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 tag “realist”

We’re on a Crazy Train

Driving me insane, I’m going off the rails on a crazy train 

The children, apparently, are all off their meds.  Unfortunately I am not, and I refuse to look at the calendar to see if it’s been 11 or 12 weeks since I’ve run.  I don’t have that many fingers and toes.

As I noted on FB the other day, no one – NO ONE – should be filled with steroids four times in one month. Someone could get hurt, and it won’t be me. This could explain why Chunk ran out the kitchen door the other day and hid under the car.  Hubs was at one end of the car fishing for her and I was at the other, with a mop.  Instead of running back in the house through the nearby kitchen door, which was hanging wide open, she darted for freedom on the front porch where she played Cat & Mouse with the two of us, slinking behind the fern and then under the bench, back and forth, as we darted to and fro, grabbing and missing.  We finally captured her; she struggled but we re-inserted her in the house, only to have her shoot out the back door and into the yard – she was close to speed of light, she was across the patio, down two sets of steps, and in the yard before I could turn around – once again, she was captured and re-inserted in the house. She has pulled the lights off the tree, sat in a branch and broke it and meanwhile I’m considering duct taping myself to a chair. Just need to be sure the Keurig will be within reach.

I fixed the broken branch by using long twist ties to buddy tie it to the branch above.  It’s listing to one side but should make it through one last Christmas.  I bought the tree while the traitors were still in high school so it’s given its due.  When all four kids were younger we got real trees for a series of years.  I loved it, but hubs’ eyeballs rolling back in his head every time he entered the room and considered the possibility of the entire house going up in flames from shorted out lights finally wore me down.  He should have been looking at the fireplace and rolling his eyeballs since that’s where the lightning finally struck and the fire ensued.  And it wasn’t even Christmas.

The last time we got a live tree he came close to entering orbit when he had to try to get it in the house.  Granted, it was a bit larger than the door.  It didn’t look quite that fat at the tree lot, really, although the kids no longer really fitting in the van could have been interpreted as a clue.  I just told them it was actually not illegal to drive with three kids in one front (bucket) seat.   I’d already paid for the tree and anyway I think the lady hauling all the kids around the tree lot had quickly been singled out by Tree Lot Dude as a nutjob.  Not that my pride was impacted.  It was some other woman with a bunch of kids whose names she kept mixing up.

After that, feeling sorry for hubs – it had nothing to do with my pride – I decided that was enough and we’d make do with fake, which he could just slide down the stairs from the attic every year in a nice tidy box.  That last year, though, that tree was magnificent.  We named it Mothra.  Mothra The Christmas Tree.  We didn’t realize, when picking it out, that it was too fat to stand alone.  It had a hearty lifestyle before it came to live at our place; apparently it was a choice of becoming a Christmas tree or auditioning for Biggest Loser, which would have been going out on a limb, if you ask me.  I had to use two 4″ nails (one hammered into the window frame and one into the mantel – neither of which I was ever able to remove.  When this family nails something to the wall, it’s freeking NAILED.  Hubs hung an 8×10 picture on the wall in one of the traitor’s rooms and when we moved I had to saw the nail off at the wall and he re-plastered it.  Sucker. Was. Not. coming out.  He’d impaled it in a stud.  The wall was coming down before that nail did.)  We wrapped a thin rope around the trunk and tied the tree to the nails embedded in the wall/mantel.  You mostly couldn’t see the rope.  Especially when the lights were off.

HI!  I’m back!  Had to warm up my 3rd or 4th cup of coffee.  I’ve kinda lost count because it’s now about 6:45am and I’ve been up since 2:30am.  I hope no one counts the empty Kcups in the trash.  I’ve had plenty of time to ruminate about long ago, last year, and last week, and here’s the thing:  I don’t think either the tree or the “kids” are going to undergo any changes, and I really think it’s going to get worse.  I just don’t know.  Maybe the steroids are like a virus and I’ve sneezed some on them?

Last year when Chunk was an even earlier version of Chunklite, since she was still a kitten, I worried she’d try to climb the tree, but she never did.  She did daily strip the damn thing completely bare of ornaments as far as she could reach and batted them all about the den, but she didn’t climb it.  I found ornaments for weeks.  I moved a chair last spring and out rolled one last ornament.   Lonely, lost little ornament with its top missing.  Sad.  This year, one branch down on the first day.  I didn’t even bother putting ornaments on the bottom branches.  Three different Christmases when my kids were learning to pull up, stand, and walk I put the tree in the playpen.  That was uglier than some bottom branches without ornaments.  If we have company I’ll quickly move a few.

