Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Archive for the month “March, 2012”

20 IN the BAG yesssssssssssssss

You are both going to be sooooooo excited for me!!!  I did it!  I finally got a long run in on the day I was supposed to, and the distance I was supposed to go!


I can see you two in my mind, sitting at your computers in your sad, cramped, dark rooms and finally – BRIGHTNESS!  SMILES! – you throw your skinny little pale arms in the air and yell SWEET!  SHE DID IT!  OUR HERO!!!  Probably your screams managed to frighten the poor pizza boy completely to the end of the block, and I think you’re just going to have to make dinner out of the cold leftovers from earlier this week which still surround your desk – but it’s not like either of you haven’t done that before.

Yes, I know.  This is undoubtedly the best thing that has happened for either of you all week.  It makes me happy to make you so happy.  I’m smiling right now.

Since neither of you get out much you are probably going to be EVEN more excited when I tell you this:

Due to my recently announced selection as National Spokesperson and Posterchild for the National BFOS Foundation  (  I am now surrounded by paparazzi wherever I go.  It’s a burden, all those little people trying to catch hold of my star as it ascends, but to whom much is given and all that so I feel obliged to welcome them to my life.  The plus side is that now you can actually see my run.  It will be almost like you were there!  You can see where I ran and the many nice things I experienced on this earth-shattering and life-changing run.

As usual, if you print these pictures and bring them to the next fan club meeting I’ll be happy to autograph them.  I do have to tell you that due to my sudden increase in importance the cost of the autographs is now $5 each.  If you’d like them personalized it will be $7.50.  Also please bring your own Sharpies.

Here we’d been out for about 10 miles, running CD Smith Road (scene of the second serious instance of BFOS,  There was a train coming so just for fun I raced it and won.

Then I saw a robin building a nest.  It was a breezy day and apparently the robin was a bit fed up with its little nest continually getting blown out of the tree.  I said, suck it up, little Robin and someday you may be a posterchild for a National Nest Building Ass.

Then we passed a barn and some horses.  One of the horses was very nice and wanted to see what was going on.  The other horse was rather a snot just eating its stupid grass but what do you really expect from a horse anyway?

So there you have it, the story of my incredible awesome 20 miler.

And, by the way, my butt started trying to fall off in the car on the way home.  It’s kinda hard to drive only sitting on the left side of your butt.  Just to show it who’s boss, I’m making it sit on ice right now.  So.  There.

The guilt of Saturday

This time last week I was deep in the middle of the last day of the 54th Annual RRCA National Convention right here in our fair city.  Deej, G and I probably put in 12-14 hours a day on our feet – excepting the meals, when we sat down – I’m certainly not one for missing a meal – from Thursday through Sunday, and I then spent all day Sunday cleaning house and doing laundry.  This last week it was work and convention clean-up but not bad, a lot more relaxing on the downside.  The past month or so was pretty intense, however.  Planning, phone calls, telcons, hundreds of emails, constantly wondering if there was something we were missing; I know I felt that Deej and G were picking up more of the work than I was and I worried I wasn’t doing enough.  It was a microcosm of what it would be like to squeeze into three months being pregnant with the twins, giving birth and having them grow up; waking in the middle of the night, wondering if we were doing enough for our baby, would it ever learn to walk and go to school and graduate?  And, by the way, if you’re a member of an RRCA member club and would like to see what the convention is all about you can see some pics, here:  We had 12 break-out sessions (4 were CE’s) along with speakers and an Expo featuring all things running for the attendees.

In the meantime I’ve also been thinking about goals, being realistic about goals and life in general.  How do I want to do this, this next part of my life?  I feel this is a time in my life to look at what I’m doing, consider things, and try to live a bit more purposefullly.  Of course there will always be life circumstances that dictate at least part of every day, but Dog and Cat are definitely a lot less time demanding than children.  The convention is over and I can take a breath; maybe it’s time to reassess how I do some things.  Additionally, the other day I was reminiscing with a friend, comparing the life I had growing up to the life I spent with my kids growing up.

