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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 tag “alarm clock”

Wakey wakey, use your brake-y.

Just before hubs’ alarm went off this morning Cat’s internal alarm went off.  *sigh*  I carried her downstairs.  A few days ago I was carrying her downstairs and she saw my backlit reflection in the patio door. Apparently my appearance was terrifying and she kicked off in a leap that spanned five stairs, landing with a thud in the den and hauling cat a$$ into the bathroom, her tail the size of a baseball bat.  Now she’s started doing  that as habit.  Or, I’m terrifying every morning.  Perhaps she should allow me to wake naturally, eh?

I’m working on being a better morning person.  I haven’t actually managed a smile yet (that would just be frightening for all involved) but I’ve gotten in some conversation that has consisted of more than hmmmm and ummmm and grrrrr.

This morning I managed an actual, real conversation.  Like, entire sentences strung together in a paragraph of verbal communication.  Really, what is there to talk about at 5am?  We have weather, yes.  It’s hot or cold, it’s wet or dry.  Unless you’re making coffee in a hurricane (which my sis-in-law did do in the past month, I don’t think she enjoyed it) you can’t squeeze much more out of weather.  There’s the obligatory ‘love you, have a good day’ which is nice but it’s rather a platitude.  It would have greater meaning in its absence; that would not be a good thing.

This morning I returned to bed in the (vain) hopes of falling back asleep.  Then I started thinking about Saturday’s race and the policeman getting hit by that truck, as I’d mentioned earlier. He’s OK, but it scared the stew out of all of us.  I think perhaps the MPD should consider issuing Depends in the line of duty.  I was wide awake mentally writing a letter of commendation to his superior.

Finally I gave up and went to make coffee. Hubs was up looking at the paper, getting ready to go swim about 10 million laps before work.  He’d been out of town and hadn’t heard the entire story, plus I’d gotten more information, so I started telling him about Saturday.

Shortly after I’d put out the flames of The Safety Pin Incident I was in the parking lot checking that everything was going well when I heard a commotion in the street.   There was a man in a very large pickup truck, all duded out with extra-large parts as though the driver has issues for which he’s compensating.  He didn’t seem inclined to want to wait for the ladies to cross the street, even though the officer was standing there with his hands up, stopping traffic all around.  The driver pulled forward toward the officer, who indicated loudly that the driver needed to stop, NOW.  Fortunately at this point everyone was standing at the side of the street, frozen; there were no pedestrians in the road.  We were probably all thinking about the same thing:  you have to be some kind of special stupid to encourage a cop to yell at you.

The driver pulled forward again; the officer, in front of the truck, yelled to stop.  Suddenly the driver slammed the accelerator.  The officer slid off the front of the truck and onto the street.  I stared, horrified – if his feet got twisted up he would have been run over.  It took like two hours, or maybe 20 seconds, for two motorcycle cops to take after the truck.  Seconds or an hour later a cruiser took off behind them.  One of our coaches had the license plate info and they were already radioing everything in by the time I got to the street.  The officer was obviously a bit shaky but completely in charge and control.  While working the radio and relaying information he kept the traffic flowing and continued to direct the women across the street.

After the race our course director returned from collecting cones and reported that Mr. Stupid Sir lived down the street and around the corner near the course.  There were seven cruisers and a flat-bed tow truck in front of his house, taking Sir Stupid and his compensating truck downtown.  Apparently he was completely drunk and had taken off running from his driveway.  Hopefully his visit downtown will give him time to reflect on life and make some new commitments, one of which might be coffee first thing in the morning instead of anything stronger.

It makes me think, Cat needs to be grateful that I don’t drive a truck down the stairs.

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Shut up. Give me the coffee.

Car properly loaded to work and run the Road Race Series 10K – Shrine of Coffee, PB and Orange Marm sammie, tunes for the extra miles after the race (only one ear bud will be used for safety)

4:01 am.  56 degrees.

Every year, just when I give up hope, it happens.  It’s like Christmas, I finally decide that there really is no Santa and then I wake on Christmas morning.  Thursday:  103 degrees, 10 quadjillion% humidity.  Sunday: 56 degrees.  Still 97% humidity, so I’ll still sweat like an Arkansas hawg, but … it will be a clammy chilly sweat.  And, um, yay for that.

Here’s a surprise:  no matter what time I wake I’m not a morning person (pick your favorite, I couldn’t choose just one).  Back away, stay calm and leave a clear path to the coffee pot is all I ask.  Oh, and also, Shut UP.  I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to smile, I don’t actually want to breathe but that’s automatic, thank God.  Or maybe not.  Many people might be safer if I skipped breathing first thing in the morning.  Wake up, quit breathing, fall over.  Later, wake again.  It might work.

Do.  Not.  Suggest this to hubs.  He may take you up on it.