Last year Murphy ignored the tree pretty much, at least as well as he ignores anything in the house which he doesn’t want to eat or sleep on.  This past week he spent two days following me like I had a steak glued to my falling off butt but not looking happy about it, cowering behind the nearest piece of furniture he thought he could fit behind (rather like Mothra The Christmas Tree, he had a hugely optimistic opinion of the smallness of his stature, never realizing that an 18″ trash can did not fully conceal him) and while he cowered he shivered and shook, looking hang-dog at me (boy, they nailed that description of a look) (oh, haha – nailed).  I’m not sure, but I think he didn’t like the untree-smelling thing set up in the den.  He didn’t seem to want to enter the den and when he did he dashed quickly to the door begging for freedom.   It could have been the pet repellent I’ve been spraying indiscriminately all over the tree uselessly, as you’ll note in the photo below, where you just might glimpse Mr. Mo settling in for a long winter’s nap as more of the branches dip closer and closer to the carpeting and ornaments slide slowly downward and the tree reeks of chemicals never before combined.  But he’s so damn cute.

Mo in xmas tree

Apparently to Mo and Munker consider pet repellent to be as attractive as I thought my mother’s Chanel No.5 was when, in 7th grade, I wore it to school for weeks trying in vain to entice the attention of Kevin, an “older man” in 8th grade.  Hey, why would I think she’d mind?  She never used it – it just sat there on her dresser, another item to dust.  Or so it seemed to me.  She’d had it for years and it never got much emptier.  Wouldn’t you think she didn’t like it but kept it around so she’d have a purpose in dusting?  Which, by the way, I thought a useless and archaic waste of time probably invented by my grandmother on the farm, which was surely dirtier than living in town, especially since it was actually me that had to dust the bottle, giving me ample evidence of her disdain for the item.  Yeah, right.  Disdain until one day in a freakish accident she somehow discovered the visibly lower level of perfume in the bottle and determined it wasn’t the dog smelling so fine.  Lesson learned:  don’t use mom’s perfume.

Plus, it didn’t seem to work anyway, Kevin fell madly in love with some idiot girl at his stupid church.

Now, this evening, Mo is curled up under the Christmas tree, looking so cute and sweet and pretty, all white and black and soft against the red plaid tree skirt, while he evilly plots his next tree climbing excursion.  Chunker, meanwhile, is sound asleep in my chair and has been pretty much since 3:30am when, after a desperate search throughout the house and realizing she was nowhere to be found, I discovered the little sh*t OUTSIDE on the kitchen deck gazing at me through the window.  She’d been outside all night.  Her longest previous outdoor excursion was the aforementioned visit to the front porch.  AND she has not yet batted one ornament off the tree, which I think is a sick ploy to throw me further off my game.  Murphy lovingly and uncoweringly played all over the den last night and then curled up with the B’ster, who spent the night with us, and this morning I heard the hubster upstairs roaming around at 7am, he overslept by two hours and didn’t run this morning.

We’ve got to get back to normal around here.  I’m the one who’s crazy and they are making me insane.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAA

(Credit for today’s post title goes to Chunker, who just walked across my keyboard – cool how it fits perfectly.)

Six weeks and 3 days since my last run.

6.5 miles walked this week.  I wasn’t Little Miss Positive this morning when I stated glumly to the hubs that I walked 3-1/2 miles yesterday and cranked that today my butt (my real butt, not my falling off butt) is sore; apparently I’ve lost a lot of conditioning in those 6-3/7th weeks.

The new cat is sitting on the kitchen counter next to me, purring.  Sweet, but more on Mr. No Mo another time.  I do have to state, however, that this cat farts more than any animal I’ve ever met. Every. single. time. he. eats.   And, repeatedly.  If there were a cat farting Olympics he would win gold.  But no one and nothing can possibly fart that often and that smelly without some type of aid, so probably USADA would soon be after him to determine if he were taking farting steroids.  OMG.  Thank you, little baby Jesus in your little wooden crib, for ceiling fans.

The Doc’s office called yesterday, 8 days after the nerve conduction test, to tell me what I already knew (pinched nerve) and to tell me something new:  they want to do a nerve block.

That’s a bit worrisome in view of the thousands of people now waiting to hear if they have meningitis.  Not that I’m trying to be negative, but the positive thinking thing is getting to be a constant effort and since I am, by nature and nurture, a realist (for more on being a realist read here and here), and with the euphoria of having a real diagnosis worn off and the pain not abated, struggling to squash that is, basically, a struggle.  It doesn’t help that (aided by Dr. Google) I’ve come to realize that a pinched nerve is the gift that just keeps giving.

Uh-Oh – news flash – don’t pick Mo up by the tummy.  It squishes out Mo farts.  Just let him walk across the keyboard and then erase the extra typing.  GAH.  Be back in a minute, I’m going outside.

Ok, I’m back.  *WHEW* Do you think I could find mustard gas masks on Ebay?