My childhood Saturdays were cartoons for three hours (because cartoons were only on from 7-10am) followed by 8-10 hours running from one end of the neighborhood to the other with about 21 other kids from the block.  We always knew when to show up in the kitchen for a sandwich, and anyone who fell and scraped a knee hit the nearest house for a bandaid; moms were pretty interchangeable as far as bandaid application.  If we could beg a nickel off our moms we’d walk to the convenience store and buy candy.  I have no idea what my mother did all those hours.  I know she did not spend it in the only car they owned driving my brother and me to soccer and scouts and cheer and choir and then the store because we have to have a navy blue t-shirt for school Monday and make 87 dozen cookies for  Student Feel Good Day.  You were kind of expected to feel good on your own and you had two dresses.  You wore one Monday and Tuesday, the other one Wednesday/Thursday and then back into the Monday dress on Friday.  You could switch it up next week tho, and do the Wed/Thurs dress on Mon/Tues if you wanted, mom was doing laundry once during the week and once on the weekend and that’s when the clothes would rotate back through.

When my kids were all little Saturday mornings were usually some combination of Joy!  Weekend!  Dread!  Weekend!  I spent 29 years with one to four children in my home, a husband who traveled frequently and far and a series of part-time jobs which I always liked because I got extra money but had part-time freedom to try to keep up with the work of four kids and all the school, sports, scouts (altho hubs gets a shout out for being The Scout Dad), cheer, etc.  Saturday mornings dawned with me surrounded by piles of laundry, a to-do list, a grocery list and marching orders for four kids on what part of the Saturday cleaning they were responsible for squeezed in along side the sports, scouts, cheer, homework, yardwork, birthday extravaganzas, etc.  And in no way were the kids going to be allowed to roam a mile in each direction of home with all the stuff in the news about killers and kidnappers and students shooting each other.

Different world, huh?  And what are you moms of the current generation with kids doing this morning?  I know.  Sleeping in.  Make some coffee and read the paper, throw a load of non-essentials in the washer.  Your children are watching an innocuous bird outwit a coyote and everything on TV is carefully screened for sex and bad language so you can make a quick trip to the laundry room and fold some clothes without your three year old learning the F word.

No!  Every year there is more and more for our kids to do and be.  You ladies are making my life with four kids look like slacker work.  And what of the world of my parents, and my grandparents?  Has the world ever changed so much so fast?  Or has every generation believed the same?

Since I tend to write for a while and then go do something else so the words can set and ruminate in the back of my mind, I’ve been coming back and forth to my desk for hours today.  There has been a man on the lake for the past three or four hours, on his pontoon boat, wearing a straw hat and fishing.  That’s all he’s doing.  And most of the time he isn’t even holding the fishing rod because he has it stuck in a holder on the side of the boat.  He’s not reading a book or talking on phone.  He’s just sitting there drifting.

The year the twins went off to college I spent 6-7 months sleeping every morning until 7:30 or 8am.  Not on purpose, I just slept like a baby and didn’t wake up.  Hubs would leave and I’d snooze with the dog; I think I was catching up from the past three decades.  Now I’m back to waking early most of the time but I go straight downstairs to the computer – a habit I picked up once the kids were gone and the hubs would be in the bedroom/bathroom/kitchen trying to get ready for work and I was always standing the next place he needed to step.  Suddenly now on Saturday mornings the house was empty, hubs would go work out and run errands, I might run on Saturday or wait until Sunday, or go work a Saturday race if I weren’t running; the house wasn’t a whole lot dirtier than it was Wednesday and besides, I could clean any day I wanted, laundry was easy to keep up with through the week and nearly 30 years of Saturday family/kid busy-ness were *poof*.

I got lazy.  I putzed.  I did the crossword puzzle and putzed and put stuff off until tomorrow because I could.  It was nice for a while but I needed something – and exactly then came the job with MRTC.  Now I got up every morning and checked work email.  And on Saturday, and on Sunday.  And five years later it’s a deeply ingrained habit, not a bad habit, but a habit that keeps me from having a day that I do not focus on work first thing in the morning.  And I think that’s not a healthy thing.

When the kids were little if it were a beautiful day like today and we had a couple hours we might have ended up at the Farms on the playground.  If it were bad weather we might have done Star Wars Trilogy weekend.  I would sit on the couch with them, eating popcorn and watching a movie.  Despite those years being so busy, I think I sat down and did something specficially for enjoyment more than I do now.  Now I FB and check email and go get more coffee.  And this is what I want to examine.  This is what I want to consider.  I suspect I’m doing it because I’m afraid.  I’m afraid to do something purely for enjoyment.  If I’m working it’s enjoyable (because I love my job) but it’s Work – it’s a function, a purpose.  If I take this Saturday afternoon and read a novel for four hours I will feel incredibly guilty – particularly when hubs comes home since he’s been doing yard work and boy scouts all day long (of his own chosing, why do I make myself guilty when he doesn’t?).  I will not have produced anything.  I will not have been busy.  I haven’t been kid-busy on weekends for years, but I’ve substituted work busy and busy-ness busy and never even realized it.

