Good Friday Eve.
I ran in my neighborhood this morning, for the first time in months. I know what you're saying. Where was Susan and T'knesha? Well, T'knesha is M.I.A. I've been taught to not leave a man behind, but I don't know where she is. Last night Susan called me at about 11 p.m.. I wasn't bothered by it, but it did catch me off guard since I usually go to bed around 8:30 p.m. to wake at 4:30 a.m.. When I heard the phone ring I jumped up and stared at the clock. "Why is my clock waking me with such a non-threatening, musical alarm?" A few more notes chime when I realize it isn't the clock. "Phone!" I rush into the darkness of my living room. "Did I leave the phone on the charger?" Heading for the kitchen counter, phone still ringing. "No." Run back the other way. "Where in the .... okay, just follow the noise." I snatch the phone still inserted in it's pocket on my wallet. "Open the flap, Michelle." For some reason, my extremties don't function well when there is no ambient light to move to. Releasing the phone, I squint at the numbers. "Who in the world is calling me? Hello?" It was Susan to say she wouldn't be able to run in the morning. "Oh!. Okay." Once the call ended, I had such an adrenaline rush. And I couldn't figure what I had just happened.
Anyway, I went running alone. It was nice. The neighborhood looks the same. I saw a lady letting her Chow use other peoples lawns as it's toilet. I did the loop pretty quick and decided to do it a second time but to include the hills. Before my second lap however, I saw it. The White Van! It drove past on Old Canton as I was approaching it from the Village Glen. He must have been checking on me to see if I have made any progress. I turned and I didn't look back. In the back of my mind I do wonder if the view looks different than before. Understand, I am not telling you to check out my ass on the next run, but just give it a quick peek for reference and memory so that when I get to Chicago, if I haven't changed, you'll know to lie when I ask the question. Honestly, its not like I can't feel it back there...bounding behind me with every step. I'd try to out run it, but it catches up.
Speaking of bodies, I was skimming through a health magazine. I noticed an ad with a woman who appeared to be physically fit. Hardly any bodyfat. I noticed that she was rather flat chested. Makes sense, since she is physically active and petite. But that got me thinking about human evolution. Would it be safe to say that maybe the women with flat to barely-there chests were originally meant to be the hunters or predators, if you will? And those with ample bosoms were to be the breeders or prey? After tossing this idea around I thought of my thighs. Quite massive compared to the rest of me. Hunters would need to be agile, with quick, cat-like reflexes. Rotund thighs would be a hinderence to the hunt. They would be ideal for the prey, hibernating. But I am blessed with a barely-there chest. More deliberation.
So, am I to consider that I, in my species, am the equivalent to...say, the Platypus? It's not a beaver or a duck, yet it has webbed feet and a duck's bill. What do platypus' do? Do they serve a unique purpose like a beaver creating dams? Or do they mock me, traveling aimlessly, searching places to maybe fit in? Do you even hear about platypuses nowadays? Are they extinct or hulled up somewhere in the wilderness with a Platypus Support Group? Telling one another to 'not sweat it and let it roll off their back like water on a duck.' Do they dress up like beavers and go dam-tipping, just to blame it on the mean beaver that is nasty to all the other animals. The more I think about it, maybe I'll start a support group of my own for women of extraordinary figure. I'll call it Women of Genuine Prowess. Rrrrrr.
Until then, I'll stick to my current mascot, the Hound.

Oh, and since I am unable to get to a computer after this, I am assuming the run is as usual on Saturday at the Counseling Center. If not, I'll just show up anyway, I could us the drive.
Take care!

...but I like to hear myself talk!

