Sage – Author at Plaster & Disaster

March 20, 2015 | By Sage |

How (not) to install a toilet

First of all, there are a million tutorials out there on the web about how to replace/install toilets. I drew on about 500,000 of them in preparing for this project. But I figured I would write my own, in case showing you that even a plumbing newbie like me can do this gives you confidence to tackle a project like this yourself.

The impetus for this was that one of the bolts attaching our toilet to the floor broke. Apparently the ones we had were made of plastic, and it seemed to have become corroded.

How (not) to install a new toilet -- Plaster & Disaster

It wasn’t an immediate emergency — the toilet still seemed to be sitting snugly in place — but we wanted to deal with it before it actually became an issue since generally it’s important to have two fully functional bolts attaching a toilet to the floor. To avoid leaks and other catastrophes that could cause structural damage. So I’ve heard.

Anyway, the only way to detach a bolt and install a new one is to remove the toilet, because the bolts attach from below. Thusly began our toilet replacement adventure.

First, turn off the water to the toilet by turning this little knob at the bottom of the water hose connecting the toilet to the water supply:

Then flush the toilet a bunch of times to get rid of as much water as possible. Everything you can’t get by flushing, soak up with a sponge. Don’t worry, it only gets more unpleasant and unhygienic from here.

Then detach the water connection from the back of the toilet, which just involves unscrewing the collar by hand.

Next unscrew the nuts on the bolts holding your toilet to the floor (only half the work if one of them is already broken off). With someone stronger than yourself, lift the toilet up, straight off the bolts, and place it on its side on a towel (soft surface is important so you don’t scratch or break the bowl).

You will discover some terribleness:

This is not cause for concern…it’s just how it looks underneath a toilet. Basically what you’re seeing is the remains of the wax ring that creates a water tight seal, and then underneath that is the flange which is what the toilet bolts into. Also rust. But nothing more than that, it’s not sewage even though it looks like it could be. Oh and the red thing is just a cloth you put loosely into the flange opening to prevent gross odors from coming up into the bathroom (it’s okay if your cloth is a different color).

Then scrape off all the wax (a new wax seal is needed every time you install/reinstall a toilet). Bonus points if you do all this immediately after running 8 miles without changing out of your running clothes. Even so, you won’t be the grossest thing going on in there.

Remove the two bolts from the flange, and then put in the new ones that come with the new wax ring kit you’ve bought at Home Depot (pay $6) — unless the box only says there are bolts inside the kit but they aren’t actually present inside, in which case you will need to halt the project and drive to Home Depot to complain and request an exchange.

When the bolts are finally installed they should be sticking up like so, ready for the toilet to be set back on:

Then install the new wax ring. Here’s what it looks like:

The wax ring attaches to the bottom of the toilet, so you need to prepare the surface by scraping/wiping off the leftover wax from the previous ring.

Then lightly press the new ring around the opening — you want to be sure it’s pressed hard enough to stick to the toilet when you flip it right side up, but that you don’t squish it prematurely. You will probably find this to be nearly impossible.

Then lift the toilet to an upright position and lower it into place so that the bolts come through the holes in the bottom of the toilet. This needs to be done very carefully because you only get one shot at making contact between the floor and the wax ring — if you have to reposition it, you need to start over with a new wax ring because partially compressing it and then removing it will prevent it from creating a tight seal.

At this point, you want to be sure to slam the toilet down hard enough to crack the bowl. If you’re really good, you won’t notice the bowl is cracked until you finish screwing the toilet back in, reconnect the water, and fill the tank back up. At that point, you will try flushing and see water leaking from the side and realize you didn’t succeed in creating a water tight seal with the wax ring. Then you will notice the slight crack across the front of the bowl, taunting you with the threat of future calamity.

Now you will probably be cursing and wondering why you ever bought a house, and why you ever thought you could install a toilet yourself rather than just calling a plumber. Your husband will look at you like, “why did I marry a crazy DIYer who insists on doing things herself when professionals exist to do this?!?”

At this point, you will have to go buy a new toilet from Lowe’s (obviously you should avoid Home Depot, since they burned you earlier on the wax ring kit). If you buy one with a fancy new feature like dual flush, you can convince yourself that this is a better outcome anyway and you’re glad this happened. (Pay $123)

While you’re at Lowe’s, you should pick up a wax-less sealing product that lets you reposition things if needed, because that wax ring is disgusting and this “you must get it right on the first try or start over” thing obviously does not work for mere mortals. (Pay $12)

Return home with your new toilet and wax-less ring, ideally stopping at Wendy’s along the way to stave off a low blood sugar meltdown. (Pay $13) Repeat all the steps from the first half of the tutorial to once again drain and remove your old, now-broken toilet. Put your broken toilet in your front yard to await trash day and make the neighborhood nervous about their new neighbors in the meantime.

