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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 “July, 2013”

I can’t brain today

It’s 3:30am and I’m chugging copious amounts of coffee from my beloved Grumpy Cat cup which questions, Do I look like I rise and shine?  which you both know I do not.

This is the coffee cup I should be using:

cant_brain_today_mug

except it should read, I can’t brain today, I have the Brain.

It’s a beautiful morning.  You know, for being 3:30am, dark as a black hole and all that sh*t.  I let Murph T. Dog out and it occurs to me that I would not be interested in running around a dark back yard at 3:30 in the morning because evil lurks in back yards with a large shining utility light which is useless and only lights the leaves of the trees below it, never a ray filtering all the way through to light your path where zombies are roaming, occasionally gently knocking accidentally into one another and bouncing off in opposite directions while waiting to eat my brains.   Apparently the dog is not so concerned with Zombies.  Sometimes I question if he has a brain anyway, especially after he rolls in raccoon shit, so maybe he has a point.

Brains is plural, and they would be welcome to one of my brains.  I don’t need both of them and I seldom use either of them.

Brain 1:  “Sigh.  Comfy Mushy Pillow, I love you.  Sigh.  hmmm…mumble…sigh…sleeeepy…

Brain 2:  “OMG WHAT TIME IS IT?”

Brain 1:  “WHA??  WHA??  Baby Jesus in his CRIB, WHAT?  it’s effing 9:30pm you idiot”

Brain 2:  “oh, my bad, sorry.”

Brain 1:  “Gawd.  Just Shut Up.”

Brain 2:  “I’m just making sure.  What if the alarm doesn’t go off?  What if our leg hurts?  What if she has :poop: in the woods??!”

Brain 1:  “Holy shit.  We’ve talked about this about 10 thousand times.  She brought tissue.  SHUT UP.”

Brain 2:  “FINE.  Just fine.  Don’t yell at me if she runs out of Gatorade and we die.”

zzzzz Mushy Pillow zzzzzz WAIT WHAT TIME IS IT?

Brain 1:  “BLESSED Mary Mother of GOD.  WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?  WE DON’T HAVE EARS.”

Brain 2:  “I just wanted to be sure what time it is.  Maybe we should wake her up a few minutes early.  What if she forgot something?  She should probably check.”

Brain 1:  “Are.  You.  Shitting.  Me?  You already made her check everything 13 times.”

Brain 2:  “Fail to plan, Plan to fail.  I’m just sayin’.”

Brain 1:  “Hail Mary, Full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”

Brain 2:  “zzzzzzz *sucking thumb*”

Brain 2:  “OH MY GOD I FELT A TWITCH I FELT A TWITCH IN OUR BUTT.  OUR BUTT IS GOING TO FALL OFF AGAIN.”

Terrilee:  “I’m gonna kill you both.”

Sigh.  I give up.  I turn off the alarm which has no need to ring since, once again, I’m up before it has a chance.  Alarm is currently undergoing therapy, feeling completely unappreciated in our relationship.

I am hopeful for this run.  Last weekend was the one we always aim for – it was a great day, a little rain storm came through about mile 5, we were running through the country side, rolling hills, trees branching and meeting overhead so it was shady and cooler.  It was a new course to run, I’ve biked it before but you know it looks different on the ground as opposed to speeding past at the back of pack of bikers, wheezing, peddling until you think both legs will spin off in opposite directions, panicked at every little bump and rock that you will go flying over the handlebars and end up on FB like Killer did that time last summer, lying there unconscious while her hubs looked on worriedly, just one broken bone, little surgery on that, 3-4th degree shoulder separation, hey.

Anyway, I’m hopeful for this run.  Last week was awesome – no falling off butt, no pain down the entire back of my leg, no heel pain, no burning metatarsal.  Since both brains are wide awake and may be reading this I could possibly have jinxed myself, especially with OCD Brain #2, which will probably start feeling twitches at .2 miles in.  I had 20 to do last weekend and again this weekend.   Last weekend Brains behaved themselves until mile 18 when they screamed in tandem, “OMG if this were the race we’d have EIGHT MORE MILES WE CAN’T RUN EIGHT MORE MILES TODAY!!”  Took a mile to convince myself I didn’t HAVE to do eight more today, I only had to do 2 more.  Plus I have an awesome running buddy who will pull me through if I need.

Next week we drop back, not sure what we do, then a 22 miler and then the taper.  If my brains are scrambled now just wait until the taper.  I begin to understand why Van Gogh sliced off an ear.  He may have been trying to listen to only one brain.

I didn’t see that one coming.