Happy Tuesday!
I ran with Susan this morning. She feared the lightening, so we ran the loop in the park next to the Y. I don't know how far we went, but it was nice to not have a hill facing you while you ran. During our runs we manage to get things off our chest. Her's was the concern she had for her daughter and college - the admissions people are kinda screwy. Me, I openly admitted to having a problem. I like to tell people what they should do. I mean no harm, but I rarely realize that what I am saying is something someone may just not want to hear. Why wouldn't someone want to take good advice? I would. But therein lies the problem. The world is obviously revolving around ME, why else would I have all this great useless information to forcefeed down my co-worker's throats.
A co-worker once told me that while he was at lunch, he ate two large sandwiches (with white bread), then had two large bagels with either peanut butter and/or jelly. Then washed them down with a Dr. Pepper and was dumbfounded as to how sleepy he was by 3 p.m!. There should be a Carboholics Anonymous Group Meeting at the Reservoir Recreational Center. Heck, they have one for the West Nile Virus Support Group! (Is it just me? It's okay, I can take it.) I am not trying to be cynical although the punctuation I have chosen would lead you to believe otherwise. All I am saying is: I have an overabundance of useless information that I know could be useful should there ever be a reality show requiring big-thighed, multiracial women, with an overabundance of knowledge and no one to tell it all to. Granted, there is Jeopardy, but I don't know everything...come on.
So who knows; I may just go to school to authenticate my jabbering with a piece of paper that confirms not necessarily that I know what I am talking about, but that I attended the class. Whether it applies at that particular moment will be... well, it really doesn't matter if it applies! I'm offering good information backed by an accreditted establishment of scholarly excellence. (Hey Susan, how is that for articulate BS?!) Susan thinks I have a way with words.

I pledge to refrain from telling people what they should do and only offer my useless fodder when asked...but I still think you should...

Late Bloomer blossoms with 'unique' style!

Top o' the morning to ya lads and lasses. (Don't ask me why am am talking like this, I'm not even Irish.)
Where do I start... Thursday. If it weren't for running partners, both Susan and I would have slept in. But we trudged on and met at the Y. I didn't think we should time ourselves and after much coaxing - not!- she agreed. We started off on our warm-up walk to the entrance, made a right on the trail and just continued walking. The motivation to run just was not there. But the conversation was flowing, arms pumping. When we got to the half way point I turned around and Susan, still talking, turned to look at me in question. "We're here. Time to go back." Ya'll, if you could have seen the sheer delight in Susan's eyes when she registered our location, you would have been tickled. I think we talked as fast as we walked. But do I feel guilty? Absolutely not. Sometimes a walk is better than a run. Otherwise, you forget to enjoy what you're doing and becomes work. Maybe by Tuesday we'll have it back in our systems.

Friday. As I had told Susan on our walk, I have come to the conclusion that I am too old to dress like a teenage tomboy. I am thirty, after all. On past trips to the mall, I surveyed the display windows of various stores, trying to figure which is more 'my style'. I didn't find any that I thought reflected 'my unique style'. After much analyzation and observation, I came to the conclusion that I may have very well adapted the 'digruntled and uncompromising lesbian' look without trying. For those wondering, I am straight, but this could very well explain the unseasonal drought in the region of 'amore'. Time to channel some feminine qualities from somewhere. So I went where any gay, butchy-looking woman may go to figure out how to look feminine. I went to Barnes and Noble. Found books on how to where makeup; What not to wear, and how to deal with this curly hair. (The hair may have to be cut because it is too long to wear down and not get tangled) The makeup - one step at a time shall we. I don't want to send my body into shock. So I started with clothes. Couldn't find jeans at WalMart that were comfortable and flattering. A younger co-worker of mine had those hip-hugging jeans, so I enlisted her help. (Gulp) We went to a store in the mall - Can't remember the name, but I wouldn't have entered on my own. After trying on about ten pairs that didn't fit - I am all thighs- I found one pair. From the knees up it clung to me like a monkey to a tree, but flared out below the knee. I can sit without my crack showing but I am going to wait until I lose another five pounds. And for the money I paid , I am wearing those in the coffin. But you should have seen the excitement of the other women in my shop. "Oh! You're going shopping! What are you getting? It's about time! I noticed your jeans were too baggy, but I didn't want to say anything." Man! Did I look that bad? I'll have to wear them out one day to see the reaction I get. My luck, a handsome man will pull up along side me, roll down his window and ever-so smoothly say, "Are those bugle boy jeans you're wearing?" To which I would have to reply," I can't talk right now. The limited supply of oxygen I have must support my legs since these things are so damn tight!" Maybe disgruntled lesbians are a result of such ordeals. They were once very happy-go-lucky people, I'm sure.