Friday I stretched as instructed by the PT and began some core work as instructed by the PT.  Then, I did something very radical:  I stood up.  As I stood, Thor, the god of thunder, stabbed me in the back with his bolt of lightning.  I looked at Killer, and Killer looked at me.  “I guess we’re done for today,” she stated, staring at my bulging eyeballs and fried hair, and I hobbled to the car and drove home sitting sideways.  By Sunday morning it had calmed down quite a bit; I was still getting random jolts causing me to jerk erratically as I walked, but the Finish Line Crew expects erratic and random things from me and no longer notices much of what I do, thank you again, Little Baby Jesus.

The realization that this is going to be a recurring issue the rest of my life, according to the PT, is still a bit new and still stings.  I realize it can be controlled, that it will probably only rear its BFOS head occasionally, and I don’t have cancer or heart disease and I’m not under investigation by USADA (yet, but then so far the Mo farts have not escaped the house).  But I’m still kinda bummed about the issue.  Monday I rode my bike.  Unfortunately afterward my first two toes went numb, which made the PT frown.  Hey, the feeling came back after an hour or two.  Cheer down.

OK, then, no biking.  No running, no biking.  I can: walk carefully, do the elliptical or swim (at which her beady little eyes began to gleam).  You both realize that I no longer hate swimming, but I do not, to any degree, like it.

So here we are, Wednesday morning, I’m still Gloomy Gus despite all my mental rah-rahing and positive thinking.  Probably positive thinking needs to drop words such as never, don’t like, don’t wanna and dammit.  Replacement words:  coffee, cat, dog, um…yay…um…ice cream (no, skip that, too many calories, dammit) ah, crap, I just said dammit.

Hopefully the Doc’s office will call today with the info on the nerve block, I’m sure it will be next week before it can be done at this point; apparently it will be 4-6 weeks after that for everything to heal and maybe my Christmas gift will be a run.

In the meantime I’m going to go check out gas masks.  Or move my office outside.  While I’m doing that, I’m going to paste below a very very nice note my friend, um, “Missy” posted on my FB page this morning (to meet “Missy”, visit here, “Missy” loves Zombies.)  I thought you both might enjoy it.  I know it made my day, even if she is a crazy nutjob runner.

++++++++++++++++++

Terri – Last Saturday I ran a 10k and when Sunday morning came around I just really didn’t feel like getting out of bed to run The Beast. I volunteered to help before the race so I had to go. It was nice talking with you and being the genuine person you are, it was impossible for you to hide your disappointment and frustration with your injury and not being able to run. (Oh how we crave that daily dose of endorphins to keep our minds and souls at peace.) When the race started and I started running I already had in my mind that it was going to be bad. Too little hormones and too much lactic acid was not a good mix that morning. Close to mile 4 I thought, “I’m done….. not feeling it this morning.” I figured when I pass that parking lot I am going straight to my car. Then there you were at the water station. I remember telling you I want to stop. And you told me I can if I want. But there was something about the look on your face that told me the rest….. “How dare you stop now?” “Wish I could finish it for you?” “WTF is wrong with you?”  Something. I knew I had to finish. I guess I just want to let you know that your passion for running carried me this past Sunday and I am going to let it carry me through New York in a few weeks too. Thank you for sharing your passion, your pain, and your disappointment, because although it is awful for you, I bet there are many more of your friends out there who, like me, you encourage without you even knowing it. Stay strong, heal quickly, and keep encouraging others. Thank you sweet girl…

:

I am a realist. A pragmatist.

For me, the glass is half full because someone drank part of it.  And left it on the counter.  Where it will sit until the end of time unless I (which I capitalized to emphasize that it’s ME, but I is always capitalized so the emphasis is not visible.  Just pretend.) throw the rest out and put the dirty cup in the invisible dishwasher.

As a realist I have mediocre expectations that I (this time I is just capitalized for being I, I’m not emphasizing it this time.  Just so you know.  In case you wanted to keep track.) or anyone else including the cup leaver behinder will exhibit drastic changes in their personalities and habits.  As a pramatist I have come to this philosophy by observing in my own life that nothing much changes which I express frequently by saying “Oh, well” and sometimes “Oh, well h*ll”.  Exhibit A:  the cup.

Which is why I am confused this morning.

I awoke with a feeling of ennui.  (I had to look up how to spell ennui which was kinda hard to do because I only knew it started with an ‘e’ and somewhere in it has an ‘i’, which is not capitalized.  Thank God google knows me well and immediately offered helpful suggestions.  It did not, however, put the dirty cup in the invisible dishwasher.  Not that I’m bitter.)

Why, I pondered in bed while curled sadly around Mushy Pillow, do I feel vaguely dissatisfied?  Why this feeling of ennui?

Yesterday I woke:  bright world, sunny day, going for a run!  Seeing the peeps!  Hugging the Brettster!  Happy Happy Joy Joy!