Secondly, I’m losing focus.  I’m not ADD, but I’m living an ADD life.  The computer is on all day long.  If I had been on that pontoon boat for three or four hours like that guy, well, first – I wouldn’t have.  I would never have lasted four hours.  I wouldn’t have lasted one hour.  I’d have paced and fished and fixed the seats and went to the dock for a drink and had my phone with me and checked the internet and decided my toes needed painting and …

So what I’m going to do, and I’m announcing it publicly, is when I’m done writing I’m turning off the computer.  My oldest son just called, I’m going over to see his new flooring and the paint they picked out for the den and what they’re doing in the back yard.  Then I’m coming home,  I’m turning off my cell phone and I’m getting my novel and I’m going to sit and read.  And 20 minutes later when a little naggle comes in the back of my head that I should at least go put away the laundry, then I can come back and read my book:  I will not.  The laundry is fine and will end up getting put away in it’s own good time.  The touch-up painting around the house that has been waiting for four weeks got done this morning, I have dinner ready to cook, and we’re all dry, clothed and healthy.  And there are no diapers to change.

to zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz or not to zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz




Running: It’s not Christmas morning

I ended up not doing the half yesterday and I’m fine with that.  I may not make the marathon I was aiming for the end of April, and I’m fine with that too.  I’ll see what this weekend’s long run is like and decide then.  Fortunately for me right now these are just goals to keep myself running; the particular event was not my focus.  However I’m seeing a lot of disappointment online today for some who did do the race yesterday, a day that dawned warm and got warmer.  The average high here for March is 64 and for April is 73.  Yesterday’s high was 82.

And so I’ve been thinking about the races and the runs I’ve done that ended up deal breakers, and why that might have been.


It’s November and the only thing Jr. has been talking about since the Christmas ads started in August is PsychoScreaming Elmo.  He prays for Elmo.  He searched the Dentist’s treat box for Elmo and asked the Tooth Fairy for Elmo.  Seconds after Elmo was brightly and gaily revealed on the We ♥ Kids Network last August every Elmo from here to the Adriatic Sea was snatched up, leaving you the one (loser) parent in the entire world without Elmo for Jr.

For the next three months you plan and strive.  You constantly watch EBay.  You spend evenings stopping by Target, Toys BackwardR Us and WalMart in succession.  You FB your plans, your strategies, your successes and failures (2 spotted at Target!  But I’m in a meeting with the Boss!  Who just asked why I feel a need to text!) Finally the stars align and you find yourself parked at WalMart at 4am one Saturday, the car stocked with coffee and donuts.  You’re fueled and you’re ready to go.  The doors open…3…2…1 – you sprint to the toy aisle.  You’ve practiced this moment for months.  You know the course, the tight turn at the sunglasses stand, the straightaway to toys, hard left, second row:  SCORE!

Christmas morning, whether it dawns bright and sunny, cold and snowy, damp and drizzly, or 100 degrees:  Elmo is still going to scream like a psycho.  If you got a stomach virus last night:  Elmo still screams.  Couldn’t sleep?  Been out of town?  Overindulged at the Christmas Party?  Still screaming.

Jr. may or may not end up loving the entire PsychoScreaming Elmo thing, he may be cowering terror behind the tree or have already thrown Elmo over for the latest and greatest Runaway Train, but Elmo is still Elmo, shrieking in the corner, one way or the other.

Simultaneously to Jr’s discovery of PSE last August, you found the inspiration to train for the Great Half Marathon your fair city is sponsoring in December.  Inspired by the pain of the rapidly tightening seat belt and the inability to reach your shoes to tie them you decided to Get Fit.  Eat right!  Walk!  Jog!  Have goals!

You’ve scoured the internet for training plans.  You’ve joined FB training pages.  You’re networking with everyone at the gym.  You’ve read Jeff Galloway and Hal Higdon and Once a Runner; you’ve interviewed every running store employee in town about fueling, hydration, power bars, recovery drinks and Gu.  You got a new Garmin or Timex and can talk pronate/supinate with the pros.   You’ve done LSD and Fartleks and Intervals and your spouse has (in what sounded like a rather cranky voice, actually) requested that if you’re going to get up every Sunday morning at 4 damn AM to play with all your new friends, why don’t you just go sleep in the guest room on Saturday nights and quit waking me up?  And – by the way – why, when you agree to do so, does that seem to make them madder?