I know I should be happy with myself, regardless of outside influences. My mother always had her hair combed and her makeup done by the time I rose for school. Granted, I was an only child, so she had time, but I don't ever remember her not making herself presentable for any occassion. And she would instruct me not to wear horizontal stripes and leave my shirt untucked. She died shortly after I turned thirteen; she was 32. I often wondered how things would have been, or what kind of woman I would have turned out to be with more of her influences. I've heard people get a little ancy when they approach the age at which their parent had died. Maybe,subconsiously, my anxiety is leading me to wear high heels. I guess better late than never. She always did say I was a little of a late bloomer...but my derrier and thighs were right on time.

Monday the library is closed, so I'll give you the lesson for the week now:

Tis the season to start bloomin'! I don't think any of us are too old to blossom into something exquisite. If you can see yourself as whatever it is you dream, start today. Just like this marathon, it will require patience and determination. Just don't bloomin' quit!

Another Hair Raising blog.

Good evening!
I enjoy blogging with all of you. It keeps me from eating too much in front of the T.V.
Well, here I am. In the library, trying to speed read all the blogs since I can't download the fast way to see who wrote something new. In all honesty sometimes I have to go back and read what I had written. The return comments I receive in my email always have me wondering what I said. Especially when Patti replies with a "LOL". I think, 'What did I write the other day?' I know Ginko Biloba. I need a memory supplement sometimes. Did you know that in North Korea, there is a mandate out stating that men cannot have their hair no longer than three inches because they believe that the longer the hair, the less energy the brain has to function since the hair needs nourishment to grow. ( And they have control of how many nuclear weapons?)
Anyway, I let my hair down today. Literally. I got more stares and comments than the Bambi at an NRA convention. It was awkward but in an odd way, a little empowering. Kind of like big breasts with the bounce, but not as mesmerizing to men. With all the attention I considered marching into the Boss' office, just long enough for him to be taken aback, at which I would mention another raise. Just to see, ya know. If it worked I would get everyone in the shop to wear a wig and try it too.
Like clockwork, it frizzed. But it wasn't so bad. But it got me thinking about The Amazing Race. For those of you who don't know, people race around the world, solving clues and completing tasks along the way to make it first at the final destination, thereby winning $1,000,000.00. Last night, a married couple were in India, I believe, and the task was for both to shave their heads completely bald. (This task came up the last season and the women refused) As motivated to win as she was, the wife, while crying, let the Local man cut her hair. Her husband was already bald. I was amazed that she did it - hence the name of the show. But she was willing to give up vanity for money. Does that make her noble or greedy? Or within an astounding amount of memory loss? Would I shave my head for money?
No. Food, maybe. Let's just hope it doesn't have to come to that, shall we?
So I ask all of you since this is an interactive blog. What would you sacrifice for a million dollars? What wouldn't you sacrifice?
I would sacrifice: Speeding tickets, plucking and shaving, brussel sprouts, and an ex-boyfriend to be named later.
I would not sacrifice: All together now...Chocolate!, Food!, Mark Harmon and Patrick Dempsey - in no particular order, and my long runs with all of you!

To Intervene is Divine.

Hello everyone! Hated that I missed you all on Saturday, but did run one for you on Sunday.
My calf is still hurting for some reason. I stretched but who knows?
I have noticed something about myself this weekend that I'm sure I was aware of, but either chose to ignore or never noticed it in the mirror, so-to-speak. I am always wanting what I can't have. I'll explain:

Met a guy. hit it off. 6'3", handsome, muscles, good hygiene....Married! Damn.

Was thinking of getting out of the Navy. My Lieutenant fudged my tape measure stats so I wouldn't be a 'fat-body' and fail the fitness test. Aahh, two more years to go.

Straight hair. Never had it, always wanted it.

It finally hit me this morning that all of these things can be summed up in one phrase:
Divine Intervention.