This morning: darkness.  Grey, all encompassing black darkness.

Then I remembered I should  turn on the light since it was 5:30am which is almost midnight so that helped a lot.

Yet it followed me like a little grey puppy, nipping at my heels, yip yip yip dissatisfied yip yip sad yip yip something is missing yip.

Pondering.  Sipping coffee and pondering, glassy-eyed staring out the window.  What am I missing?  What did I forget?  I wandered through the house checking that everything was as it should be.  Dog sleeping on bed, cat locked in bathroom until Petco opens, furniture not stolen in the night which the dog, in his 23 hours a day sleep-induced coma would not have heard, hubs awake at oh my god in the morning and already exercising for 13 hours: all check.  What do I have planned for today?  Did I forget something yesterday?

And then…I remembered.  I remembered the joy, the golden glow of potential, the shimmering possibilities of the New Year.  The promise of new beginnings … RESOLUTIONS

A pragmatic realist should know better than to make resolutions.

And this is what happened that shining, promise-filled first day of 2012:

~ I did not run 87 miles

~ I did not lose 12 pounds

~ I did not eat granola with greek yogurt and fruits and berries high in antioxidants followed by a lunch of dark leafy greens and chopped veggies in a low-fat balsamic vinaigrette reduction and a dinner of 4 ounces of skinless chicken breast and oven roasted eggplant.

~ I did not even open the Drawer of Terror, much less attempt to clean it out.

~ I did not leap tall buildings in a single bound

~ I did not win the lottery

~ I did not sprout wings and run a 6 minute mile.  Or 7.  Or 8…or 9…or…10…

~ And while most of you do not know this, the largest disappointment of all:  I failed to trim the cat’s claws.

All of it:  gone.  Dust.  Disillusionment.  Shattered dreams, lost hope.  Deep hole of darkness.

Oh, well h*ll.  At least I can put the cup in the dishwasher.

Post Navigation

In my own words

Noli timere

The Science of Sport

Scientific comment and analysis of sports and sporting performance

It's A Marathon AND A Sprint

And a 10K and a 200 Mile Bike Ride and an Obstacle Race and Anything Else We Find!

Running On Healthy

Living Life Healthy, Fit, and Happy

One Dreamy Mess

Fit, healthy, & traveling the world.

runswimbikediversify

Just. Take. Another. Step.

The Fit Mom Diary

Family, Fitness, Food, & FUN

Be Happy, Be Kind & Be Loving

A great WordPress.com site

Pages and Stories

Reflections on Writing, Traveling, and Food

Grow up proper

A raw view on life

Morning Story and Dilbert

Inspiring, Encouraging, Healthy / Why waste the best stories of the World, pour a cup of your favorite beverage and let your worries drift away…

Living the Life

Staying spirited (while attending college): happy thoughts on the happiest time of your life

Trek Ontario

Hike | Camp | Canoe | Snowshoe | Geocache | ...

Chocolate Covered Race Medals

Where I race to the chocolate bar

Exchanging Words

Everything about Anything

Seize the day!

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.

Hemingway Run

Marc Hemingway: On The Road To Berlin Marathon

Bike/Ped Memphis

Nicholas Oyler - Bikeway & Pedestrian Program Manager

Midwest Sweet Tea

A movement towards balance and self-discovery.

pipe down piper

I'm tired and I'm hungry.

Sarah Corell

Multimedia from every corner of the world.

Jack Flacco

THE OFFICIAL SITE

Hiking Photography

Beautiful photos of hiking and other outdoor adventures.

Fatness to Fitness

Practical strategies for making a lifestyle change.

Run5kaday's Blog

Daily distance running adrenaline!

hungry and fit

A young couple focused on great workouts and feasting well -- all on a low budget!

Top 10 of Anything and Everything!!!

Animals, Gift Ideas, Travel, Books, Recycling Ideas and Many, Many More

Mountains to Mats

The Modern Art of Muay Ski-Jitsu...

Philly Tales and Trails

Running adventures through the City of Brotherly Love

The Happsters

Spread Positive Vibes. Give Love. Be Happy.

findingexpression

awe, humility, hope and a few other things I might notice

kirstenmcaleeserunning

A great WordPress.com site

Hollis Plample

draws comics

Julia's Place

Musings of a retired but not retiring woman

borscht and babushkas

pioneer pursuits post-peace corps ukraine

The Better Man Project ™

a journey into the depths

jadaadele

Just another WordPress.com site

The Fit Wanderer.

forever wandering

Jello Legs

My love hate struggle with running

Bucket List Publications

Indulge- Travel, Adventure, & New Experiences

theinnerwildkat

Passions For Books, Writing and Music-however it manifests itself

run eat life

live life healthy and happy