(Note: on trash day you will likely come home to a threatening note from the town saying that toilets must be disposed of privately, you will be fined if you don’t remove it immediately, and you would have known this if you’d read the “toilet installation” permit. A permit to install a toilet?!? I don’t think so. Call the junk removers, pay $100.)

This time, rather than applying a new, gross wax ring to the toilet, install your wax-less sealing product directly on the flange:

Then follow the installation directions that come with your fancy new toilet. Most likely it will involve lowering the tank directly onto the flange again, this time refraining from dropping and breaking it. If you’re smart, you will have purchased a new toilet where the tank detaches from the bowl, making it about 500 times less heavy and unwieldy.

Once it’s in place, screw the nuts on the top of the bolts to secure the toilet to the floor. You want to get them tight, but not too tight because you can easily crack the toilet. Have someone sit on the toilet to test it for rocking, and curse at how long it takes you to tighten them enough so that it doesn’t rock.

Once you finish assembling the toilet, reconnect the water hose to the back of the toilet, and turn the water back on. Cross all your fingers and toes that water doesn’t come leaking out the side.

You might think you’re done here, but you’re not. What you’re going to want to do next is invite some friends over to show them your new house the following weekend, and while you’re giving them a tour of the basement you’ll notice water leaking down from where the bathroom is. At this point, you will feel like a failure as a homeowner, and dejectedly call a plumber. He will be ridiculously difficult to pin down to a specific schedule, will insist on coming during business hours when you’re supposed to be at your job, and will charge you a hefty fee. (Pay $100) He will explain that the waxless rings aren’t trustworthy, and good old-fashioned gross wax rings are the way to go. You will curse the additional cost, but at long last your toilet will be fixed!

Until you are hosting 22 people in your home for Thanksgiving a month later, when once again you will notice water leaking into your basement. First try the same plumber that you had last time since he clearly didn’t do the job right and he should fix it for free. When he doesn’t return your phone call for a week, give up and start desperately calling other plumbers. Since you can’t take off any more time from work, splurge for someone to come on the weekend. (Pay $150) This will likely require sitting around the house all day since plumbers refuse to specify exact times and instead just want to “call you when [they’re] in your area.”

When the second plumber removes the toilet, he will find that the wax ring the first plumber installed was not squished down properly to create a seal. Console yourself that at least you’re not the only one who failed to install a toilet correctly — a professional who took your money couldn’t do it either, apparently!

The new plumber will use a “double high” wax ring for maximum sealing, and finally you will be done. Maybe. Four months later it’s started to rock a little again…let’s just burn the whole house down?

So that’s my toilet installation “tutorial,” I hope you found it helpful!(Sharing at DIY Showoff, Think and Make Thursdays, Tip Junkie, and Sunday Showcase)

March 16, 2015 | By Sage |

Long Distance Running: A Love Story

I know you’re probably wondering about the women behind the blog — what do we do when we’re not at our full-time jobs or doing home improvement projects and blogging about them? In my case, the answer is: watch a lot of really bad TV and eat a lot of food (all cooked by my husband, Sam). But to make me feel better about all the TV watching and food-eating, I also spend a good chunk of time on my other favorite hobby: long distance running.

I don’t run because it’s fun — it’s really not a lot of the time (especially in the winter when it involves a lot of time of the dreaded treadmill, or “dreadmill” as my friend likes to call it). I run because much like DIY, it’s satisfying and empowering. Also like DIY, it’s something that’s relatively new to my life — I’ve only been running for about 3 years. It’s a huge reminder to me of how we’re never fully baked as people, we’re always growing and evolving in ways that our younger selves might never have imagined.

Since running has become a big part of who I am and this is not just a DIY blog but a place where we share about ourselves as real people, I thought I’d put into words some thoughts about how I started running and why I’ve kept doing it. Maybe it will convince you that there’s runner inside you too. Maybe it will encourage you to try something else that scares you or you don’t think you’re capable of. Maybe you’ll just enjoy looking at pictures of me super sweaty and unphotogenic.

First, let me stress how much I have never been an athlete. I went to the gym a grand total of 3 times during college, and was the furthest possible thing from a jock while growing up. I actually did run track in high school — I joined the team because I’d played softball before that and I was so terrible that they were talking about putting me on the freshman softball team as a sophomore. Track had so much less pressure, because I couldn’t let the team down by missing a fly ball or striking out. I was very slow, and never ran more than 2 miles (the furthest distance in high school track is 3km = 1.86 miles).

"Practicing" track -- Plaster & Disaster

Hanging out on the high jump mat in high school — this is a large part of what we did during track practice when our coach wasn’t paying attention.

Between 2004 (when I graduated from high school) and 2010, I ran exactly one time. It was in 2008 or 2009 after Sam suggested I try running again. I set out to run a 5k (3.1 miles), and stopped after less than a mile in a heap of wheezing and self-flagellation. No, this running thing was not for me.

Somehow by the next spring, though, he’d convinced me to try a 5K with his family members (none of whom are really runners either). And then that October somehow I’d agreed to run a 10K leg of a relay alongside him as he completed his first marathon (and I got my dad, also not a runner, to join as well).