That wonderful hunk of masculinity was never meant to be mine, but he just might be a teaser for what I may have coming to me in the future. Cross your fingers.
Me wanting to get out of the Navy, temporary anxiety. There are lessons to be learned that I know God wants me to complete before I can move on, so no more complaining.
And the hair... not just anyone can do curly hair. Only the chosen few are blessed. So don't be surprised when you see me with my locks flowing in the breeze. Hopefully there won't be gale winds spreading it from here to high heaven that day.

I realize, I don't have it bad at all. Everything is as it is suppose to be, right now. So you're lesson for this week: Take stock of what you have. If it is useless to your better health and goals, chuck it. Be thankful for everything else and know in good time, with faith, you will have all that you need when you need it. It may not look they way you expected it to - like my 6'3" adonis will probably be 5'7" and stout - but it'll be exactly what you need.
God Bless.

Good evening all,
And now for the news... Ran with Susan this morning. Called T'knesha but no answer. Oh well.
We had a good run, but our bodies were feeling the effects of the week and we were tired by the end. But it felt good to out running. A little cool, but beautiful.
Work was the usual, hurrying to get all the jewelry polished up and shipped out in time. Which led to a welcomed break at Jason's Deli. Love the soups and salad there. Anyway this leads me to my point of telling all this. As I am am sitting there minding my own business and eating my salad, an interesting sight appeared. At first I did not see it clearly as my head was down shoveling more leafy greens into my already full mouth. A flash of red caught my peripheral. Mouth now satisfied to maximum capacity I quickly turn to catch whatever the flash of red was that I had somewhat noticed. Chewing and turning my head, I see it. A man I do believe. Since I was sitting in a booth, my field of vision reached only the strike zone - mid-chest down to the knees. The red was one of those winter vests filled with down feathers that resembles the Michelin Man. And just south of that was THE TIGHTEST pair of white cotton, SEE-THROUGH shorts I have seen of late. Now you only see shorts like that in a WHAM video - for those who don't know WHAM, think of the construction guy in the Village People. Oh yeah, they were that short. I tried not to, but I couldn't help it. My head spun back forward so fast, but it was too late. Bits of spinach and red leaf shot through the air to the other side of the table while I did my best to push my cheeks out and purse my lips shut. Luckily the co-worker that was sitting there had gotten up for seconds. With one hand reaching for the napkin and the other keeping masticated salad in my mouth, I probably looked like I was having a seizure or something. My one friend gave me a puzzled stare as the other returned to her seat. Both were curious as to why I was grunting behind the napkin, head down and teary eyed. I tried to explain, mentioning the red vest when there he was walking up from my rear leaving them to see just what was causing me to convulse. And like me, they couldn't hold in their laughter either. We weren't trying to be cruel, but that was just funny. Oh, and on the return view we noticed he had tube socks on with hiking boots. "Maybe he was cold", I justified, but the one in front of me said, "well from the front it kinda looked it."

If any of you happen to know this guy, no hard feelings but he made my day.

Summer's coming, y'all. Break out the sunscreen and tighty-whiteys. If you got it flaunt it. And if you don't have it... just wear a down jacket and some hiking boots; no one will even notice!

Attracting flies of a different sort...

Well, as you may have already read in Susan's blog, we had a good morning. She did fail to mention that she sprinted past me up the last hill to our unofficial finish line. Whooo, Susan!
You go girl! I believe we did about 4.5, give or take. Small steps. Kinda like Big John when he trots past me; 40 years his junior and I still can't catch him. I'm comin for you Big John... oh yeah, I'm comin' for ya. Nothin' personal, just my young pride on the line. I'll see you at the start...2005!....Chicago!

I'm kidding. Love you Big John!

