fall down on the ground and foam at the mouth, ANYTHING but run a race with the boy o’ my dreams. I had no choice. I had to run. I think the fact that I ran with a boy I so desperately wanted to impress, made me run like I was running toward a Tardis with evil mannequin aliens at my heels. (if you don’t get that reference, I can’t help you.)

I obvie won the silver medal. I did NOT win the boy’s heart. He may run a gay hotel in the Pocono Mountains, but I’ll always have the PPFT to warm my soul, and a silver medal to make me feel more important than I should. It says “this bitch is a winner by default, and she’ll take it.”

A Winner by default is probably less-than-satisfying for most, but it’s all I had at the time, and I relished it. I suppose you *could* say I came in last, but that’s just arguing semantics, and I only like to argue about how best to avoid naked men on the subway. (pretend they don’t exist, or mace them right on their offending “member”. You think an EYEFUL of pepper spray stings. HAHAHAHAHAH)

I am a winner at some things…like making a four year old’s whole day by letting him eat potstickers for breakfast.

Healthy Puerto-Rican Pot Roast Potstickers-healthy potstickers

I made these with the leftover Puerto-Rican pot roast recipe I made the night before. So delicious on its own, but made something “more”, once it becomes a dumpling.