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If You Can’t Run, Adapt

I would LOVE to blame the fact that I didn’t run the whole way on my first 5k on that fact that I dropped a can of baked beans on my toe, but the truth is, I couldn’t run the whole thing because I couldn’t run the whole thing.

I did run a LITTLE of it..somewhere in between a third of the entire course and the first 30 seconds of the race. That’s all I’m willing to admit. I did finish in under an hour, so there’s that. color run two

I went with my favorite skanky uber fit friend who ran the whole race and was still perky when it was over. I hate her NEARLY as much as I love her dumb ass. I got to meet one of her friends and her friend’s son as well. This 10 year old boy runs like a cheetah and gave my fit friend a work out. Word is, one of their runs ended with her puking…I had to hear that from the kid today…my friend never told me that story.

Fortunately, the fast as lightening kid has a mom who is also not a runner, so we finished the race together.

We weren’t in it for FIVE FUCKING MINUTES before some supercilious douche drip ran past us saying “Really? people paid for this and they aren’t even going to run”?

I answered of course. I only got out a loud ‘Absolutely’ before we were eating his dust…but if he had hung around I could have told him this:

ABSOLUTELY, YOU FUCKSTICK MOTHERFUCKER. EAT A BAG OF DICKS.

There. I feel MUCH better.

This was a color bomb run, so through out the course we were dusted with dyed cornstarch and sprayed with colored water. Once we got sprayed with yellow water. I’m nearly POSITIVE it wasn’t urine.

My plan, when I signed up for this little jaunt, was to run the whole thing. I didn’t do that. But I reminded myself that walking a 5k was infinitely better than spending that time sitting on my ass eating biscuits.

I’ll run a little bit more on the next one. And even though my house is currently sans central air, I’ll get back on my treadmill and work on my endurance. In the mean time, here is one of my favorite pictures from the race.

DSC_0066-001

She is so going to kick my ass.

 

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Blue Days, Black Nights

Props to Buddy Holly as I stole from him for this blog post title.

I don’t know if it’s normal old lady hormones or a lifetime of battling depression in one form or another, but I’ve been circling the drain for a while now. Today is the last day of a four day weekend and I woke up this morning to read, again, about George Zimmerman and that poor dead teenager. I read people on Facebook and Twitter saying the most foul things and the dam burst. This wasn’t getting a little teary over something stupid on TV like Gordon Ramsey (Yes, I cried watching Kitchen Nightmares). This was laying across the bed and sobbing like I had been stood up for the prom. (Which actually happened once).

I had an amazing time last week with friends from out of town. We saw David Byrne and St. Vincent and then hung out by the Ohio river until WAY past our bed time.

By Thursday morning, however, the depression that I’ve been trying to outrun settled in and made it’s home in my head.

Today? Today I’ve been feeling like I’m getting crushed to death by feathers.  birdbath

I’d like to say I know exactly why I feel bad, but the truth is, I have no idea. I just do. It’s not the news. You don’t have to look very hard to find bad news and I’ve never had too hard of a time distancing myself from other people’s tragedies.

I’ve spent way to much time laying in bed and watching television and while Ron Swanson IS hilarious, I don’t think a two day Parks And Recreation binge is helping.

I forced myself to go outside and do some yardwork. It’s beautiful and hot out and all I wanted to do was crawl back into my cool dark bedroom cave and maybe switch it up and watch Eureka until I got smarter.

As I was sweating on the deck, Randy suggested that we play in the yard and spray each other with the garden hose.

What. The. Fuck?

I am not a child. I don’t play in the yard with the garden hose. That’s just silly. Then I remembered that old saying ‘When you’re depressed and it’s Sunday and you’re dreading going back to work in the morning, then get soaked with a garden hose’.

So we did.

I ran and I laughed and I got soaked and I stuck the hose down the back of Randy’s pants. I ended up with the hose in my hand while Randy was one the deck in his wet droopy shorts. There was a towel hanging across the back of a chair and Randy laughed at me and said “Looks like I get the only dry towel out here”.