I can't really think of any pressing issue that I wanted to expound upon at this time. ( You like that? I learned a new word - expound.) I told you a little about my experience with the Navy a few weeks ago, but I did forget to mention the 50 year old that hit on me and bought me a drink. Yeah, I know... I had blocked it out. Anyway, I first want to say that I have nothing against 50 year olds, but even the young guys are pretty much up-front with their intentions. I had met him at the Battalion barbeque. We engaged in idle chit-chat; he mentions if I want to hang out with him and the OTHERS, just give him a call. (I know, in hindsight it was somewhat written out) I flippantly say okay and that was that. At about 8 pm, he has managed to walk to my hotel and find out my room number. Calls me and reminds me of a non existent agreement between the two of us about him buying me a drink, and offers to come to my room. I immediatley said no, I'd just meet him at the hotel bar. ("Harmless", I'm thinking because I hadn't had a drink in ages and we'd be in public. Just two Navy bubbas have a beer and talking. And I knew that everyone else was going to be there since it was our last night.) So I meet him.
He buys me a drink and proceeds to tell me about his bout with stomach ulcers and how he cured them with cayenne and jalapeno peppers. Don't ask. Then the questions, in rapid succession, mind you. "Are you married?" "Have any kids?" "Can you cook?" I ask him if I am dressed appropriately for the interview, to which he laughed and continued, "So, do you cook?" I hesitated, because I usually don't like to lie. I know I have cooking abilities but my survival tactics kicked in. "Rarely." Sensing my lie, he went on to explain that he was looking to find someone to settle down with. Someone with my quiet qualities - that of an Asian nature. I immediately wonder exactly what kind of (phaermones) I am emitting because I can't believe what I have just attracted. The dial on the spray emitter must be clogged or just pointing in the wrong direction. Maybe I was suppose to call the company for one that was to spray for only a certain age group vice the generic one I was issued upon birth.
Needless to say it was a short night for him. Luckily for me a live band was about to start their set and he couldn't take loud noise. The next day he avoided me like the plague. Maybe I need to attend (phaermone) management classes. Mine seem not to be doing me any good.
To all who are in committed relationships - I salute for not having to go through the awkwardness of singledom ever again. For all you single bubbas like me out there.... use a good smelling soap and pray your emitter dial is set for the right age group.

Squeaking thighs and a Butt shaped buoy.

Hello again!
This morning I ran with Carol. That was a good run. I thought we did about 4.5 miles but her watch said we did between 5 and 6 miles. I won't argue. Those straight-a-ways in the dark play tricks on your mind when you start feeling tired. We ran on the high side of the spillway. A light rain and easy breeze. An SUV even honked at us while we ran. They saw us from the back side, (wink,wink). We both still got it. I even wore shorts for the run. I don't usually wear shorts because I don't feel as though my legs look... good...nice... they're fat. Especially around the inside of the knees. I look knock-kneed. I can only imagine the fright some of the drivers had when they realized those were two legs running toward them and not reflective tape adhered to my would-be jogging pants.
And although Carol said she didn't notice, I noticed. The shorts I was wearing were the stretch nylon type. Well little did I know that due to the direction the grain of the fabric, my ever-rubbing thighs squeaked! Think of windshield wipers on a dry windshield, but faint in the distance. At first I heard the squeaking, but didn't think it could be me. I mean where on earth would I be squeaking from? (Keep comments to yourself please, this is a PG-13 show) . Maybe the SUV guy was actually the creepy van guy trying to tell me to cover them up, but I was too flattered to notice. Or the frequency of my thighs caused him to spastically hit his horn out of shear mercy.
Anyway, the only part of the run I had a problem with was the bridge. Remember my sensitivity to large expanses of water? Well, hearing a great amount of water rushing underfoot is just as bad as seeing it. I know what you might be thinking, that I have driven the length before, but there is a difference when you're doing 60 with Moondance blaring out of the speakers. My stomach turned when I realized what I was hearing and I had to focus on the positive: "I know my ass can float like a bouy, so don't panic." I never let on to Carol, but she probably noticed a difference in my breathing and speed.
I know we're suppose to ice down after, but I have a streak of impatience. I also refuse to fill the bathtub with cold water. So I do then next harshest thing my body hates me for. I turn on the shower to freezing cold and start with one leg. First the foot. Once that gets acclimated, I move up to the calf/shin and so on until the whole leg is a popsicle. Then the other. The feet and knees are the hard part. After them, the rest is easy. The trick is not to let the rest of you get in the line of fire or else a funny thing happens. All breathing ceases for about a good minute. I don't recommend this method especially for those with sharp objects in the vicinity, since the body reacts to drastic temperature changes in a rather spastic way.