Race Day Dawns and this is where Christmas ends.  Because on race day your race may be Psycho Elmo, or it may be Tool Time Timmy.  The box might have said you needed AAA batteries and you actually need AA batteries.  Because races don’t come down assembly lines.

To date I’ve been unable to retro-fit my mother to pop me out in the mid-60’s instead of the mid-50’s and while most of the time I don’t feel like it, I’m going to be 56 next month.  Mentally, of course, not so much.  Physically I’m noticing it.  And all you out there older than me saying “just you wait” – save your breath, I know.  I know how I felt at 45, and at 50, and at 52…and I know it’s not going to stop.  I am going to do my best to slow it as much as possible, not out of vanity but because I see people whom I thought would never slow down slowly let it slip away.  Walking two miles makes me out of breath, I’ll drop to 1-1/2.  I’ll just walk a mile.  I’ll walk it tomorrow. I like ice cream.  I don’t want to eat veggies with my lunch.  Apparently we all regress to 2-year olds and anything that doesn’t feel good needs to just go away.

Runners don’t do that.  Runners embrace it.  Runners know that to go further you have to go farther than further.  You have to hurt to get better.  You get out what you put in…to one degree or another (we can’t all be pros).

The human body is an amazingly complex thing.   When I think of atoms inside of cells in side of muscles inside of skin, and how all this works together in connection with breathing and blood and food – awesome.  Breathtaking.  Incredible.

And there’s the rub.  You plot and plan, you hydrate and fuel the same calories and sleep the same number of minutes and this Saturday you’re popping miles like they were candy and next weekend you have an anvil tied to your a$$.  If you’re lucky the anvil shows up on a long run with your buds and you can sigh and complain to your heart’s content.  If you’re not, and it’s race day – sucks for you.  That, to me, is the plain of it.

The variables are incredible.  Perhaps the tiny remnants of the cold you had three weeks ago still has you oxygenating 2-3% less than peak.  It could be that you were a little light on carbs or protein lately, or you have just a few too many miles on your shoes and don’t realize it, or you need a bit more potassium.  Maybe you spent the past 2-1/2 months training in weather which was largely in the 30’s-60’s, partly/mostly cloudy and windy, and race day dawns 75 degrees, sunny and a bit humid.

Our bodies have rules and we haven’t figured them all out.   We know a stomach will only empty so many ounces per hour.  If you sweat heavily, have been training in cool weather and race day dawns hot, there’s not a lot you can do about that.  If your stomach will process 20 ounces of fluid and you’re sweating out 35 per hour, you cannot hydrate enough.  Your blood will get thicker, your HR will rise and your pace will slow.  If you had a cold and your lungs are still a bit tight, they are not going to open up because you want them to or you breathe harder.  The blood oxygen level is going to stay wherever it is.

Butt Falling off Syndrome has been a blessing to me.  Of course there’s the obvious:  I’m now a Famous Spokesperson and Poster Child which I realize most of you will never achieve (but I’m here for you, little people).  It’s been a ball of yarn, unraveling the issues, several smaller things leading up to a bigger one.  Too many miles on my shoes.  Neglecting electrolytes.  And finally looking at my training plan and realizing I had exactly one week that backed down 10% since the first of January.  The older we get the more we need to realize that our bodies need more time.  They don’t need us to give up, but they need us to sit back and slow down.  Enjoy it a bit more.  We know the 10% rule (every third week drop mileage 10%, then increase over the next two, repeat) but we don’t do it.  We don’t do it in our running and we don’t do it in the rest of our lives.  We stop in at the office every Sunday afternoon just for a couple hours and wonder Monday why we dread going to work.  We rush through the day and rush home and go to meetings and join organizations and then feel frustrated that we never sit on the deck with a glass of iced tea or a sip of wine.  We promise ourselves we’ll read that interesting novel but then we don’t pick it up until 9pm and can only make sense of the first two paragraphs.

Of course there are days and weeks that life kicks us around and wants 25 hours out of our 24.  But take a good look at things.  Is this that time?  Or could you really sit and watch the sunset?