I still had the hose in my hand.

That motherfucking towel was soaked in an instant. HAHAHA.

Did I feel like my old self? Nope. Not by a damn sight. .

But did I feel better? Yeah. I felt a little better. Maybe 18% better.

My ponytail is still damp and I’m sitting at my new makeshift desk in Randy’s office rather in our bedroom, which frankly, I am sick to death of.

I still don’t want to go back to work tomorrow, but I will.

This is going to pass. It always does.

Maybe tomorrow I will talk him into playing hide and seek.

 

 

 

 

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I Got A Crush On You

You guys, I wrote most of this blog post DAYS ago. I only had to fill in a few blanks and there it would be. A masterpiece. My BEST. BLOG. POST. YET.

I can’t find it.

I don’t know what the fuck I did, but it’s not saved anywhere. Yes, I checked that. And I checked that, too. It’s just gone.

This blog post was the one. The one that would catapult me to the ‘Decent amount of readers, but still, mentioning the blog or writer to virtually anyone and they are going to say Who?’ level.  You know, that level that still looks at the Bloggess and says, fucking hell, she is incredible. I hate her so much. Wonder if she has a new blog post? I am SO not buying her book. No way. Other than downloading it on my Kindle. Of course I’m going to do that.

This was the one that would earn me that little bald statue. Yep, I would have gotten an Oscar next year. It was SO good, that the academy would have added a ‘self-indulgent blog’ category because of this post. The post that I lost.

Fuck off, I really want to walk down the red carpet one day. Is that REALLY too fucking much to ask?

Well, now I have to start over and try to recreate that brilliance. No rubbing shoulders with people who harbor deep admiration and burning envy toward the successful bloggers. Also, I suspect the red carpet is right out.

I’ve written about self acceptance a couple of times. I meant those posts very much. But I was no where NEAR self acceptance when I wrote them. I’m still not.

I had an epiphany the other night.

I had short or kind of shoulder length hair my entire life. During my grade school years, my mother cut it herself into a ‘Pixie’. Also known by it’s other name, the Moe from the Three Stooges hair cut. I graduated from the pixie into the Tennille from Captain and Tennille, which led to the Dorothy Hamil which got me all the way to the decade of the curly perm and red hair and outrageously sized shoulder pads.

I started growing it out about 10 years ago. It’s taken a LONG fucking time to grow. I might have cut it too short a couple times in those years, but for the past 5, I have had very length removed. Now, while I still don’t consider my hair all that long, it’s pretty fucking long for me. Last weekend, I caught a glimpse of the side and back of my hair and though, ooooh…fuck yes…that is gorgeous.

What the fuck?

I don’t think shit like that about myself.

I want to, though. I’d really like to feel good about who I am no matter what I look like at any moment.

And this is where I have to recreate shit. I had 5 kick ass ways to completely dig who you are. The first one listed here wasn’t number one on the original list, but it’s the only one I remember..so it’s been bumped up to the number one spot.heart

1. Don’t fucking compare yourself:  Okay, and this is a completely random example, Linda Hamilton in Terminator II. If you think you can live 5 decades, being unhealthy and overweight for two of those decades and you still think if you just work hard enough…you could still look like Linda Hamilton in Terminator II , then you need to let that shit go. Sure an argument can be made for ‘it’s not impossible’ but be realistic here. It’s HIGHLY unlikely. That does NOT mean that you can’t get into amazing shape with kick ass muscles and an ass that isn’t flat and is gravity defying. Of course you can. But do you know how many people actually get to look like Linda Hamilton in Terminator II? One. Linda Hamilton. Again, that was completely random. I have never wished I looked like Linda Hamilton. I wanted to look like Sarah Conner.

And this is where I really DO have to fucking rewrite shit. I thought, fuck it..I’ll just find it..plug them in and we have us a blog post. But I really DON’T have it anymore. So, here we go..made up shit on a slightly boozy first night of a four day weekend.