Hubs is like this: Deepest Darkest Night, alarm RINGRINGRINGRING and just as I think I will have to find a shotgun and scatter the F*ing thing into space he manages to find the button to turn it off.  Mind you, it’s the same button every damn morning, but somehow it seems to scoot to one end of the clock or the other randomly, never to be found two days in a row.

Over the years hubs has learned, and sometimes failed to remember, that I want to sleep.  Like, sleeping sleep.  Not like, “OK I’M GOING TO WORK NOW, BYE, Oh, sorry, DID I WAKE YOU?” sleep.  Because once you’ve attempted a conversation with someone, unless they are in a coma, under anesthesia or deaf then yes, YOU JUST WOKE THEM UP.  (Hubs has a hearing deficit.  I have to type loudly).  (I don’t have a hearing deficit.  I hear you in there, shaving and talking to the cat.)  (The cat is not going to answer you even if you continue to increase the volume of the conversation).  (Also, putting the cat in the shower and shutting the door does not work.  I can hear her mewing nonstop and you can, too, I know, because you keep saying, Just a MINUTE cat and I’ll let you out.  But, you don’t.)

I blame it on the 9+ months I spent without more than 3-4 hours sleep in a row, thank you so not, T1 and T2 although I know it’s not your fault that you didn’t like sleeping on your head all crammed in there together those last few months any more than I would have; altho the bed would have been more comfy for me than the recliner, it wasn’t about me.  And of course you shouldn’t be blamed for being hungry every few hours when you weighed about 6 pounds, altho it would have been nice had you timed your hunger pangs to coincide rather than splitting it up into 90 minute intervals.  This is all in the past however, and all that is left is a lingering and irrational desire not to be awakened.

As I’ve mentioned, the alarm clock has a warped sense of humor and takes delight in randomly working or not, so I set my phone alarm.  On Road Race Series mornings I’ve got to get up by 4:15am so I can get ready to run the race myself and also have all the registrations, packets, cash box, lists, etc., organized and loaded in the car.  Cat decided to be a nocturnal living alarm clock, however, and pounced on the pillow at 4:01 am.  There’s very little sense in trying to go back to sleep for 14 minutes so I got up and made coffee.  I thought something was wrong with the lights when I turned them on but then discovered I still had my eyes closed and was not, in fact, making coffee in the dark.  I was hopeful for a moment that I was sleep walking and not really awake, either, but discovered to my sorrow that I was indeed awake after a bit of hot coffee sloshed on me.  ouch.

Clutching a hot Go Cup of coffee, the Shrine of The Only Thing Right With The World At 5:15am safely buckled beside me, I head out in the cool dark morning to the race site.  I like this part, driving in the quiet early morning, hitting the freeway with the semi’s and a few out-of-state drivers apparently on vacation.  I think about where they may be going or have been. I’ve always loved driving in the dark, somehow feeling more connected to the greater world, the stars and the silence.  Well, except Thunderstruck just came up on 103 so now I have that blaring as I sip the nectar of coffee and head to the Farms.

This part I love, too – arriving at the race site in the 5:30am dark.  The finish line crew is already there, some are out on the course setting cones, some are getting the finish line set up.  This crazy bunch of nutjobs are not even all runners any more, due to injuries and issues, yet there they are, laughing, setting things up, playing jokes on one another.  Over the past 5-1/2 years of doing my job we’ve all shared ups and downs, we’ve laughed together, cried together.  They are there long before the race starts and long after the last runner crosses the finish line; they are my second family.

The stars slowly fade as the sun peeks up over the park.  There is mist rising off the ponds and I see the horses from the stable jogging along the fence as they see the runners begin to line up behind the start.  Runners stretch out in front and behind me, a rainbow of multi-hued tech shirts and hats, Garmins beeping as they locate the Mother Ship, feet shuffling.

I see Lane climb the stepladder with the bullhorn.  “GOOOOOOOOOOOD MOOOOOOOOOOORNING RUNNNNNNNNNNNNNERS!” he shouts.  The race is on, the day begins.

September 12, 2010 – the horses raced along the fence as the runners took off.  Photo Credit John Bookas.

Monday Musings

I’m up and sitting here with nothing to do but mess around on the computer.   Actually, I’m lying.  I have plenty to do.  I could fold the clothes in the dryer.  AHAHAHAHAHA not.  Or vacuum.  At 5:30am hubs would love that, he can’t stand the sound of the vacuum at any time, I bet he’d really hate it as an alarm clock.  Load the dishwasher, but I’m kind of on strike with the dishwasher.  Actually I should probably load and run it about 5 times a day so it will break down faster and I can get a new one.  I hate this dishwasher – first world problem.  Finish the mess I started at 4pm yesterday – on a Sunday, WTH? – when I decided to clean both closets in my office.  I’ll post a pic, it’s not pretty.  I’m afraid I could lose a whole person in the mess.   But, no, here I sit, with my handmade mug from our trip to Telluride about, OMG, I think 16 years ago, full of hot steaming coffee, proof that God loves us and wants my family safe, to paraphrase Ben.