Burned out on your race?  Are the runs starting to feel like another check on your list?  Put the watch in the dresser for just this week.  Tell yourself you are not allowed to run tomorrow even though it’s going to be absolutely beautiful and you do have the time.   Tomorrow morning:  cheat.  Go anyway.  Go slow.  Walk every 5th minute.  Make yourself count how many colors that flower bed has in it.  Run, but try only to hear birds singing.  Run to the next driveway and then skip to the mailbox.  Act like a kid even if your body isn’t, anymore.

You take a few days off and …

About two years ago my BRFF and co-hort in crime, DJ (aka The Deej aka Deejer) and I, along with another MRTC Board Member, G, found ourselves in Lakeland, Florida at the RRCA National Convention presenting our bid to host the 2012 54th Annual RRCA National Convention (  and  We didn’t really expect to get it; we were newbies, we didn’t know what we were doing and we figured the good people on the RRCA Board would see through us like xrays at the airport.  But, no, they somehow believed that we are grownups and can act in a professional manner.

Apparently they’ve never seen the texts DJ and I exchange during MRTC Board meetings.

Or, perhaps, they also exchange texts during their board meetings.  Although I kind of doubt it because they did seem rather adult and professional.

Flash forward to this week, the Big Week, the week we’ve been both dreading and anticipating with fervor and I have fever.  Really.  100.5 degrees and rising at 6am, and the only reason I haven’t face planted onto my keyboard is because I’m leaning as far back in my chair as possible to keep the stuff IN my nose instead of dripping OUT of it.  I’m supposed to meet the Executive Director this afternoon and what, shall I just sneeze all over her with my hot little germies flying (which Mythbusters clocked at 39 mph)?

I shall call the doc this morning.  I shall whine, beg, plead for drugs and since I’ve probably got nothing but the most inconvenient common cold in quite a few years, there will be nothing to do for it and by Sunday, when the convention is over, I will be feeling a bit better.

Between about 1,437,389 emails a day, work, the convention, a happy three-day stint babysitting The Best Grandson In The World and a trip to the hub’s hometown to celebrate the family matriarch’s 90th birthday, I’ve been going strong sunup to sundown which by the way I WANT. MY DAMN. HOUR BACK. Daylight Stupid Time.

Plus it’s finally become clear even to my cement filled brain that I have been overtraining, bringing me to the inevitable conclusion that it’s no wonder I got sick.

These are also the reasons I haven’t posted to my blog for several days and I know you have both been distraught, (addled, agitated, anxious, beside yourselves and probably in withdrawal). (  I’m sorry for your distress but I do have a life you know.  Just ask my children, who are always delighted for me when I get to visit all my friend.

So, imagine my happy surprised delight when I returned to Blogger Land and found out I have been awarded the Kreative Blogger Award by who is a runner, a blogger, a creative artistic person and a thriver.  (You’ll just have to visit her blog to find out!)  Needless to say, I was blown away by the honor (seriously, not joking here).

So this is what I’m supposed to do:

First, thank runningtheriver for mentioning me in the Kreative Blogger Award!  I did not know runningtheriver until she did so and I’m already loving her blog – again, both of you – visit it and give her  a shout out!

As with every nomination, there are some rules which are as follows:

You must thank the person who has given you the award. (check)

Copy the logo and place it on your blog. (check)

Link the person who has nominated you for the award. (check)

Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting.

Nominate 7 other Kreativ Bloggers.

Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.

Leave a comment on each of the blogs to let them know they have been nominated.

Seven things about myself:

1.  I was actually born in Winslow, Arizona.  But I did not stand on the corner.

2. I have four children who grew up to be awesome fantastic fun and funny people who then abruptly moved out on their own, and the afore mentioned Best Grandson In The World

3.  I’ve run (on and off) my entire adult life and running helped me meet the Hubs.  I’ve done 6-7 marathons, three 50k’s and a bunch of other races.

4.  I have the best job in the world, working from home for our local running club.  Runners rock.  Runners are very cool people.  I guess it’s the endorphins.

5.  I have the best, most patient hubs ever.  He is married to a crazy woman and my dear priest friend said he will probably go directly to sit at the right hand of Jesus for having lived through marriage to me.

6.  Several years ago when the twins left for college I filled my empty nest by adopting Dog and have recently added Cat, who weighed 6.5 ounces when I rescued her.  Hubs is incredibly patient with the menagerie although he does take offense when Dog tries to sleep on his pillow.