Well, over here in wonderland it’s been a merry-go-round of crazy people registering for races and memberships and emailing me to find out if they can contract for services.  I’m kinda shaking my head.  I understand Forbes and the like have criteria they use, formulas for determining which cities get slapped with unfittest places to live, unhealthiest population, etc., but I sure wish someone from those groups would show up at the Road Race 5K starting line, 1,315 runners all the colors of the rainbow, towing the line, Garmins locked and loaded, The Voice Of MRTC bellowing GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORRRRRRRRRRRRRNING RUNNNNNNNNNNNERS!

There was not a lot of unfit unhealthiness hanging around that morning.

There were a few people with headphones blaring so loudly that they could not hear the car behind them honking and fellow (un-hearing impaired) runners screaming CAR BACK! repeatedly.  This is what I think:  If you cannot run without music blaring so loudly into your head that you cannot hear fellow runners yelling and repeated car honking, you need to go see someone for your hearing loss.

Thus we can conclude from this story that running can cause deafness.

Here’s something you two may not know:  Triathlons can cause blindness.  True.

By the way, I did go on to do a 2nd triathlon because apparently even though I am taking my medication regularly it isn’t working properly.  I wanted to do a 3rd, which was this weekend, but I am also training for a marathon and with 20 miles to run this morning I thought it prudent not to blow out 1-1/2 or 2 hours worth of energy the day before.  I did that a few weeks ago when I did several hours of yard work and then did 16 miles the next day.  It was carnage.  Ugly, ugly, ugly.  If that run had a personality it would have been a cross between that idiot that owns Abercrombie and Fitch and the car salesman who screams the entire commercial.  Which, how the hell he sells any cars, I don’t know.  I HAVE A DEAL FOR YOU!!! COME ON OVER!!!! I CAN GET YOU INTO A CAR TODAY!!!!!  Hey, I can get me into a car today, too.  And it’s not yours.

The thing about Speedos is, no one can really wear them well.  Even Olympic swimmers.  I look at the TV and nervously slide my glance away, the anorexic young things have stomachs so flat I’m positive the Speedo actually has nothing to grip and any second now that sucker is heading straight for the floor.  Look at them next Olympics.  They have no butt, no hips and no stomach.  The poor Speedo is hanging on for dear life.  “Ohhhh no….he’s diving into the pool!!  HOLD ON!”  Meanwhile a nation of 18-22 year old females hover on the edge of the couch, watching intently.  “I didn’t know you were so interested in sports, honey,” wonders their collective fathers.

And if those incredibly fit, flat-tummied guys can’t, I can tell you for absolute certainty who else can’t:  that 60-something guy at the triathlon yesterday.  I saw him riding up and because I am so finely tuned into the universe I knew – I KNEW – this was a cluster looking for a place.  I tried not to look but it’s like going to WalMart on a Saturday morning in July.  Oh, crap.  I can’t unsee that.   OOPS, I can’t unsee that.  OH SHIT, I really can’t unsee THAT.  As someone once said, it’s like watching two watermelons fight their way out of a bag.

So I saw Mr. Speedo (that’s not his real name.  I made that up.  I don’t really know his real name and if offered the opportunity to know his real name I would decline, loudly and probably not using the manners my momma taught me.)  Anyway, Mr. Speedo rode up to the transition area on his bike in the little bitty Speedo and nothing else except his transition bag.  I’ve noticed at WalMart on Saturdays that as people age they start to sag a bit, and it appears that no specific body parts are exempt, if you get my drift.  I’m not positive but I think I heard a tiny voice coming from the direction of the Speedo say “For the Love of All That’s Holy someone save me”, but that could have been my eyeballs talking, I’m not sure.  At any rate maybe he has poor vision and XS and XL all look the same.

I walked off and tried to find someone to talk to so I could get the image stuck on my eyeballs to start to fade.  You know, like if someone next to you says, HEY!  DO. NOT. Look at the sun! you immediately stare straight at the sun even though your brain is screaming DON’T and then you have a huge orange ball floating in front of everything you look at for 10 minutes and you really can’t see anything else except around the edges.  I found my friend Johncharles and he’s easy enough to talk to that you can visit with him even if there is a large blob burned into your retinas and you can only see the outline of his head and his face is obscured.  Eventually I felt better.

Later I found my other friend, Hermione (all names, by the way, have been changed to protect the innocent).  We went over to the swim exit and visited with Johncharles.  I was turned to talk to Hermione so my back was to the boat launch as the runners came out of the water.  I saw her face contort, terror and disbelief in her eyes as she whispered, “Ohhhh…gawd…”

I knew.  I knew what she was looking at and I turned my head anyway, yep, Mr. Speedo (whom, I should amend, is, I’m sure, a very very nice man and someone’s daddy and I will get several extra days in timeout in Heaven for this blog but I can’t stop myself now, I have to finish this story so you will be warned and will know why blindness could occur).