Chunker is a new girl.  We got home late Saturday and she was so sweet, not upset at all about our being gone.  She jumped on the counter and had to sniff my nose.  She’s so cute, she puts her little nose to mine so softly.  I  think it helped that #4 (the traitor) stayed here so she wasn’t alone 24/7.  She’s not good at that, I’ve been with her since she weighed 6.5 ounces and she kinda depends on the company.  Guess whenever I go out of town from now on Traitor, I mean, #4 child, will just have to take vacation days and come back to Memphis.  Murph T. Dog had to get a bath yesterday, either Traitor and his friends took him out on the boat or he rolled in something fine, either way he stank.  It’s so pathetic, he ran away from hubs, around the yard to the kitchen door, looking at me, face sad, ears drooping, tail tucked.  “Mom!  Save me!” but no, I turned him in to the Bath Police.  Afterward he’s so happy he literally bounces.  “I’m ALIVE!  I’m ALIVE!  Praise Jayzuss, I lived!”  Near Death Experience:  Flea Shampoo.

Every time I mention to one of my running buds that I’m on a goal to shave off a few pounds they do the whole big eyeball thing, Why do YOU want to lose weight??  Because I’m well over 40, in fact I was probably 40 when I got that coffee cup, and I’ve packed on a few pounds.  “They” say you put on 8-10 per decade if you don’t watch it.  I’m watching it, all right, and it’s getting easier to see.  At this rate, at 70, I’m going to be 30 pounds overweight and I’m not going to do it, this post explains why.  Anyway, I ordered one of those body fat scales from Amazon.  Looking into them and reading reviews online, you have to admit they are not perfect.  But using the scale every day at the same time will be a tool I can use.  It’s almost against my religion to use a scale, so this is a big step for me.  I’m anti-scale, I’m sorry, I’ve tried to be open minded but I hate the nasty lying little buggers.

Since I also love to eat food of nearly any kind other that Brussel Sprouts – and don’t either of you Faithful Followers Of My World Famous Blog try telling me you have a recipe that is so awesome I will turn into a Brussel Sprouts Lover, because it cannot happen, many have tried and many have failed, Brussel Sprouts and scales, I’m close minded – I mean, I LOVE to eat, just ask my trainer Cheryl, AKA Killer, who stares at me in wonder as I discuss at every session what I ate yesterday, what I’m going to eat tomorrow and maybe the next day, stopping only to be distracted by whatever speciality they are making on the morning news show on the TV on the wall.

The solution is trying to eat cleaner, and spending more calories.  I’m trying to limit impact from running right now, so I’ve turned to the bike, or spin class.  I’m a bike wimp. I use sissy pedals on a nice bike.  I can’t even find my bike shorts, but really those things are useless anyway, that little bit of padding is worthless as far as saving your butt from hurting.  They’re pretty good at making you walk funny and look like you have a full diaper, tho, if you’re into that.  So this morning I’m meeting some buds, we’re planning to do 10 slow and then ride.  We have a Greenline now and it’s all nearly connected.  Circling and then going out and back we can get in 27 miles.  Of course, we love to stop at a little place on the way and eat; I love this place, they have a Cuban sandwich on pannini that I dream about.  In fact I think I just started salivating.  I knew this all along, but didn’t implement it; biking is a fantastic compliment to running.  If I used the clips it would be even better, but after I fell off the bike – actually, I didn’t fall OFF the bike, I fell with the bike still attached to me – and found myself lying on the pavement looking at the truck tire that, had I fallen about three seconds earlier the passing truck would have driven over my head but was now safely a couple feet past me, I just can’t do it.  Too scared.  Chicken chicken chicken.  Lately I actually thought about riding in the front yard with clips and practicing falling on the grass.  Then it occurred to me what an idiot I would look like, an old lady riding her bike in circles in the front yard, falling over.  In daylight.  Sober.

So I’m off to load the bike, poor thing, humbled by its sissy pedals, silently and jealously watching all the other bikes with real, clip-in pedals, into Babs (my car has a name, it’s Babs) and head to the Farms.  HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY TO YOU ALL!

And to all who have served our country in any way, to their family and loved ones:  Thank you very much for all you’ve done so I can sit here and complain about my dishwasher in safety.  I mean that very sincerely.  You make our world safe.  Thank you.

Should I really have started this?  And – I put the Telluride mug on top of the box so you can see it 🙂  HAPPY TRAILS –

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