Seven.  I need one more…um.  I know!  I’m also the luckiest person in the world because somehow, never expecting such a thing, hubs found a house on a lake that needed some fixing up and now I live in a house on a lake.  And my desk overlooks it, and I get to see geese and ducks and even:  An Otter!  Who knew?  I thought otters only lived in Alaska!  Nope, check it out: (so, of course, the poor thing is probably a bit confused since it ended up in a lake, rather than a river.  “Dude!” he muttered, looking around, “this isn’t a river and that’s not Toto.  RUN!” while Dog charged out of the house toward the dock doing 90.

And nominate 7 other Kreative Bloggers.  In no particular order: – this woman is a great inspiration.  She completed a beginning runner program last summer, fell in love with running, and has already organized a 5K event to benefit the Ronald McDonald House which provides housing for children being treated at St. Jude Research Hospital and their families. – My friend, Camille Herron, a great inspiration!  She had to drop out of running while in college due to many injuries.  She has since come back in a big way, running the 2008 and 2012 Olympic Marathon Trials and winner of 5 marathons among other items of note.  She’s completely down-to-earth, always enthusiastic about life, running and everything in between, a study-er and a learner who generously shares everything she knows about running.  And Beer.  (See why I love her?) I’m not sure how she found my blog but she did and started following me.  I only visit her blog when I am not hungry because she posts the most yummy looking healthy food you’ve ever seen and you will find yourself trying to lick the monitor.  Additionally she posts many helpful hints about living to the best of your ability.  Again, I’m not sure how she found my blog.  I live vicariously through her blogging about running around and through London town, the pretty trails she finds, volunteering for the London Olympics.  I got to visit London once and love picturing it through her eyes. who just found me or I just found her…confusion reigns in my snot-filled addled brain.  Thought provoking, funny, incredibly well written! Again, it’s the FOOD!  OMG I want to eat the pictures!! In December I ran the Tucson Marathon (GEM of a race, if you ever get the chance, and with a 2,000 ft. drop over the distance, perfect for PR’ing) and met Britanny at the start line.  I immediately loved her due to the fact she was 1) from Chicago which I grew to love while one child was in school there and 2) completely totally freeking ROCKING a bright yellow singlet, gorgeous turquoise running tights and a hot pink tutu.  She’s busy with her own photography business and moving to Texas so her posts have been a little more infrequent right now, but she loves Tequila.  What more could you want?!

And, finally, here are some related articles from other Kreative Blogger nominees:

Kreativ Blogger Award (

The Winner Is … (

Kreative Blogger Award (

Kreativ Blogger Award (

Day 128 – I am honored to be a Kreativ Blogger (

Kreative Blogger Award and Words Etc. (

Adventures in Kreativ blogging: The awards (

Kreativ Blogger Award (

Nomination for Kreativ Blogger award (

Maybe a day off isn’t such a great idea

It’s Saturday morning and Flippin’ GORGEOUS outside.  Like, if Norman Rockwell lived here at my house (you know, if he were still alive and all.  Not now, now that he’s dead.  That would be kinda freaky) he would be outside all Zen, painting pictures of trees and the lake and ducks and stuff and communing with nature and getting rich and famous for all his awesome paintings on the cover of the Saturday Evening Post every Saturday evening.  Which probably neither of the followers of my world famous blog know who he is anyway since that was about 40 years ago when both of them were two.

Anyway – it’s beautiful out and it’s my off day.  No running today, have 18 to do tomorrow and since Butt Falling Off Syndrome reared its ugly head I have not yet made it to 18.  So I’m laying low today.  No hard work, no

Ok, I’m back, sorry, Cat just knocked 32 pounds of stuff off the dresser and I thought the world had exploded.  Now she’s hiding in the dresser drawer thinking I cannot see her 10 pound a$$ sticking out if her head is hidden and she’s not looking at me.  Dog, meanwhile, has the sense to be sleeping upstairs on the bed where he thinks he’s safe.

Why did Grace Kelly have the opportunity to knock 32 pounds of junk off the dresser and then crawl into the empty drawer?

Because 1) it’s my off day so I’m laying low and taking it easy inside the house and 2) it’s the day most dreaded in my household:  Tax. Day.


Every year at 12:01am January 1st the hubs starts talking about getting the taxes ready and my head begins to throb.  Of course by then I’ve had like 10 glasses of wine but that’s not the reason.