2. Find SOMETHING to celebrate: There is ALWAYS something to celebrate. There is something to be grateful for. I’m willing to bet that every person who reads this blog post has a roof over their head and clean drinking water. It’s all fucking uphill from there.

3. Give yourself the top shelf prizes: Even when I reach a goal or grow a muscle that I can’t stop feeling up, I still don’t give myself the top shelf prizes. I get the prizes that are on the bottom shelf between comically large pencil and the over-sized bouncy balls. Next time I am getting a big Sponge Bob that is bigger than 3 of my 4 grandkids. I’m honestly not sure what the prize is yet. Maybe it’s just to be proud of myself.

4. Don’t wait: until you are stronger or smaller or faster before you change the way you move. That shit does not matter. So what if you come in last. Who cares if you can’t get through MOST of the obstacles on the mud run. DO IT ANYWAY. Get all muddy. Come in last. It doesn’t matter. You’re still doing better than sitting home and rewatching Lost or the X-Files.

5. Don’t give up on your appearance: This has NOTHING to do with looking good for men. Besides, we all know that’s bullshit. We look good for other woman which is just as fucked up. You know it’s true. You’ll look like the crypt keeper with hairy legs in front of your husband or boyfriend, but no way those bitches at the grocery store are going to see that shit. Decide to look good for you. Feel good about yourself. Look in the mirror and appreciate that face. It’s all yours, you might as well love it.

There you have it. Motivation to accept who you are.

As I said, I’m really not there yet. But I am getting better all the time. I might have developed the teeniest crush on myself.

Also, in the interest of honesty, there were actually SEVEN items on the original list.

 

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Vacations, Bird Shit and Lessons Learned

My mother emits a frequency that birds find attractive.

They seek her out and they poop on her. I swear. My father is a big Disney fan. No matter how poor we were, and we were MOSTLY poor, he found a way to get us to Florida as often as possible.  mud

Every. Single. Time we went, my mother got pooped on.

We went back two years ago for their 50th wedding anniversary and YES, she got pooped on.

That was my baby boy’s first trip to see the mouse and he REALLY wanted to go back.

So we did. Last month, Randy and Joey and I went to Disney. It was Randy’s first time there and to his credit, he didn’t bitch too much and even enjoyed himself more than he thought he would.

We were there for less than 2 hours before a bird shit on his head.

My mother says she feels much closer to him now.

Randy and I have been breaking out of the Winter doldrums and getting our asses in gear.

I thought walking up and down a mountain in Tennesse kicked my ass. That was NOTHING compared to the happiest place on earth.

It felt like my feet had been beat with hammers and by the end of the day each day I was lurching in such a fashion that I’m SURE other vacationers suspected the zombie apocalypse had begun.

I still have such a long way to go before I get in shape.

But that’s okay. I’ll just keep putting myself into situations and getting my ass kicked.

Next month I’m running in a 5k color run. My first 5k. Not only is it my first, but I’m on a team with people all of whom are young enough to be my children.

I won’t come in last, but I will come in tired.

Then in August, I’m doing some sort of mud thing with my uber fit friend at work.

There’s a good chance I’ll come in last for that one.

I don’t care. Sooner or later, I will be the ass kicker. Until then, I will happily get my ass kicked.

Plus, I’ll have some awesomely embarrassing pictures to post.

 

 

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Wasted Vacation Day

I am nurisng the dark prince of hangovers right now.

It’s after 7:00 on a Tuesday night, the last day of my 4 day weekend, and I spent it in bed watching TV while trying to keep my head from falling off my shoulders.

I ventured out once for a fast food hangover cure and all I did was get angry.

The fast food with the little redheaded kid in the logo offered to sell me a ‘frosty’ tag for a dollar. Would I like to buy one of these tags and show support for our troops?
Really? FUCK YOU. angry

Fuck you for trying to manipulate me.

Do you think, even for a minute, that this corporation doesn’t already know how much money they will spend in charitable contributions? Perhaps this frosty tag thing will help their bottom line. Pretty sure they know it will, because they aren’t fucking selling it for the troops. They’re just referencing the troops to guilt you into spending your money.

