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.

Let’s face it.

*Boink* Terri, how’s your face?
*Boink* Good, how’s your butt?

I’ve well established my love for running. Even when I don’t like running I love the luxury of not liking it. You earn that right by doing the leg work and getting through the good and the bad, the happy and the sad and … oh … wait, I feel a song coming on – Oh, yeah, play it –

Let me be the one you come running toOoOoOoooo…let’s, let’s stay togetherrrrrr…

If I can’t run, you can still go ahead and crank about your run, because I’ve been there. You earned it too.

As always, good comes with the bad. I’m far enough along in life now to know that. I am not far enough along in my journey to embrace it at the time the train leaves the station — but maybe I’m a bit faster on accepting the journey before it’s over. I’m going to have to live about a million years to get there, though, stubborn first-born that I am. Maybe you have to get so tired of failing that accepting finally seems the better option. Because, let’s face it, once you get through a tough time there’s no Karma anywhere that says, OK, they’ve had enough. And my butt falling off, while the focus of many blog posts, is nowhere near the hardest thing I’ve ever faced, or may face someday. Other than pain, it’s kinda funny to have your butt fall off. You can be the butt of many jokes. “No, butt really, how are you feeling?” “Not to butt in here, butt…”

The falling off butt has been reprimanded and sternly taken to task. Killer is talking to Dr. Krackurback and they will come up with new contortions to strengthen whatever is weak. Glutes are like the playground bully – the biggest guy on the field, he makes the little guys do his work while he rests on his a$$ putting on useless weight. Literally.

I am incredibly and undeservedly blessed with an awesome array of friends. Friends who share my warped sense of humor, who love to trade barbs, who listen to me bitch and don’t try to fix me. Friends who understand why starting out a run with two socks and ending it with one sock is a world of humor that can be mined for days. Friends who understand that posting the words “Taco Bell” on facebook can create a day’s worth of interaction.

Oddly and inexplicably, Monday morning I woke not thinking “WHAT DAY IS IT WHAT TIME IS IT WHAT DO I NEED TO DO” but, “erm. My face is hot.”

I’m not Sandra Bullock or Charlize Theron. My face is not HOT.

No, my face was hot – bright red blotches – like I’d spent 12 hours at the beach under a polka-dotted umbrella.

By Tuesday afternoon it was not just red, it was firehouse red and it was everywhere and it burned. Lotion, cold compresses, nothing alleviated the heat. I called one of my BRFF’s. “I think something is wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I text’d a pic to her.  “I think my face is falling off.”

“Oh, sh*t yeah. You need to see a doc.”

Three hours later at the 24 hour clinic (thank God for Suduko on Iphone) I was called back. The triage nurse was entering my info in the computer as I sat down.

“So..” she said as she turned in the chair, “What’s going on?”

“There’s something wrong with my face.” I could see it in her eyes. Oh…sh*t…

The Doc couldn’t decide what to do and initially offered a steroid shot and dose pack. “No! nononononono! No, I’m sorry, sorry – don’t mean to be rude, sorry – but, no. No steroids. Sorry. No.”

“no. nope…nope..nope…” I trailed off, shaking my head, staring at the floor, thinking of 2am ‘roid fueled house cleaning.

oh, hell no

Another hour later with an entire elbow of purple bruise (I told her my veins roll…she didn’t jump on the train) and a beet red face I walked up to the outdoor window at the Pharmacy. The doc had thrown a steroid creme, some Zyrtek and an antibiotic at me in hopes one would stick. The tech looked up. I could see her trying not to see my face. You know — don’t look don’t look don’t look — ah, sh*t. Then you see in their eyes, I hope I didn’t flinch, I flinched, didn’t I?

I have no idea what happened and I’m still pretty disappointed I didn’t morph into Sandra Bullock rocking with her Newtons, here, but my face is much better and never fell off. I’ve totally got that nail polish, tho.

sandra bullock

AND….I’m going for a run today!  It’s 33 degrees, misting ice but the sun is coming out and the BRFF’s are heading out!

Let’s face it:  Life is awesome.  Even when it’s not.  And the sun always comes out again.

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15 thoughts on “Let’s face it.

  1. I’m wimping out and waiting til it warms up to run. You sleet runners have my respect. 😉

  2. Hope the run went well….I’m running inside @ 72° until it #1 Quits SNOWING

  3. (oops)(fingers still asleep apparently)

    and #2 Warms UP .. 14° here now

  4. Glad you’re running, Terri Lee! Hope your face is back to a normal color. ; )

    • LOL! Pretty much. That was really weird. I kept thinking, if my butt falls off I can buy some of those booty underwear, but if my face falls off I’m pretty much SOL.
      And very much enjoying the runs! Don’t care how far, don’t care how fast, don’t care how much walking, just loving being outside moving 🙂 Happy Trails!

  5. So…you must have some idea. Was it an allergy? Bacterial face infection Ebola?!! Well, I’m certainly glad you are running today and that your fingers didn’t fall off yet. Careful on the slippery sleet–you don’t need to fall!

  6. I just tweeted that my swimbag followed me on a trip for 2 days to the car and back… never even hit the pool cause of the rain.. SUCKS big time..

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