I enjoyed the run this weekend. I must admit, the map got me worried but it wasn't as long as it had looked. And for once while running the long run, no buzzards circled overhead like when I am on the levee. (Am I the only one he flies for or has any of you seen that same buzzard circling over your head when you run?) My only difficulty was the slant of the road. My knee lets me know when I am off balance. And I had no sudden urges to hurl myself into oncoming traffic. It was a good day.

Reality or Chocolate?

I had the chance to go through all the mail that my Father picked up for me while I was away. Bills, bills, bills, winner of a new car, bills...then, Reality. Reality, it even sounds harsh, don't you think. Is it just me or do you notice that you stop breathing for just a moment when it finally hits you? The enlarged font of black letters grouped together formed the words 'You're In!' (insert hysterical laughter throughout the following sentence) I received comfirmation that I am registered for the Chicago Marathon. Confirmation #275. What was I thinking? Was I thinking? Those were my first thoughts. But clarity came to me in the form of food. Any large dose of reality should always be softened with an offering of chocolate. For me it was Hershey bar. Guilt? Not on your life! That was a damn good piece of chocolate. My will to keep going was nourished shortly thereafter. I don't recommend this type of treatment for anyone else, but once I come down from the sugar high, the sedated disposition can handle pretty much anything.

That is, until reality hits me again. Like seven minutes ago. When I logged on to the members only section of the marathon website. Usually there is a lead-in, a directory or icon that eases you to the reality...say... like a course map! No, can't say that I was prepared for that. The red lines just seem to keep on going... excuse me.... I'm alright. Just exhibiting chocolate withdrawal is all. I know I can run the distance. Aren't I terrible? Any excuse to eat.

So, this week's lessons marathoners: Go ahead and lose your mind. Take a moment to scream, laugh hysterically, dance an irish jig. Whatever gets you over that hump we all know as "But"; "What if"; "Shoulda, woulda, coulda"; "What was I thinking?". The self-doubt quicksand can suck you in faster than the desert tray at your favorite restaurant. When you're finished shedding off the old you, look in the mirror and remind yourself that you deserve a better reality!

See you crazy people on Saturday. I'll bring the Chocolate!

It's official! I have a mascot!

Hey Everybody!!
I missed seeing and running with all of you these past weeks. There was a bunch I wanted to tell you, but I can't remember any of them now. I'll have to write fast because I spent so much time reading the blogs.
First I am ashamed to admit; I have not kept up with the schedule while I was away. Due to uncontrollable circumstances, I didn't have the resources or the time to run/exercise as I would have liked. (grovel, grovel...puppydog eyes...and a pout.) Am I forgiven?
I did get to run twice. Brief runs for no more than a mile and a half. Interestingly enough, as the Battalion I am attached to began to meander onto the adjacent road for our group run, I noticed that the Dependants of Permanent Personnel of the base were milling around perpetrating the look of exercise. I noticed a woman in the distance, head bobbing up and down along the horizon of heads in front of me. Something was in her hand. Focused on her, I weaved and sidestepped to see what occupied her attention and her hand. Soon the shuffling crowd parted and lo-and behold, there it was. I could swear I heard laughter, but later realized that was my ego. There, attached to that woman's hand was a leash. A leash attached to a Basset Hound! You have got to be kidding me! It's like those movies where the character refuses to admit to something obvious, no matter how many times it appears. I vowed at that moment, that if I saw another Basset Hound when I am going on a run, I would official claim it as my Mascot. Needlesstosay, I saw one - maybe the same one- two days later on another Battalion run. So it's official. Befitting actually. The little short, stubby body, waddling along, the loose skin rhythmically keeping the beat, and oddly helping the forward momentum.
That night after claiming my mascot, I got food poisoning. I didn't know I had all those extra orfices, but I digress.
So yesterday, I spent most of my time trying to remotivate myself and get my mind back on track. My body is rebelling. I feel like I am starting over - again. And the anxiety is getting to me. Usually by this point, I am quitting or finding an excuse to not continue. Now that I am aware of it, I know I must push past it. I'll have to add walking to my running until I can regain my stamina. Pray my alarm goes off on time, or else my quicksand will get deeper, and these thighs are heavy enough on their own.
HOUNDS R US!