Getting hooked on running -- Plaster & Disaster — My dad running his first 10K as part of the marathon relay; My dad and me cheering on Sam; me and Sam running the final 10K of his marathon

And then that January, I found myself signing up for my first half marathon the following summer just to try it one time and be able to say I’d done it (also, I may have had a few glasses of wine, making me extra susceptible to Sam’s encouragement). I’m rigidly committed to my calendar, and so once I’d signed up for the race, I found a training program (Hal Higdon is — and forever will be — my god when it comes to race training) and put each run on my calendar.

And then in my mind, I had no choice but to do each and every run, even though each week I found myself going further than I’d ever run before, waking up early before work to run on days I had conflicts in the evening, slogging through an 11- and then 12-mile run on a treadmill because it was too hot to run outside (yes, Boston gets both too hot and too cold to run outside — it’s the best!), and doing all sorts of things that seemed out of character for non-athlete, non-runner me.

I promised you sweaty pictures! My first half marathon, the Mad River Half in Vermont (my home state).

The race was incredible (not *I* was incredible…I was pretty mediocre, and nearly lost to a 10 year-old in the final two miles). The awesome thing about long distance running is that finishing, no matter what speed, feels like a wonderful accomplishment — the culmination of so many hours and miles spent training, the reward for every time I didn’t want to lace up my shoes and go for a run but did anyway.

My biggest piece of advice if you’re interested in trying running is to figure out what motivates you. It’s different for everyone. For me, it’s two things: scheduling out all my runs on my calendar, and the shadow of a race. I have to have a race planned and a concrete training schedule to get me there, or else I just can’t get myself to run regularly. In the 2.5 years since my first half marathon, I’ve done three more half marathons, two Tough Mudders (a 12-mile obstacle course type thing), a Ragnar (a 200-mile overnight team relay), and a full marathon. Right now I’m training for my second full marathon, which will be in May, and in June I’ll do my second Ragnar. The race is both the stick and the carrot — the threat of a terrible, painful experience if I don’t train now, and the promise of something wonderful if I do: the runner’s high.

I’m going to be honest, I thought the concept of the “runner’s high” was something I would never be capable of experiencing. I think many non-runners probably feel this way — that the people who claim to be “runners” are a different, magical, athletic species apart from us regular folks. But what I’ve learned — through my own experience, and through seeing the diversity of people at the races I’ve done — is that this just isn’t true. I mean there are those people who are naturally gifted and do annoying things like run 7-minute miles without trying, but most runners seem to be normal people who decided to challenge themselves in this particular way. I know that’s true for me, Sam, and my dad. When Sam convinced me to give this running thing a try, I never thought it would stick. And when I convinced my dad to do that first relay with me he thought I was crazy. And yet a year later we were standing at the finish line of a half marathon together — something none of us would have expected.

Running a half marathon with my dad -- Plaster & Disaster

Sam, me, and my dad after finishing the BAA Half Marathon

What *is* the runner’s high? For me it’s two very different kinds of experiences. The first is when I zone out and lose time — I’m able to forget that I’m running and when I look back down at my watch (which has GPS to track distance) I’ve somehow gained a mile since I last looked. Those times are lovely, obviously. I never listen to music when I run outside, I just like to get lost in my own thoughts and the scenery around me.

That kind of runner’s high almost never happens to me in a race. Usually in a race, it’s something different — I feel every second, every ragged breath, there’s no sense of comfort because I’m fighting for every step and every breath and if I’m not then I’m not running fast enough. But it’s the thrill and confidence of knowing that even though I’m pushing myself this hard, I can keep doing it for many more miles…that I can be out of breath and in 10 more miles still be out of breath and still be running. It’s a body high from the endorphins but also an emotional high that comes from an excessive amount of self-confidence — the empowerment that my body and my mind can do this. That even though I’m the girl who was terrible at softball and slow and uncoordinated, I’m also the woman who can run 26 miles and still be standing and smiling at the end. Like the challenge of training, the reward of a good run is just as psychological as physical.

The joys of running -- Plaster & Disaster

And some more sweaty and unphotogenic pictures. But I’m having a great time, so who cares.

I’m not fast. I’ll never be fast. And running has never stopped being hard for me. It’s always hard. Some days it’s just a little bit less hard and I get in the flow. Good runs can come out of nowhere, and so can bad runs. Most of the time I’m just running because the good runs aren’t possible without the bad runs. Unless I maintain a certain level of fitness, I’m never going to have the good days when it all comes together and I just go — when the weather is just right and I can feel the sheen of sweat melting away the stress of the day. So I keep lacing up my sneakers and hitting the road with the naive optimism that no matter what happened on my last run, today is going to be one of the good ones.

Oh, and if you want to know the training programs I swear by for running a half marathon and marathon (I build training for all other races off of these), here you go!