It’s scummy.

Then, in my hungover haze, I started thinking about the other type of manipulation we see every day on Facebook.

Post this or it means you hope all babies get brain cancer!

I KNOW which of my friends will have the COURAGE to repost this. The rest of them are probably too busy boiling puppies.

Only 3% of people will repost this. Don’t you want the world to see that you aren’t like everyone else? Because posting a fucking picture with a pithy saying on it will certainly show those 283 friends you have on Facebook what a fearless person you are to post someone else’s words and pictures.

Okay okay okay..I repost a LOT of things I find humorous on Facebook. I do. But it’s because I want to…not because some dumbass picture of a kitten looking at goldfish is telling me that if I DON’T then it means I hate my mother and hope my kids go blind.

Sure, 100% of our 4 children require corrective eyewear, but it’s NOT because I wished it on them or neglected to repost an important bullshit message insisting that our way of life will END FOREVER if I don’t support prayer in school.

Let’s do this, let’s all agree to think for ourselves. If you REALLY feel you must repost things, do it because you truly believe the sentiment and NOT because you letting yourself getting manipulated.

I don’t care if I can get a free Frosty all Summer long for a dollar. I’m not going to be guilted into anything.

They aren’t good for you anyway.

It’s also possible that I’m cranky because I’m hungover and I spent vacation day laying in bed and watching Eureka.

 

 

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How Low Will You Go?

Clean eating people are like Science fiction to me. That is not a criticism of clean eating. I have no doubt that I would benefit from adopting a clean eating life style.

I’m still pretty far from that as just last night I actually at a package of those little sausage biscuits that come in twos. The buns were kind of slimy. ..I made them healthier by adding blackberry jelly.

My mother would never eat those. Middle sister and baby sister wouldn’t eat them. My older son would and so would my baby boy. My girls would eat them. I bet Randy or Joey would eat them RIGHT now if they could. But they can’t. Cause I just ate the last ones.

Fuck you, I’m not perfect.

I know not ALL of us have dirty little secrets when it comes to eating. But I also know that SOME of you do. Come on. You KNOW you do.

For instance, in addition to eating a packet of those little sausage biscuits, I would also eat the shit out of day-glo mac and cheese with tuna mixed in. It’s been years since I’ve eaten that.bread

I am totally making that this weekend.

I would turn my nose up at a bologna sandwich. I wouldn’t even eat those when I was a kid. I’d eat a cold hotdog right out of the fridge, but wouldn’t eat bologna. Unless is was fried first. Then on white bread with mustard is acceptable. On the other hand, I wouldn’t turn down that jello with carrots and celery in it.

Fess up..what food do you eat that you’d just as soon not pack in a lunch that the public could see. Like Mayonnaise and sugar bread. Only that isn’t right, is it? Sugar bread is made with butter and mayo bread is just mayo and bread.

Not that my mother fed me those for lunch for years.

 

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Momma Loves A Tattoo

HAHAHAHA…

My mother HATES my fucking tattoos.

I got my first one 16 years ago and my mother called me a circus freak.

I only have three now.tattoo

I’ve been kicking around this loose idea for around 5 years that it’s time to add another tattoo. I saw a picture a few months ago and the idea went from loose to something I am going to do. Probably this year. Likely this Fall.

I saw a picture of a peace sign that I fell in love with. It was girly and lacy and had pearls draped around it. I decided that is is. That is my next tattoo. Probably. If I have that one drawn, I will put it between my shoulder blades. Or I will get a much smaller rendition of that picture on the back of my neck. I don’t have to decide that now, though. I have all Summer.

My plan was to wait until I reached my goal weight, or a goal along the way but then I decided that was stupid. If I want a tattoo, then I could get a damn tattoo.

No more waiting for EVERYTHING.

I am who I am RIGHT NOW.

I need to live every moment. I will keep moving forward. My diet has changed, my resolve has not wavered and it’s going slow.

But it’s going.

Waiting to live doesn’t make any sense.