I turned back but poor Hermione was still a bit stunned and moving slowly.  “Ohhh…no…we have…testicle.”

DON’T LOOK DON’T LOOK DON’T LOOK OMG DO NOT LOOK it took everything I had not to look but I succeeded.  I want to live to see my grandson’s sweet face one more time.

“…we have…testicle” she said, softly.

“…we have…testicle contact…” she softly updated me as my mind exploded.

“…and…testicle…is secured.” she concluded.

Lost and Found

Man, it’s been busy around here.  Bunch of crazy people keep registering for stuff.  We’ve processed over 1100 memberships, have over 1700 registered for the RRS and over 1100 ladies doing Women Run/Walk Memphis.  I worked 60 hours last week.  But we’re on the downside now and it’s only like this once a year.  Kinda like being a tax accountant on April 1st except I get to sit at home drinking coffee in baggy shorts and my oldest softest t-shirt and I can flip over to Facebook (my water cooler) to visit whenever I get bored looking at numbers and names.

Plus I have a bullshit button and a Grumpy Cat coffee cup so what more could I want?

Desk

Well, a Brain.  I could want one of those.

if I only had a brain

I just don’t remember being this disorganized when I had four kids doing fortyninety things.  Maybe I was and I’ve forgotten — this would not surprise me.  I have to count back on my fingers from 2013 to the year they were born to remember how old they are.  Oh, forty.  or 25.  It’s a constant little irritation in the back of my mind, a steady little thread ‘what did I forget now?  what did I forget now?  what did I forget now?’  I recently bought a fluorescent yellow/green purse – the color of the shirts the guys building highways wear so you can see them from Italy – and a matching wallet.  I’m pretty proud of myself for this stroke of genius as I haven’t lost my purse since then.  And the electric bill should look good too, since it lights up one entire floor of the house.

I thought of trying to find some kind of clap on/clap off key ring but it occurred to me that, as loud as I play Rock 103 in the car, it would burn out in one trip to the store.

I need to go to the store today, as a matter of fact.  Soon as I find the damn grocery list.  One good thing about getting older and set in our ways, the grocery list is pretty much the same.  Milk bananas oranges apples lunch meat bread diet coke.

That could be a clue.  Maybe I need a bit more variety in my diet?  Oh, well, I take a lot of vitamins.  Like, once every week or two.  When I remember.

So someone, I can’t remember who, shared this awesome recipe with me.  16 calories per 1/4 cup, supposedly.  You can use it as a side salad, a dip, or you can put it on hamburgers as a relish.  This is good because now I don’t have to remember what it’s for.

Crisp Cucumber Salsa Recipe  Cool Cucumber Relish

2 cups finely chopped seeded peeled cucumber
1/2 cup finely chopped seeded tomato
1/4 cup chopped red onion
2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and chopped
4-1/2 teaspoons minced fresh cilantro
1 garlic clove, minced
1/4 cup reduced-fat sour cream
1/4 cup Hellman’s Olive Oil mayo
1-1/2 teaspoons lemon juice
1-1/2 teaspoons lime juice
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon seasoned salt

Mix.  Grab some baked Tostitos and chow down.  Or make hamburgers and chow.  Or just stand at the sink and shovel it in, which is my preferred method of delivery.

So, for the 4th, I wanted to make the salsa/relish/salad to take to a friend’s house.  I’d bought all the ingredients and was set to go.  Got out knives, chopping board, bowl, ingredients…

…Dammit.  Where’s my cucumber?

I wandered about the kitchen looking for my cucumber.  Where the hell is my cucumber.  I NEED my cucumber.

Not in the refrigerator.  Not on the counters.  Not on the table.  Not on the island.

How.  The.  Hell.  Do you lose a cucumber you were just holding five minutes ago?

Hubs saw me.  “What are you looking for?” (he knows the look)

I can’t find my cucumber.

“where did you see it last?”

In my OWN HAND.

“well, it’s not there, now.  Did you set it down somewhere before you wanted to use it?”

apparently so, since my hands are empty, here, see?

I NEED the damn cucumber.  I WANT my cucumber.

I roam the house.  Did I leave it in the bedroom?  Nope.

Laundry?  Nope. On my desk?  OH baby Jesus in the crib your daddy made, please not on my desk, I’ll never find it.

Back to the kitchen.  “did you find your cucumber?” inquires hubs.

Nope.  I NEED MY DAMN CUCUMBER.  NOW.  How am I going to get anything accomplished without my CUCUMBER.

For the fortieth time I wander, forlorn, sad, dejected, unfulfilled without my cucumber.

Oh, wait, there it is, with the mail.  Well that’s anticlimactic.

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