I hate tax day for several reasons:

For six weeks I’ve been collecting every slip of paper larger than a toothpick which has come in the mail and looks remotely like something that might have anything to do with taxes, interest paid, receipts, etc.  Every week hubs asks if I’m keeping track of the tax stuff.  Every week I point to the Kelly green file prominently displayed on the desk and say “Yes – it’s all right here IN THIS BRIGHT KELLY GREEN FILE PROMINENTLY DISPLAYED ON THE DESK.”  Next week, repeat.  The voices are screaming in my head KELLY GREEN.  DESK.  RIGHT THERE. but if I open my mouth words like this will come out:  @!$$ so &^%**() for the %**$%^ $#**&- and ^%&&& your &^%$$$ so I pretend I have to go to the bathroom.  Since Hubs just decided he needs to go get a Diet Coke he is probably thinking the same thing about the taxes.

Second, all the other stuff that I was supposed to be accumulating through the year like medical payments and stuff, well…*sigh* they’re all right there in the dresser.  In a pile.  That looks like the storm from Wizard of Oz went through.  They aren’t actually IN the Kelly Green folder.  Yet.  So maybe they might need to be sorted and organized at which point I will absolutely find one bank statement is missing and it will be the one that is more than 6 months ago because that’s how far back I can go online for statements.

Third, for the past six weeks hubs has also been shooting me emails asking me to look up this.  and look up that.  and look up the other. and send it to him.  Which I do.  And last night:  he asked me to look it all up again.  Now I could do that.  It would take me 15-20 minutes maybe to recompile the info.  However, my thought is that the %$$# info is already in his email inbox and a 30 second email search would reveal it.

Oddly I’m starting to flashback to the days before my last marathon.  That’s weird.  And why am I holding three running shoes and some Glide on my day off?  Huh.

Anyway, Tax Day. I’m captive by my off day, can’t get a run to blow off the steam but I can damn sure turn it into a mantra tomorrow when that 18 gets a bit tough.

Breathe in … Tax … Breathe out … Day … Breathe in … Tax … Breath out … Day

And why, you ask, am I blogging instead of taxing?  Meh.  Look who crawled out of the drawer and is now sleeping on my papers:

How cute is that?  And look!  I found Grandma Alice’s red velvet pincushion and some baby pics I’d lost.

Marathonirritationitis – News Release

As National Spokesperson and Poster Child for the BFOS (sponsored by the Asses of the World Club and the National BFOS Ass.) I am privy to quite a bit of breaking news, research and studies.  Just this morning I was included in the initial release of soon-to-be-published research on Marathonirritationitis.  The study itself was fascinating but probably difficult reading if you are not a specialist or a National Spokesperson and Poster Child.  I’m just saying.  Because I wouldn’t want either of you to try to read it and then feel all frustrated because you couldn’t understand most of the words and then you might feel bad about yourselves.  So I’m just trying to save you from that.  I’ve got your back.

I thought the most interesting part of the study (and this part is also easily understood even by people who are not experts or Poster Childs or National Spokespersons) was when researchers were able to actually observe a victim of Marathonirritationitis in its natural habitat!  In order to do a proper study the photographers integrated themselves into the victim’s natural habitat slowly and were able to capture this photo (below)  I know this might be disturbing to both of you, the violence and the potential harm for the innocent bystanders, but when shooting in any natural habitat the photographers are trained not to intervene, even at the expense of injury to those involved.  One photographer was heard to murmur afterward “I’m sure glad that shoe missed my head.  I need a beer.”

You may find yourself judging these sufferers and perhaps blaming them for bringing it upon themselves.  However, studies have still not determined if the marathoner is actually responsible for their own actions.  There is some thought that the underlying cause (the desire to run a marathon) of Marathonirrirationitis is a genetic pre-disposition to running.  I know.  Crazy talk.  But let us not judge until science has had it’s chance.

Until more is known – and unless they want a divorce or a family reading of their will – loved ones need to remember not to escalate the situation by asking questions like, “Why the H3LL are you doing the damn race, then??”  Just remain in the Safe Position.  If you need to move from the Safe Position – for instance, perhaps you need to go to the bathroom – rise slowly, arms extended to the victim, offering a cold beer.  Avoid eye contact.

Please remember, when seeing the intensity of this photo, that the victim is just that – a victim – they are not at that moment in full control.  They will evidence deep and sincere remorse within the next 48 hours.  In fact, shortly after the filming of this victim, she fell into her spouse’s arms, sobbing.  Researchers think they heard her saying, “Next time I’ll….”

(click on photo for more detail)

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