 

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Hubs and I had a GREAT weekend last weekend.

We visited friends in Tennessee who live in this wonderfully secluded house in the Smoky Mountains. As soon as we get there, I feel the weight of the world slide off my shoulders and roll out into the trees.

Unfortunately, the weight doesn’t also just slide off my ass the same way.

They have a mountain on their land. An actual MOUNTAIN. We have a broke ass koi pond that currently has brush and a faded plastic pink swimming pool in it..so it’s kind of the same.Autumn Valley

The other times we’ve visited, we didn’t make it any further from their music studio and deck. This trip, however, we went to ‘stretch our legs’. That’s how my friend referred to it. Stretching our legs.

Her definition of leg stretching and my definition of leg stretching are about as different as a mountain and a pink plastic pool in a broke ass koi pond.

The walk up the mountain was beautiful and the payoff was at the top. There was a serene clearing with a view of a mountain range that was just incredible.

The trip up was difficultish. It was muddy and slippery and since I turned 50, I’ve become acutely aware of the possibility of hip breakage. But still, I’ve been hitting the treadmill for two months now. I could take it. Sure, I was slightly winded, but still..not bad. Besides, I knew going back down would be MUCH easier.

A little later in the day, we decided to walk down to their pond. It was a shorter walk. And besides, walking DOWN to a pond sounded a lot easier than walking UP a mountain, right?

Yeah, the walk down was pretty easy…but I could tell going down that getting back up was going to be a fucking bitch.

About half way back up, I was finding it difficult to breath. By difficult, I mean I felt kind of the way I did the one time I drank a shot of everclear.

The everclear moment MIGHT have taken my breath away a little more that walking up from the pond, but it was in the same fucking ballpark.

I’m not sorry we took our walks, they were beautiful and I did take away a few lessons.

First, I am SO FUCKING GLAD I’ve been religious about walking on my treadmill, or they would have had to drag me up on a tarp.

Secondly, I had to admit that if I COULD make it up and down a mountain and then back up that hard ass walk from the pond then I wasn’t going NEARLY hard enough on the treadmill.

I’m not an expert. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you should probably not take my advice…but I’m going to give it anyway. It’s probably not a good idea to work until you puke or pass out, especially if you are relatively new to working out..HOWEVER, if you find that you can climb a mountain and NOT have to be dragged on a tarp, then maybe you could work just a LITTLE harder when you work out.

So that is what I did.

I ran a little longer and I walked a little harder tonight. I’m proud of that.

Also, I’m thinking buying some everclear.

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Coming Soon…

Do you know what scares me? Dates.

Not just any dates, a date a movie is going to come out or a book I’ve been waiting to read. I see the words COMING NEXT SPRING on a movie screen and my first thought is, GREAT. I could be dead by then and miss it.

I can’t remember when I started doing this. It’s not a new thing. The more I look forward to the event attached to the date, the more nervous I am that I’m going to drop dead of a heart attack. I can know the date of my next mammogram or dentist visit and I don’t get the same anxiety. It’s only things I’m afraid I’ll miss.calendar

Dates in general cause me way too much stress.

The other problem I have with dates are my own due dates. I issues myself due dates all the time. By THIS date, you’ll weigh X. And then a month later, you’ll be fitting into that little sundress you bought two years ago that was just slightly small and then you gained back a fuck ton of weight and it’s been hanging there mocking you ever since. These dates are never reasonable.

I’m not a stupid person. I understand that unreasonable behavior gains me nothing but frustration. That knowledge, however, has not prevented me from indulging in said behavior.

I’m not going to sit here and say that I’m going about this getting into shape PERFECTLY this time…well…because right at this moment? I”m waiting for a muffin and some coffee to be delivered to me. However, I AM losing weight. And I’m losing it every single week. It’s slow, but it’s steady. I don’t have to weigh any certain weight at any certain time. When we go out of town next weekend to vistit friends, will the fact that I’m 3 pounds heavier than I planned to be at that time REALLY going to take away from the weekend? Are they going to like me less? Will I have 3 lbs less fun? Why would this take up ANY space in my head?

Our trip to Disneyworld is coming up in about a month. One reason that I’ve been clocking so much time on my treadmill is that I know what a marathon it is to walk around those parks for days. When we get there, I will feel strong and I won’t tire out too easy. I don’t know exactly what I will weigh then, but it’s likely going to be more than the number I assigned myself with that due date. I’m so looking forward to taking my baby boy there and having fun. Why on earth would I spend any of that time worrying over 2.7 lbs?

I want to stop worrying about the future….not only do I want to stop worrying about death, because that shit is gonna happen no matter how much I do or don’t worry and I want to stop beating myself up with caculating unrealistic goals. There is no benefit to either.

I want to be healthy. I want to feel strong and capable. I’m getting to the point where when I walk the halls at work, I feel strength in my legs instead of weariness. I love this feeling. I’m going to keep working out. I am going to keep eating healthy. There is no place I have to BE. Everything isn’t on hold until I get THERE. (Whatever that means). I can feel good now and appreciate that without trying to predict the future.

Now, where the fuck is my muffin?

Oh, and if you haven’t already done so, check out Rubber Shoes In Hell…it seems I have too much crazy for just one blog.

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So…About Cereal

When in the fuck did cereal become such a hot topic?

I had no fucking idea there were cereal camps..but there are! My twitter account? All me; other than the articles that go up. Randy takes care of that part. I TRY to read the articles he posts on my behalf. If it’s a Cracked article about sex, I am sure to read it, but I don’t pick those out. I leave that to my IT department/social media manager.

Very often, people comment or retweet these articles, but I’ve never had any article inspire the strong feelings as the one I posted about cereal.  If you click this link and read the article and find you must give your opinion, calm your tits. I am not taking an anti-cereal stance here. Or a pro one. I am just amused by the strong feelings surrounding a breakfast food. I suspect we will soon find that it’s polite to NOT discuss religion, politics, or cereal. cereal

This is what I thought about when I saw the cereal camps: Fucking hell, I could use some Lucky Charms.

I grew up in Northern Kentucky in the 60’s and 70’s. Where I was from you ate cereal for breakfast. I didn’t know ANYONE who ate anything other than cereal before school in the morning.

My earliest cereal memories are of Froot Loops. I loved Froot Loops. When I was 4 years old, we lived in a fourplex. We lived upstairs, our next door neighbor had mob connections. I spent a lot of my childhood feeling very insecure.We lived just above Newport,KY in 1967, which was about the time the mafia influence in the Covington/Newport area was dying down. The guys name was Sam. He was shot and killed, but not until after we moved from there.

Our downstairs neighbor was a nice old couple. I used to go to their apartment and the nice old lady would feed me Froot Loops and powdered donuts with a little cup of coffee to dunk them in.  Spending time with this neighbor is a comforting thought for me. And I kind of want coffee now.

I went through the Quisp and Quake stage, and Cap’n Crunch and Super Sugar Crisps, but no cereal spoke to me like Froot Loops. Until, I discovered Pink Panther Flakes. I. Loved. Pink. Panther. Flakes. Basically, they were Frosted Flakes, but they turned your milk PINK. Apparently, pink milk was quite valuable to me when I was 8 or 9 years old.

When I was single and living on my own, I regularly ate cereal over the kitchen sink for dinner. I remember a work friend from a million years ago who used to get so upset that I wasn’t eating a normal dinner at a table every night.

I’ve been comforted by cereal many times in my life. I’ve also eaten cereal to quiet demons in my head. Cereal’s a definite crutch for me.

Do I think sugary breakfast cereals have any value? Not really. I think we can do better than nearly ALL the breakfast cereals out there. Does that mean I think YOU shouldn’t eat them? Fuck no; that’s not my business.

What do I know? I’ve mentioned my non-expert status, right?

I might be taking a little bit of a stance.

I still want those Lucky Charms.

What was your favorite cereal to eat during Saturday morning cartoons?

 

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